The air in the penthouse shifted the moment Elira opened the envelope.
She hadn’t ordered anything.
There was no return address.
But the contents were unmistakable.
A photograph of her daughter—taken from afar. At school. Smiling in the sunlight. Oblivious to the threat captured alongside her.
Written on the back in neat, curling script:
“Innocence is leverage. You should’ve stayed bought.” —L. S.”
Elira’s hands trembled as she stared at the letter. Her mind roared with protective fury.
She was being watched. Her child was being watched.
The shadows that Byron left behind hadn’t vanished. They’d evolved.
And now, they were wearing lipstick and perfume.
Across the city, in a high-rise hotel soaked in luxury and secrets, Loretta St. James sipped a glass of red wine. Her dark eyes
