My fists ached, my knuckles smeared with blood, but I kept walking—my eyes locked on the heavy door ahead.
It creaked open under my boot.
Inside, the air thickened with tension.
There he was.
The leader.
Seated like some untouchable monarch behind a polished table, his sharp eyes tracking my every step. Surrounding him—eight bodyguards, armed to the teeth, rifles aimed directly at my chest the moment I entered.
I stopped, expression unreadable, my voice low but sharp enough to cut glass.
"Why the hell are you doing this?" I asked, my gaze burning into him. "Why do you have the girl's family? What’s the endgame here?"
The leader didn’t speak immediately. His eyes were cold, calculative, but I wasn’t finished.
"Is it the Graysons?" I pressed, stepping forward despite the guns aimed
