The morning light filtered through the tall, arched windows of the Kensington family home, casting long shadows across the antique Persian rugs. It was a classic, sprawling estate that had been in Sloane’s family for three generations. It was also the very property Declan Cross had secret

By the time Declan returned home that evening, he looked like a man who had aged five years in a single afternoon. His tie was loosened, his jacket was draped haphazardly over his arm, and the manic energy of his morning panic had been replaced by a hollow, exhausted desperation.

Sloane

Sloane Kensington sat at the small kitchen island of her childhood home, a steaming cup of tea in her uninjured hand, while her phone rested on speaker. The morning sun streamed through the window, casting a warm, deceptive glow over the domestic quiet.

"The dominoes have officially beg