Victor Montgomery sat in his office, the dim light casting long shadows on the walls. His fingers traced the edges of the photograph on his desk—a picture of Anderson Blackwell at Jacob’s burial. His eyes narrowed in suspicion, his mind racing with questions that refused to settle."Why was Anderson Blackwell at Jacob’s burial?" he muttered, his voice low but edged with tension. The unease he felt had been gnawing at him ever since Jacob’s death, but this—this was something else. A piece of the puzzle that didn’t fit.Outside the office, a figure stood silently, ear pressed to the heavy wooden door. Every word Victor uttered sent a fresh wave of anxiety crashing over them. The tension in his voice was unmistakable, and it sent chills down their spine. Victor was close to figuring it all out, and if he did, there would be no escape for anyone involved.Inside, Victor’s voice cut through the silence again, sharper this time. "And Mark… Why haven’t I heard from him? Could he be the one w

The morning light filtered through the grand windows of the Montgomery mansion as Victor paced across his study. He barely noticed the subtle opulence that surrounded him—his thoughts were consumed by the approaching storm. The police were set to question him and his household tomorrow, a prospect that made his blood boil. But today was different. Today, they had received an unexpected invitation.A crisp, cream-colored envelope lay on Victor's desk, its contents as troubling as the looming investigation. His mother, Amelia, stood nearby, her expression as unreadable as ever."Anderson Blackwell," Victor muttered under his breath as he read the invitation again, the words almost searing into his mind. "The Blackwells are hosting a celebration tonight to formally welcome him home, just a month after his arrival. What a convenient time for them to make a move.""Indeed," Amelia replied, her voice cold and measured. "The Blackwells must be feeling confident, with their heir finally settl

Lena sat in the cold, sterile room, her heart pounding as she faced the two detectives across the table. The overhead light cast harsh shadows, making the space feel even smaller, more suffocating. She tried to calm her nerves, but her hands trembled slightly as she clenched them in her lap. The nausea that had plagued her the night before still lingered, but she forced it down, determined not to show any weakness."Miss Lena," Detective Crawford began, his voice low and steady, "we need to ask you some questions about Jacob Montgomery’s death. It’s important that you answer truthfully."Lena nodded, her throat dry. "I understand. But I don’t know how I can help. I didn’t have anything to do with Jacob’s death."Detective Crawford exchanged a glance with his partner, Detective Mason, who leaned forward, his eyes narrowing slightly. "We have reason to believe that you might have had a motive, Lena. Did you ever have any ill feelings towards Jacob? Anything at all?"Lena felt a cold swe

Lena’s heart raced as she fumbled through her coat pockets, a growing sense of panic gnawing at her insides. She had just returned to her apartment, and the nagging feeling that something was missing had finally clicked into place—her purse. The small, black leather bag that held her most personal items, including her gun, was gone.“Where is it?” she muttered to herself, her voice tight with anxiety. Her mind raced as she retraced her steps, trying to remember the last time she’d seen it. She was sure she had it when she’d arrived at the hotel earlier that day. But after that…Her thoughts were cut off by a sudden, jarring knock on the door. It was too harsh, too insistent to be anything but trouble.Lena froze, her breath catching in her throat. Every nerve in her body screamed at her not to answer, to run, to hide. But before she could decide, the door swung open with a violent force, and several police officers burst into the room, their expressions grim and determined.“Lena T

Anderson Blackwell sat in the dimly lit confines of his office, the weight of the morning pressing heavily on his shoulders. The gentle light filtering through the large windows did little to calm the storm of thoughts swirling in his mind. He drummed his fingers against the oak desk, the muted rhythm mirroring his scattered thinking. The financial reports were spread out in front of him, but the numbers no longer mattered.“Why did she get bail?” Anderson muttered, his voice low and edged with suspicion. Lena Thompson had pleaded guilty. A sentence was imminent. Granting bail—especially to someone accused of murder—was unprecedented. He rose from his chair, pacing with sharp, calculated steps. His gaze fell on the sprawling landscape beyond the window, but his thoughts were miles away.Victor Montgomery. Ruthless, meticulous Victor. He would never allow something so reckless as Lena’s release. It wasn’t his style. No, Victor always tied up loose ends. Lena should’ve been left to ro