BACK in the stark room where Queen and Rob sat like prisoners stripped of their crowns, the air felt heavy with the sharp scent of expensive cologne and the underlying tension of unspoken rage. Oswald stood by the door, his hands tucked in his pockets, eyes drilling holes through Queen, who could barely meet his gaze. Rob sat hunched at her side, staring at the floor like a scolded child.

Queen’s voice cracked as she tried to speak again, her tone trembling with a desperate sweetness that felt foreign to her lips now.

“Oswald, please… you know I did what you tagging as crime because I love you. I wanted...