Morning sunlight spilled through the tall windows of Adrian’s penthouse, but the warmth of it couldn’t touch the cold tension inside. Rosemary sat at the long dining table, a cup of untouched coffee before her. Adrian stood by the window, phone pressed to his ear, his voice low and controlled.

“Freeze her accounts. All of them. I don’t care if they’re under aliases—track every transfer from her clinic.” His tone was sharp, calculated. “I want Casandra with no place left to hide.”

He hung up, exhaling hard. His reflection in the glass looked nothing like the calm businessman he once was—it looked like a man ready for war.

“Adrian,” Rosemary...