The villa had fallen into a hushed stillness. The kind that blanketed secrets, rather than soothing them. Raven stood alone in Jaxon’s private study, one of the few places she hadn’t dared enter until now. He was gone, handling one of Zane’s latest provocations, and she was supposed to be asleep. But sleep had become a myth, and silence only magnified the ache in her chest.
The room was elegant but cold, the kind of wealth that polished over violence. A single lamp illuminated the heavy desk where files were stacked neatly. Raven’s fingertips hovered over the leather-bound ledgers before she found the drawer Jaxon never let her near. It was locked, but the key had been in his suit jacket earlier that night.
She didn’t hesitate. The lock clicked. Inside were photographs. Newspaper clippin
