At the Field Manor, Orlando sat cross-legged on the plush leather sofa, his gaze fixed on the report in his hand.
The golden hues of the setting sun filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a warm glow across his chiseled profile. The thin, gold-rimmed glasses perched on his nose lent an air of sharp authority to his otherwise serene demeanor.
"Sir," Carl began hesitantly, standing rigidly a few steps away, "after a professional examination, the handwriting in the notebook matches Ms. Glen's signature on the marriage documents."
He paused, carefully weighing his next words. "It seems Emilia was telling the truth."
Orlando snapped the folder shut, his dark eyes clouded with an inscrutable expression.
Over the years, he had endured too many lies and manipulations to trust
