Wilfreda barely remembered how she had gotten back home. Her mind was fogged, her chest tight as though all the air in the world wasn’t enough for her lungs. The conversation with Chloe still replayed in her head like a cracked record, every word scraping raw against her nerves. The envelope. The truth she had carried inside her for weeks. And the weight of it all now pressing down on her shoulders like stone.When she finally pushed the door to their house open, the familiar scent of lavender and lemon polish met her. It was faint, homely, but for the first time in her life, it did nothing to soothe her. The air inside felt too heavy, every corner of the room pressing against her like it wanted answers she didn’t have the strength to give.Her mother, Helsin, was seated on the rug in the living room, a half-opened box of old household items spread before her. She was sorting through papers and trinkets—bits of the past, the kind Wilfreda always rolled her eyes at. But tonight, Wilf

Helsin’s smirk deepened as if she had been waiting for that very question. She leaned back slowly, her tone measured and deliberate, carrying the weight of secrets that had been sealed away for decades.“They are not just ornaments, Julia,” Helsin said, her voice low, almost reverent. “They are called the Relics of Legacy. Steven told me that each one represents not only the O’Connor bloodline, but the binding of power, influence, and destiny within it. The ring, the bracelet, and the pendant—together, they complete the inheritance of the O’Connor name. Without them, the heir is nothing more than a shadow. With them…” she let her words hang, eyes narrowing, “…he becomes unstoppable.”Julia’s voice trembled, though she fought to keep it sharp. “Why did Steven tell you all this? Why you? I was his wife, Helsin. I should have known every secret, every truth about my husband. Why did he trust you with this and not me?”“Because Steven died before he could,” Helsin replied. Her sharp eyes

The Blue Ember’s glowing sign washed the pavement in shades of sapphire and violet as Wilfreda pulled into the small lot. The hum of her engine faded, leaving only the low thrum of music spilling from inside. She drew a breath, checking her reflection in the rearview mirror. A faint smile tugged at her lips despite herself—because waiting in there wasn’t Chance, or Chloe, or anyone demanding she confront her tangled lineage. It was Harry.She stepped inside, the warm air wrapping around her, scented faintly of oak barrels and citrus from the bar’s cocktails. Her eyes swept across the room until they landed on him. Harry sat at a table tucked near the window, his jacket draped over the back of his chair, the golden light catching the easy curve of his smile as soon as he saw her.Wilfreda’s chest tightened, but this time not from turmoil. For the first time in days, something softened inside her.“Wilfreda,” Harry said warmly as he rose to meet her.Her smile returned almost instantl

The front doors of the bar burst open with a forceful kick, the hinges groaning in protest as armed officers in dark tactical vests stormed inside. The chaos of only moments ago had collapsed into eerie stillness, broken now by the rapid thud of boots and the commanding shouts of authority.“Police! Nobody move!”The crowd of patrons didn’t need telling twice—most were already pressed flat against the floor, others with their hands raised high in visible surrender.At the forefront of the team strode Inspector Gerald Seth, tall and broad-shouldered, his dark overcoat flaring behind him as he surveyed the wreckage in sharp, unflinching sweeps.His eyes immediately locked onto the lifeless form sprawled near the bar counter, blood smeared across the wall behind him.For a man who had seen more bodies than he could count, he didn't need anyone to tell him that whoever it was that was lying there was no longer alive.Without speaking, he gestured to his men to fan out, then walked forward

Gerald hesitated at first, his hand resting on the ring of keys at his belt. The faint hum of the overhead lights filled the otherwise silent hallway, casting pale strips of light across the concrete floor. He watched Wilfreda, her expression taut but resolute, and weighed the risks. Protocol screamed at him to stop her. But something else—the flicker of desperation in her eyes, the raw edge in her voice—made him pause.Finally, with a low sigh, he stepped forward. “Follow me,” he said, his tone clipped but not unkind.Wilfreda’s boots clicked softly on the linoleum as she followed him, each step echoing off the long corridor’s peeling walls. The building seemed to swallow sound, turning their passage into a kind of procession. Gerald glanced at her once over his shoulder. Her coat was damp, her hair clinging in loose strands to her cheek, and though she walked upright, her hands trembled slightly at her sides.She had the look of someone marching toward something inevitable.“You