Emily stood by the tall glass windows of the boardroom, arms folded tightly across her chest. Below her, the city crawled with noise and life, oblivious to the anxiety clawing through her veins. The skyline, once a symbol of triumph, now looked like a distant reminder of how high she could fall.The meeting had been set for 10 a.m. sharp, and the minutes were crawling toward it like a countdown to execution. Soon enough, it was time, and she had to make the nervous walk around the room to make sure everything was in order.Her heels tapped nervously against the hardwood floor, her mind rehearsing every possible question they might throw at her, and realizing she didn’t have answers to any of them…not the kind, at least, that would satisfy a room full of cutthroat executives looking for someone to blame.She turned to the table again. The boardroom was already being set.Bottles of water stood tall, digital notepads sharp, company logo shining arrogantly from the smart screen at the

The last of the board members filed out of the room, their stony expressions replaced with polite handshakes and hushed awe, the kind that always followed power when it walked in uninvited and took over. The door clicked shut behind them, and the silence that settled in the boardroom felt heavier than any argument that had taken place earlier.Emily remained still, her eyes following the faint reflection of her husband in the dark screen behind the table. For a moment, neither of them said anything, despite the plethora that needed to be said. The tension was almost physical between them, like you could cut it with a knife, and Sylvester felt like a man drunk and home late.He was in trouble, wasn’t he?Then, slowly, she turned to face him.“You lied to me,” she said. Her voice was calm, but each word landed sharp.Sylvester’s brows furrowed. “Emily, I…”“You lied to me,” she repeated, taking a step closer, her arms now folded across her chest. “I married a teacher. A quiet, humble

The bell above the café door chimed softly as Emily and Gladys stepped inside. The scent of espresso and vanilla lingered thick in the air, mingling with quiet chatter and the clatter of ceramic cups. The place looked peaceful…unbothered, even but Emily couldn’t reflect internally, the welcoming warmth of the place.She glanced around, taking in the details. Nothing looked out of place. Just another afternoon rush hour.“Keep it low-key,” Gladys murmured beside her, scanning the space.Emily gave a slight nod and approached the counter, offering the barista a polite smile. “Hi, sorry to bother you. We’re looking into a situation concerning a message sent from here recently…sometime around last week during the lunch hour.”The young barista blinked in confusion, then looked between the two of them. “A message?”Gladys leaned in. “See that building over there?” she pointed to the right, “It’s the only skyscraper. We occupy the last ten floors to the top.”“Oh,” the Barista nodded. “I

The small conference room felt like a prison.Its windowless walls pressed inward, the single overhead light casting sharp shadows over the table where Martin sat, hands clasped tightly in front of him.Emily stood across from him, arms folded, every muscle in her body wound tight.Gladys leaned silently against the door, arms crossed, watching like a hawk.Martin tried for a smile. It came out wrong…more of a grimace. "Is there a problem, Miss Emily?"Emily didn't answer right away.She dropped a flash drive onto the table. It clattered sharply against the wood, making Martin flinch."Security footage," Emily said quietly. "And IT access logs. Both tied directly to you."Martin’s face barely twitched. He was good at pretending.But there was no was he could lie his way out of this one. It was too much. Too concrete.She slid into the chair opposite him, locking eyes with a steadiness she barely felt inside."You want to explain why you were accessing confidential files under my name?

The morning after his talk with Geral, Sylvester woke up with a clarity he hadn’t felt in months. Building the Wright Clan was a mission. It didn’t feel like something he was thrown into. It felt like something he actually wanted to do. And that? That meant more tho him than anyone could imagine. And he was going to see it through to the end. By noon, he had called a private meeting in the war room. Geral was already there, leaning casually against a table with his arms crossed. Verity arrived next, her tired gaze sweeping the room. Otto and Hozert followed, both of them murmuring to each other about something, but quieting the second Sylvester entered. “I swear to God, if it’s another warlock…” Verity drawled as Sylvester stepped up front. “I promise you that if it were, I would have slit my own throat by now,” Sylvester grunted. That earned a laugh from everyone. They were frankly too exhausted to deal with the evils of the city, even one more time. “So, hit me, master.