Sophia listened to the investigator’s final, damning conclusion, and the professional mask she had worn throughout the meeting shattered. She had suspected. She had theorized. But hearing it stated as a cold, professional probability was a different thing entirely. The blood drained from her face, leaving her feeling lightheaded and cold. Her hands, resting on the polished desk, trembled slightly before she clenched them into fists.Jackson Hart was alive.The battle for the empire was not just ongoing; it had never truly begun. Her stewardship, her press conferences, her delicate negotiations with the board—they were all a performance on a stage where the true lead had been snatched into the wings. She wasn't inheriting a kingdom; she was guarding an empty vault while the real treasure was hidden elsewhere."Thank you," she managed to say, her voice thin. "You've done excellent work. I need more. Find out where that transport went. Uncover everything you can about Dr. Ruth Lemoine. W

James was the first to speak, his voice thick with emotion. "Whatever you need. He's our brother. We're in."Nancy nodded fiercely, wiping her cheeks. "Just tell us what to do.""This is like a prayer answered to all of us and we would do anything to ensure it remains that way."Hailey simply nodded, her hand finding Nancy's, her own tears a quiet testament to the joy breaking through years of loss and loneliness.A small, genuine smile of relief touched Ruth's lips. The weight on her shoulders—the weight of secrecy, of constant vigilance—felt fractionally lighter. "Thank you," she said, the words simple but profound. "I will have Gilbert provide you with secure burners and the details. For now, we maintain absolute silence. No one outside this room can know.""Bella," Nancy said suddenly, her eyes wide. "We have to tell Bella. She's been carrying this alone. She needs to know."Ruth considered, then nodded. "You're right. But carefully. Use one of the secure lines Gilbert will give

Ruth had only sixty seconds of quiet, as she leaned against the wall. After that, she pulled herself straight. There was no time for rest. The others were coming back, Gilbert, who had already communicated this to him, had the men who she had decided to meet.She stood waiting at the door, with a kind of motherly alertness and soldierly preparedness. The locks rattled, and James was the first to enter, with a grim purposeful expression. Nancy came after; then Andrew and Hailey, with such a shell-shocked awe on their faces as had been there the night before.And then, they entered.Whitaker like a shadow personified walked in. He made a curt, neutral nod, whose only connecting bond between worlds was his loyalty to Jackson.But it was Copper who held back time.He stood motionlessly just above the door, his hand still on the door-frame. Every bit of colour came out of his face and the lines of age and sorrow were plainly visible. His eyes, which were so shrewd and sensitive, dilated

The weight of Evans' hand on Lorraine's, the simple, solid comfort of it, was almost too much. Lorraine looked down at their joined hands, her nurse’s mind noting the contrast—her fingers, still bearing the faint callous from gripping a steering wheel too tight these past months, against his, which bore the knuckle scars of a life spent in more direct conflict. The warmth was a lifeline she hadn’t known she needed.“And then… what happened with you. I never meant for any of that. I never meant for my choices to cause a rift between you two. I just… I saw a patient who needed help. That’s all.”Evans’s expression shifted. The understanding softness hardened into something more intense, almost impatient. He didn’t remove his hand, but his grip tightened, just for a second, commanding her focus.“Stop,” he said, his voice low but firm, cutting through her spiral. “Lorraine, look at me. You did nothing wrong. Not one thing.” He leaned forward, his gaze holding hers prisoner. “Samantha an

Lorraine lay awake, her head on Evans’s chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. The warmth of him, the weight of his arm around her, felt both profoundly right and terrifyingly complicated. The euphoria of the night was receding, and the analytical part of her mind, the nurse who assessed damage, was coming back online.She shifted slightly, propping herself up on one elbow to look at him. He was already awake, his gaze tracing the lines of her face in the soft gloom.“Evans,” she began, her voice husky with sleep and something else—doubt. “Last night… what was that?”He didn’t pretend to misunderstand. He lifted a hand, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. “It was real, Lorraine.”He had actually expected the question, knowing fully well how complicated the whole thing had been back at the hospital.“But how real?” she pressed, the need for clarity a sharp ache. “Was it just… the adrenaline? The shared crisis? Me being a convenient port in your storm after Samantha?”