Upon seeing Melissa run after Victor,, Leonard calmly turned his attention back to the shopkeeper. Leonard reached into his jacket with measured precision. He removed his card and placed it gently on the counter, aligning it neatly near the edge. “Please process the payment for all the items,” he said, nodding toward Donald’s basket. “And accept my apologies for the disturbance.”The shopkeeper, still wide-eyed and visibly shaken, snapped back to attention. A faint flush crept up her neck as realization settled in—she had nearly misjudged the entire situation. Without saying a word, she hurriedly complied. His hands trembled slightly as she rang up the items, fingers fumbling briefly over the keys.She avoided looking up, as though eye contact might draw him back into the tension he desperately wanted to escape.When the receipt finally printed, the shopkeeper tore it off quickly and handed it over with a stiff nod of respect.There was an unspoken acknowledgment in her posture, a

Donald spoke without haste. He laid out the true picture of everything that had happened, leaving nothing obscured or softened. He explained how Jane’s dealings with DeGrand Corporation had begun with ambition. From there, desperation had pushed her toward choices that could not be defended, choices that crossed lines she should never have approached. Donald told Leonard of all that had happened. Leonard listened in silence, his eyes fixed on the road, his jaw tightening incrementally with every sentence. The disappointment in his eyes deepened as the narrative unfolded. Each revelation chipped away at the image he had formed of Jane, and with every passing moment, it became harder to reconcile the person he had wanted to help with the reality Donald was describing. “So all this time,” Leonard finally said, “they were painting you as the villain.” The words carried a mixture of disbelief and reluctant understanding, as though he had arrived at a conclusion he didn’t

Jane stared at her phone for what felt like the hundredth time, her thumb hovering over Jaxon’s name as if sheer willpower could force the call to go through. The screen lit up, rang once, twice—and then, as it had for the past hour, slipped coldly into voicemail.Her chest tightened.“This doesn’t make sense,” she muttered, pushing her chair back abruptly. Jaxon never ignored her like this. Never. Even when he was angry, even when they argued, he always answered. Or at least sent a message. But now—nothing. Just silence. Thick, deliberate silence.A sense of dread crawled up her spine.Jane grabbed her bag, slung it over her shoulder, and stormed out of her office. If Jaxon wouldn’t answer his phone, then she would go to him herself. Whatever misunderstanding existed, she would clear it up face-to-face. She refused to believe that Jaxon, of all people, would abandon her at her lowest point.The drive to Jaxon’s house felt longer than usual. Every red light seemed to mock her i

The line rang once. Twice. Then it connected. “Aaron speaking,” a low, calm male voice came through, controlled and unhurried, as though he had been expecting the call and had already prepared himself for it. There was no background noise, no hint of distraction, only steady composure on the other end of the line. Melissa’s lips curved into a slow, deliberate smile. She shifted slightly where she sat, ensuring her posture was relaxed before she spoke. “It’s Melissa Jones.” There was a brief pause on the other end, calculated rather than surprised. Then came a quiet chuckle. “I was wondering when you’d call.” Melissa leaned back against the sofa, resting her head lightly against the cushion. The tension in her shoulders eased just enough to let her breathe more freely. “I didn’t think I’d need you again, but circumstances change,” she said evenly. “They always do,” Aaron replied coolly.. “What do you want this time?” Melissa’s eyes hardened, the softness d

By the following night, the search was over. It did not take long for Aaron and his men to trace Donald. Aaron stood in the shadows outside a vast, well-secured mansion. The structure rose behind tall iron gates, its grounds were carefully maintained, and its perimeter was designed to discourage intrusion. Discreet lighting illuminated the property just enough to reveal movement without exposing vulnerabilities. Surveillance cameras were positioned with clear intent, covering angles that left no obvious blind spots. This was not the residence of a man clinging to survival. It was the home of someone who had rebuilt himself with precision. “This is it,” one of the men said quietly. Aaron said nothing at first. His eyes traced the layout, noting the spacing of cameras, the placement of security posts, and the controlled symmetry of the grounds. This was a calculated environment. “This is not where slum dwellers end up,” Aaron said finally. “So they lied,” he mutte