Eliron’s mind was racing as he walked briskly toward his car, rain misting against his jacket. Rico West—recently found, ragged, and disheveled—didn’t look like a man capable of hiding secrets. Yet, the more Eliron thought about it, the less sure he became. Rico had been moving carefully, quietly, concealing Lady Eleanor’s existence from everyone in the West family. He had acted heartbroken, pretending his mother was dead. Even Eliron, who had found him has only just discovered the truth. Why hadn’t Rico said anything? Eliron muttered under his breath, unlocking the car with trembling fingers. Was he planning something? He slid into the driver’s seat, wiping the fog from the windshield, and stared at the small red dot blinking steadily on the tracker mounted on the dashboard. Rico was still on the move, heading back toward the city. Eliron frowned. Rico had always been clever, but this level of secrecy—this precision—felt calculated. A tight knot formed in his chest. He had ser

The younger officer took a cautious step forward. “Sir, we still need your name before we proceed.” Rico didn’t answer. He simply looked at the officer, then at Ramon. The quiet stretched between them — heavy, uneasy, like the air before a storm. Melinda’s heart pounded, a nervous rhythm she couldn’t control. She tried to smile, though her lips trembled. Whoever this man was, he wasn’t ordinary. His composure, his silence — it carried authority that made even the officers hesitate. Maybe her plan hadn’t failed entirely. Maybe she could still turn this to her favor. He was from the West house — that much she caught from Ramon’s angry words. And the West family meant wealth, power, and influence beyond reach. If she played her cards right, this man could be her ticket out of Ramon. She was already bored of him and he didn't give her the money she needed. He now had excuses and that was not good for her. Ramon, of course, couldn’t see it. He never could. He swallowed, then lif

Rain slammed against the tall windows, relentless and heavy, like the sky itself was pressing down on the mansion. Damian’s hands gripped the edge of the mahogany table so hard his knuckles ached. His chest felt tight, his stomach twisting in knots, but he forced himself to stay still. Panic clawed at him, but he couldn’t let it show—not here, not now. Helena stepped closer, her eyes sharp, worry plain in every line of her face. “Damian… what happened?” Her voice was low, urgent, almost pleading. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to steady himself. “The call… it dropped,” he said, teeth gritted. “He said he found something… interesting.” Helena frowned, her gaze flicking toward the phone on the table. “Then try calling him again. Now.” “I already did,” Damian said. His voice was tight, almost brittle. “No connection. I… I think something’s happened.” Cassendra leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed, smirk plastered on her face like she was watching a drama unfold. “

The first light of dawn barely touched the West estate gates as Rico’s car rolled slowly up the long driveway.Rainwater shimmered on the pavement, reflecting the pale gold of the morning sun, yet even that fragile beauty felt hollow, dwarfed by the weight pressing through the mansion’s walls.The West mansion loomed dark and silent, its grandeur magnified by the shadows stretching across the wet marble from last night’s storm. Inside, the servants moved quietly, careful not to disturb the taut, almost brittle atmosphere.But the faint hum of activity felt more like nervous breathing than calm. Something was about to snap.Rico stepped out of the car, water dripping from his coat, hair plastered against his forehead, droplets stinging his eyes. He swiped at them with the back of his hand, irritation flaring at the intrusion of something as simple as rain. His shoes left dark prints across the polished floor as he strode inside, each step deliberate, echoing softly in the hallway.He d

The West mansion was unnervingly still that morning. The rain had stopped, leaving the air damp, heavy with the scent of wet marble and ozone. The faint drip from the roof echoed softly in the halls, a ghostly counterpoint to the silence. Rico climbed the staircase slowly, each step echoing off the polished marble. The silence felt anything but peaceful. He sensed it pressing at the edges of his awareness, like the faint pressure of water on the skin, suffocating and constant. Even the subtle hum of distant servants felt intrusive, reminding him that the mansionand everyone within it had eyes and ears on him. At the top of the stairs, Zaya waited outside his room, hands folded neatly, posture impeccable despite the early hour, though a faint crease of worry around her eyes didn’t escape him. “Your bath is ready, young master. I used eucalyptus oils. They’ll help with the fatigue,” she said softly, words careful, almost reverent. Rico nodded faintly, face unreadable, though a fli