Lena returned to her home from the courtroom. She was dropped off by Vark who kicked her out of his car like she was a piece of rag.Her door loomed in front of her. She was tired, her wrists hurt from being cuffed for long. She managed to move herself to the doorway and then, pushed the door open and then she stepped in, gently shutting the door behind her like she just entered her comfort zone. Because it really was. She was this close to being locked up like the rest of her colleagues. She barely escaped, thanks to her smart brain.But her comfort zone was scattered. Scattered and quiet. It was as quiet as ever. No Rowan to welcome her home with an already nicely prepared meal, or with songs already playing in the background or good news shout of how he had completed her pitch, presentation or something.She had gotten used to it. She had gotten used to not having him around. She had gotten used to the silence. Afterall, she deliberately drove him out, didn't she? But this time, t

Morning light spilled over the Monroe estate like liquid gold, bouncing off its glass-paneled façade and the gleaming marble fountains that roared in the front courtyard. From above, the mansion looked less like a home and more like a palace misplaced in the quiet green hills of Connecticut—a palace with its own airstrip, helipad, and a fleet of cars tucked neatly inside a garage larger than most supermarkets.Inside, the ceilings soared two stories high, etched with hand-painted murals and framed by chandeliers imported from Vienna. The scent of polished mahogany and French coffee clung to the air, warm but heavy, a reminder that nothing here ever came cheap.And yet, behind all that polished glass and cold marble, the Monroe family was chaos at breakfast. Real chaos.The long dining table, carved from Italian oak, stretched wide enough to seat thirty, but only six places were set. At the head sat Victor Monroe —gray at the temples but still built like a man who lifted iron for sport.

Priyanka woke to voices.Not the usual clatter of keys and boots from the guards, but low whispers, sharp as needles, drifting through the concrete walls. Her eyelids felt heavy, but her ears caught every syllable.“...that’s her, right? The Indian girl?”“Yeah. The one Jason Cole just defended on live TV.”She froze. Jason. Even the sound of his name sent her stomach twisting. Her heart wanted to leap, but her mind whispered caution: don’t believe, don’t hope, don’t… fall for it. Not again.From the cell next to hers, someone laughed, a dry, mocking laugh. “Girl must have something good, for a billionaire to stand up like that.”Priyanka’s fists clenched under her blanket. She wanted to scream that it wasn’t like that, that she hadn’t asked Jason to do anything. But the words stayed locked in her throat.The scrape of a chair. The jangle of keys. A guard walking past, muttering to another. “You see Cole’s speech? Man’s making himself president one step at a time. I mean, if it comes

“My daughter. Oh my daughter!” Mrs. Ishani called out, running towards her daughter, but the security men tried to stop her.“Mama,” Priyanka called out, tears gushing down her face. Her mother had never seen her in this state and she wanted to make sure it remained that way forever. Her mother brought her up well, how could she disappoint the old lady after all they’ve been through?Jason had not yet departed. He stood behind to watch the scene, the weight of the situation eating into his soul. He had all the wealth in the world, yet, he could not prove that his girlfriend was innocent and now, she was stuck in some smelly cell with iron bars. Mrs. Ishani closed the distance between herself and her daughter. “Why, Priyanka? Why did you….” Her voice cracked. Her hands shook as she tried to touch her child through the narrow gap the guards allowed.“Mama, no… don’t cry,” Priyanka whispered, her voice breaking. “I didn’t do it. I swear to you, I didn’t push her. Please believe me. Anyt

Mia scrambled away from Carson, tugging her gown up her shoulder, her face burning crimson. “Jason…” she stammered, her voice trembling like a violin string pulled too tight.“I… this isn’t—”Jason raised one hand, silencing her before the excuses could pour. His tone was even, measured, but it carried the weight of steel. “Don’t bother.” His gaze swept the room, not missing the flush on Carson’s neck, the mussed sheets, or the way Mia’s hands shook as she clutched the fabric against herself. “I’ve seen enough. And why do you explain yourself? Do you owe me an explanation?”Carson wasn’t pleased. He shot to his feet, chest bare, trousers half-dragged on. His jaw flexed like he’d been waiting for this very moment. “You…!!” he spat, his voice sharp as broken glass. “You fucking retarded piece of soft shit. How dare you show your face here?” His eyes gleamed with venom, the words dragging bile from the pit of his stomach. “After what you said on TV? After making me look like a clown in f