Chapter 3

As Brielle was cleaning the table, her elbow bumped the storage box, and a few sketches fell out.

She rushed to grab them, but slipped and ended up stepping right on the family portrait. Her heel left a clear mark on the paper.

Brielle gasped, her face instantly turning pale. "I'm so sorry, Ivanna. I swear I didn't mean to."

Charles's brows furrowed, but he wasn't angry at Brielle. Instead, he turned to me. "Ivanna, why didn't you put the box away properly?"

He bent down, picked up the sketches, and rubbed at the mark with his finger, his tone carrying a hint of impatience. "Never mind. I'll get it framed later. That'll cover it up."

I watched him act like it was nothing, and I couldn't stop shaking.

"That was Lola's last drawing," I said, my voice trembling. "You told Brielle not to touch it. Couldn't she understand?"

Brielle was still desperately trying to wipe the sketch clean, but her tears fell on the sketch and made the smudges worse. "I swear I didn't mean to. Mr. Prescott, I..."

"That's enough!" I snapped, watching the sketch blur even more. I shoved her hard. "Who told you you could touch Lola's things?"

Brielle stumbled and hit the floor with a loud thud, tears spilling down her cheeks. "Ivanna, I..."

"Ivanna! Are you out of your mind?" Charles yelled, rushing over to help Brielle up. "She just stepped on a drawing. Did you really have to push her?"

He gave me a look that could kill. "Lola's gone, and I'm hurting as much as you are. But you can't keep acting like everyone's out to get you."

He grabbed Brielle and headed for the door, tossing over his shoulder as he left, "Take my name and Brielle's off the transfer list, or I'll divorce you right now."

I stared at the sketch Brielle had stepped on, my nails digging deep into my palms.

From the day Lola died, I stopped caring about Charles.

The Aronsburg Police Department called, saying they'd taken over the negotiation unit. All the staff transfers were set, and the list of officers being sent to the conflict zone was already out.

I was impressed by how fast they moved, but I made sure to ask for the footage from the day Lola was kidnapped.

I wanted everything: phone recordings, and even the surveillance from the command center.

I couldn't get my hands on any of it before because Charles kept stonewalling the request.

The senior colleagues always covered for him, making up excuses like equipment failures or damaged tapes.

But now, no one was going to cover for him anymore.

When the staff went to pull the footage, they called me back almost immediately, sounding uneasy. "The surveillance from Mr. Prescott's command post, and the call recordings between him and Brielle, have both been intentionally cut. The crucial bits are gone."

I gripped my phone so hard my knuckles turned white. It was obvious who did it: Charles.

Just to shield Brielle, Charles even dared to tamper with the most basic work records.

"Our tech team is working on restoring the original files. Don't worry, we'll do everything we can," the staff said.

I took a deep breath and promised, "If you can restore the files, every tech who helps out gets three months' bonus."

As soon as the transfer list went public, my phone wouldn't stop buzzing.

Those same officers who used to smile and say, "Don't worry, Ivanna, we'll look after Mr. Prescott for you," were now sending me sarcastic messages.

[Ivanna, if you can't keep your man, don't take it out on us. Nobody should be sent to a place like that. I'm reporting you to the brass right now.]

[Ivanna, please, cut me some slack. My wife's about to give birth, she needs me here. Can you leave us out of your mess with Mr. Prescott?]

[Are you nuts? When Mr. Prescott dumps you and Brielle takes your place, you'll be the one bawling.]

I took screenshots of every single message and sent them, along with their training files, to the cops.

I said, "Calculate their training costs according to the contract. Anyone who refuses to go to the conflict zone can pay back ten times what they owe."

I was already being more than generous.

I was the one who pulled strings to get them into the special training camp, the one who paid out of my own pocket for their field instructors. Not a single one of them would be wearing that uniform if it weren't for me.

I wasn't out to destroy anyone. I just wanted what was rightfully mine.

When Charles saw that his and Brielle's names were still on the list, he finally lost it. When he called, his voice was practically boiling over with rage.

He yelled, "How long are you going to keep this up? Are you trying to bring the whole unit to a standstill?

"Do you know how many tough cases are waiting to be handled today? How do you expect the people on that list to focus on their jobs?"