"My life... why is it so bitter? Why is it always me?"The muffled sounds of Violet Ross's distress filtered through the wall, a raw, jagged sequence of emotions. It began with the sharp, trembling gasps of a woman fighting a losing battle against her own fury, then dissolved into the low, hollow sobbing of someone who had finally been broken by the weight of her own world.Ambrose Ward sat on the edge of his bed, his brow furrowed in the dim light of his room.He hadn't heard Morgan Lewis's specific words—the man's voice was a low, predatory rumble—but he didn't need to. Based on Violet's frantic, desperate responses, the picture was clear. Morgan was leaning on her again, demanding that she act as his "eyes and ears" within the Joint Investigation Task Force. When she had refused, standing by her institutional loyalty, Morgan had pivoted to the only weapon he knew would work: the custody of their child.Ambrose felt a surge of cold, quiet anger. Mor

As the door to the interrogation room opened, the sterile, fluorescent light caught the shimmer of a pale, lotus-pink silk dress. Despite the grim surroundings of the Lakeport Development Authority, Serena Frost carried herself with a poise that felt entirely out of place in a detention wing. The dress was modest yet tailored, flowing over a figure that still held the graceful, rising curves of a woman in her prime. Her waist was so slender it seemed as though a man's hands could span it, and though she had been stripped of her luxury watches and diamond jewelry, she retained an innate, aristocratic grace that no amount of administrative custody could diminish.She was the widow of Chester Preston, and even in her silence, she looked like a queen in exile."Deputy Lead Ward, allow me to introduce you," Franklin Foster, the Secretary of the Lakeport Development Zone Disciplinary Sub-commission, said as he ushered Ambrose into the room. He pointed a stiff finger toward the w

Franklin Foster stood on the steps of the Lakeport Development Authority, watching the black sedan carry Ambrose Ward away until the vehicle disappeared around the bend of the main boulevard. Only then did he allow himself to let out a breath he felt like he'd been holding for an hour. His shirt was damp with cold sweat, sticking to his back despite the humid breeze.He felt like a man who had just finished a high-stakes poker game with a titan, only to realize he'd barely managed to keep his seat at the table. Ambrose Ward was unlike any Governor's Cadet he had ever encountered. The young man didn't just carry a mandate; he carried a heavy, invisible political capital that made the very air in the interrogation room feel pressurized.Before Franklin could even turn back toward the building, the smartphone in his pocket erupted with a rhythmic vibration. He fumbled for it, his eyes widening as he saw the name on the screen: Gareth Quinn.The Lord Mayor of the district