By morning, the scandal had learned how to breathe.
It no longer lived only in private messages, dinner-room whispers, and the carefully preserved recordings sitting in Adrian Croft's possession.
Now it had teeth.
And Anthony Morrison, cornered and unraveling, had decided to give it a mouth.
⸻
Allison
Allison woke to her phone buzzing against the nightstand.
Not once.
Not twice.
Constantly.
A steady, ugly vibration that pulled her out of sleep before her mind had fully returned to her body.
She opened her eyes slowly.
For one brief second, she forgot where she was.
Then the room settled around her.
Lucian's house.
The east suite.
Soft morning light.
Books near the fireplace.
Tea tray refreshed sometime before dawn.
Safe.
Or as safe as anyone could feel while people were actively trying to ruin her life.
Her phone buzzed again.
Allison reached for it and squinted at the screen.
Simone had sent sixteen messages.
That alone was never good.
The first one read:
