Regis entered with his usual grace in the quiet of the master suite at the Ferro House, carefully placing a breakfast tray on one of the bedside tables. Luana, seated nearby, couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that it was already too late in the morning for Briana to be having breakfast. But she hadn’t had much of a choice earlier — when the food arrived, she hadn’t even had the strength to lift a finger.“Enjoy your meal, madam,” Regis said courteously, then turned to Luana with a subtle nod. “Shall I bring anything for you, miss?”“No, thank you,” she replied with a faint smile. “I’m fine.”With another polite bow, Regis left, the door clicking softly behind him. The moment it was shut, Briana turned toward her best friend with curiosity lighting up her pale face.“So,” she began, “tell me how the peace treaty came about.”Luana raised her brows, surprised. “You knew I came to talk about that?”Briana gave a small, knowing smile. “The fact that Celia and Mary Ellen have both dropped

Now, in the quiet present, Briana shifted the tray onto her lap, her lips curled into a small smile. Her body ached in protest with every movement, but the discomfort was layered with the unmistakable satisfaction of being thoroughly, almost ruinously, loved. The rich aroma of shrimp stew wafted from the steaming plate — Regis’s handiwork — but it wasn’t the food that warmed her.It was Mark. Her Mark. Insatiable, incorrigible, hers.The phone buzzed suddenly beside her. She groaned, uncertain how to juggle both the tray and her phone, but after some careful maneuvering — and a few twinges of pain — she managed to answer it.“Hello?” she said, her voice still husky with the wear of recent pleasure.Outside, in the broad sunlight of the Glamour parking lot, Mark stood beside his Citroën, parked in the same fateful spot where so many secrets had simmered. He held the phone to his ear, his voice smooth and teasing.“Good morning, princess.”She felt her heart skip. “Good morning, darling

“The establishment was reportedly managed by Gabrielle Ribas,” the anchor continued. “In Victoria, the surname means nothing. But police investigations have linked it to the Ribas family of Braspolis, one of the cities under the jurisdiction of Aurelia Kingdom. The man you see below her is Romulo Ribas, previously arrested for ties to the criminal underworld and gang activity. He was connected to the ‘Red Light' nightclub — the first of the string of venues to be shut down. Romulo Ribas had been incarcerated in Braspolis, but this morning, a prison riot led to an explosion along the east wall, resulting in multiple casualties. Among the wounded is his middle brother, Ryan Ribas, who was gravely injured and is now hospitalized at the Braspolis General Hospital.”The image cut sharply to a grim photo of Ryan — unconscious, barely recognizable under tubes and wires, as machines monitored his fragile life. He looked more corpse than man.Romulo shot to his feet as if electrocuted, horror

Mark’s grip on the phone tightened, knuckles whitening as a wave of heat surged through his veins.“He was speaking to Romulo? And he said something about helping him escape from prison?”“Yes,” she replied, her voice edged with dread. “With all this news about the prison riot... I couldn’t help but wonder if Mr. Sodré was involved in some way.”Mark clenched his jaw. “Miss Gonçalves, that young man I asked you about the other day — he’s Romulo Ribas’s younger brother.”She gasped. “The one in the hospital?”“Exactly. Here’s what I need you to do,” he said, his tone turning commanding. “Leave the bank immediately. Things are about to explode, and if you’re still there when the authorities show up, you might be taken as an accomplice.”There was a beat of stunned silence before she answered with renewed resolve. “Okay, Manager Ferro. Thank you so much!”Then, in a moment of surreal levity, she added brightly, “I’m still looking forward to that Ray Dixon sitcom premiere.”Mark chuckled

Sergeant Ribeiro stood beside his desk, the old corded phone cradled between shoulder and ear, his tone tense but measured. The murmur of chaos filtered through the thick door behind him — boots pounding, voices barking orders, and radios crackling urgent updates.The entire precinct was in disarray, teeming with officers of all ranks reacting to the prison riot that had shattered the day’s routine.“I know it was madness, believe me,” he said into the receiver, trying to keep his voice calm despite the frenzy outside. “The commissioner will release a statement to the press clarifying everything.”Even as he spoke, the door to his office creaked open, letting the corridor's clamor spill in with greater force. He barely noticed at first — until a figure stepped inside.A man stood before him in ill-fitting clothes, the kind borrowed hastily without regard for size or style. A large hoodie draped awkwardly over his frame, the hood pulled low. A pair of sunglasses, far too small for his