Logan froze the moment his eyes adjusted to the dim light of the room. For a split second, his mind struggled to reconcile what he was seeing with what he had expected. His breath slowed, his senses sharpening as his gaze fixed on the bed.There was someone on it.His instincts reacted before conscious thought could catch up. His muscles tightened, shoulders squaring, his weight shifting slightly as though preparing for a sudden confrontation. He had entered the room anticipating danger—an ambush, perhaps, or an intruder lurking in the shadows. His training had conditioned him for violence, deception, and threats that came without warning. But this was not what he had prepared himself for.A woman lay sprawled across the bed.The sheets were loosely draped around her, offering minimal concealment. She was barely covered, her form partially obscured by the rumpled fabric, yet enough was visible to make one thing unmistakably clear—this was deliberate. No one ended up here by mistake. T

Charis let out a long, reluctant sigh, her shoulders slumping slightly as she faced her mother. The weight of the conversation pressed on her chest, heavy and suffocating, as if the room itself had grown smaller under the gravity of what was being asked. “Mother… I’ve never done anything like this in my life,” she admitted, her voice soft but tinged with frustration, almost trembling under the intensity of her feelings. “All my life, men have been chasing after me. I’ve never had a reason to chase after any man, let alone someone like Logan Brooks, the Iron Hand. I don’t… I don’t even know where to begin.” Her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve, twisting it absentmindedly, as if the act of touching something tangible could help steady the swirling storm in her mind. Her hazel eyes darted across the study, the polished shelves and heavy curtains now seeming more like witnesses to her inner turmoil than mere furniture. The pressure of expectation weighed on her like a physical

A small smile tugged at Charis’s lips as hope crept back in, slow and cautious, like sunlight after a long stretch of cloud. Logan had resisted her, yes—but he had noticed her. He had looked at her, really looked, not just in passing or irritation. He had paused, even if only for a fraction of a second. For someone like Logan Brooks, a man whispered about in circles that spoke in lowered voices, a man rumored to be unshakable, even that pause meant something. It meant she had broken through, however briefly. Charis exhaled, the tension easing from her shoulders, and stood up. Her movements were calm now, deliberate, as she walked toward the mirror. She studied her reflection—not with vanity this time, not with the idle self-assessment she had learned to perfect, but with strategy. Her eyes searched her own face as though it were a map. She took in the set of her jaw, the steadiness returning to her gaze, the faint determination hardening beneath her calm expression. She wasn’t defeate

On the other end of the line, the man laughed. Slowly. Mockingly. As though Logan’s question wasn’t a challenge at all, but a source of entertainment. “Relax, Logan,” the man said smoothly. “If I wanted to stay anonymous, I wouldn’t have called at all.” Logan’s fingers tightened around the phone until the edges dug into his palm. His posture straightened, muscles coiling beneath his skin. “You have three seconds to tell me who you are.” “Still counting threats like they’re currency,” the man replied lightly. “You haven’t changed.” Logan’s jaw clenched, the muscles in his face tightening. “Talk.” The man sighed dramatically, as if burdened by Logan’s impatience. “I called because I knew you’d be worried by now. You came home, didn’t you? Empty house. Too quiet. No Charlotte.” The words hit with surgical precision. Logan’s blood ran cold, his chest tightening as though the air had thickened around him. He said nothing, but the silence on his end was louder than any outburst. “So

Logan froze, the phone still warm in his hand, his mind spinning, each thought colliding with the next in a chaotic storm. He lowered the device slowly, as if careful, deliberate movement could somehow preserve the fragile reality that had just shattered around him. But he knew, deep down, that it was impossible. The voice he had just heard—the soft, familiar tone, unmistakable and clear—was hers. Charlotte’s. And yet the words she had spoken, lighthearted, teasing, almost casual, were utterly impossible.“She’s… with him?” Logan whispered to himself, disbelief cutting through every fiber of his being. His voice trembled slightly, though he forced it into control. “She’s… enjoying herself?” The thought made his jaw ache as he gritted his teeth, his grip tightening around the phone, knuckles whitening until the bones ached. “No… no. This cannot be real. Charlotte wouldn’t—she wouldn’t say something like that.”His rational mind tried desperately to wrestle control away from the rising