Of

The following morning was heavy with tension.

Rosemary hadn’t slept. The file Adrian had brought still lay on her desk, opened and marked with notes she had scribbled through the night. Each page confirmed what she feared most — Casandra had been behind everything. Every investor withdrawal, every false report, every anonymous message.

When Adrian knocked on her door again, she was waiting.

“You’re early,” she said, her voice flat but controlled.

“I didn’t sleep either,” he admitted, stepping inside. He looked around her studio — the scattered sketches, the cold coffee, the fatigue in her eyes. “You’ve been working all night.”

“I don’t have a choice,” she replied....