How was I going to tell this to Olivia now? The question kept circling my head like an unwanted shadow as I buttoned my shirt in front of the mirror. The pain in my wound had reduced enough that I could finally go back to wearing t–shirts and proper suits, but even with the relief, my chest felt heavy. Not because of the injury, but because of the conversation I knew wasing.


    No matter how much I dreaded it, there was no avoiding it. Olivia had the right <i>to </i>know. She had waited a long time for the truth about the people hunting her, and now that a name had finally surfaced, she needed to hear it from me. If anything, she deserved that much honesty.


    I adjusted my cuffs slowly, trying to stall time even though I knew I was only dragging my own nerves further. The reflection staring back at me in the mirror looked calm, but inside I was uneasy. How was she going to react? Would she spiral into anger, or worse into fear?


    Either way, the truth couldn’t be hidden.


    With a decisive inhale, I grabbed my phone from the table and dialed her number.


    The line rang once before she picked up.


    “Hello,” she said.


    Her voice was steady, but I could detect the faint tension that had never really left since the attacks started.


    “Hey,” I said softly, trying not to let my own anxiety seep through. “What are you doing right now?”


    “I just finished having a conversation with my dad. Why do you ask?” she replied.


    I reached for my jacket, slipping it on while bncing the phone between my shoulder and ear. “I just got off the phone with themissioner. I think we might have found out who sent those hitmen after you both five years ago and at the opening ceremony.”


    There was a sharp pause on her end, the silence weighted. When she spoke again, her voice carried a sudden sharpness, a determination that almost cut through the phone. “Who?”


    Even through the line, I could hear her need for an answer, the hunger for rity after years of torment.


    “There’s no point telling <i>you </i>over the phone,” I said carefully, not wanting to blurt it out in haste. “Even I’m on my way to the station to confirm it. Meet me there so we can talk better.”


    The line went dead. She didn’t waste another second, not even to reply. Once she knew there was even the slightest trace of truth within her reach, she moved faster than anyone else.


    I slipped my phone into my pocket and exhaled. My hands found my car keys, and before I realized it, I was driving. My driver had volunteered to drive me there both because he was my driver and I was still healing from an injury, but today I was driving myself.


    My thoughts were racing, trying to prepare myself for the confrontation, for the disbelief, for everything that


    10:56 Wed, <b>Sep </b>24 <b>J </b>


    might follow.


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    I reached the station quicker than I expected. The road felt unusually short, or maybe it was my impatience pushing the car forward.


    As I pulled into the lot, I saw her car already parked near the entrance. She had beaten me here, just <b>as </b>I knew she would.


    When she spotted my car, she stepped out of hers almost instantly. No hesitation, no wasted time. She was waiting for me not in the casual way she sometimes did, but deliberately, with purpose. She knew we had to walk in together. After all, themissioner believed we were married, and Olivia was nothing if not sharp enough to keep up appearances.


    “Who’s the person?” she demanded the moment I approached her.


    There were no greetings, no warm exchanges. Her tone was clipped, serious, every word coated with impatience.


    I let out a small sigh, stopping a few feet from her. “I think it’s Isadora,” I said quietly.


    She froze, her brows knitting together. “Hold on, your Isadora?”


    “Yes,” I admitted, forcing the word out. “But that’s why we’re both here. To confirm it.”


    Her reaction wasn’t what I expected. Instead of rage or disbelief, both her brows shot up in surprise before a strange little smile tugged at her lips. It wasn’t the smile of someone amused by a joke it was something darker, sharper.


    She looked more amused than shocked, as though a part of her had always known Isadora was capable of something like this.


    “That little whore,” she muttered under her breath, her words meant more for herself than for me.


    Her calm reaction unsettled me more than her anger would have. But I pushed that thought aside, gesturing toward the station doors. “Let’s go in.”


    We walked side by side, our footsteps echoing across the tiled floor as we entered themissioner’s office. He was already expecting us. We had spoken earlier, so everything was arranged.


    Themissioner gave us a short nod as we stepped in, his face serious. He didn’t waste time with pleasantries.


    “Are you ready?” he asked.


    I gave a small nod. Without hesitation, I reached into my pocket and pulled out the picture of Isadora I had brought with me. My chest tightened as I handed it over to the officer in charge of the investigation.


    The officer took the photograph and headed straight into the interrogation room where the robbers were being held.


    Olivia, themissioner, and I moved into the observation room, the one with therge ss window that


    10:56 Wed, Sep 24 ..


    …


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    allowed us to watch without being seen. The air inside was thick with tension. I could feel Olivia’s presence beside me, rigid, her eyes glued to the ss as though she was trying to burn a hole through it.


    The officer held up the photo, turning it so the three men could see.


    “Is this the person who sent you?” he asked clearly.


    The silence stretched for a heartbeat, and then all three men nodded at the exact same time. No hesitation, no second–guessing. Their answer was unified.


    “Yes,” one of them spoke. “That’s her.”


    The confirmation hit me harder than I anticipated. I closed my eyes briefly, a rush of anger and disbelief mixing inside me.


    A small breath escaped my lips as I pinched the bridge of my nose. Just when I thought she had already done her worst lying about the pregnancy, ying with my emotions, my trust she had to sink even lower. To target Olivia’s life. To orchestrate every attempt, every drop of blood spilled.


    Beside me, Olivia’s silence was deafening. She didn’t flinch, didn’t gasp, didn’t show a shred of surprise. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, her expression unreadable.


    For a moment, I almost envied herposure.


    As for me, my chest burned. Isadora had crossed a line I never thought she would dare cross.


    ΔΩ