Chapter 93 The Wrong Woman
His phone buzzed. A response from Andrew Webb: “On it. Preliminary findings in 72 hours. Full report in a week. Wire the retainer to the usual account.”
Xan typed back a quick confirmation and then stared at the phone for a long time.
What was he hoping to find? Proof that Sarah had lied, that Elera was innocent, that he’d spent three years planning revenge against a woman who didn’t deserve it? And if he found that proof, what would he do with it?
The problem was, he already knew the answer. He’d ignore it. He’d bury it. Because admitting he was wrong, admitting he’d become a monster for no good reason, was more than his ego could take.
But another part of him, a quieter, more honest part, whispered: Or maybe you’ll finally do the right thing. Maybe you’ll stop this before someone gets killed.
Xan looked over at Sarah again. She was smiling in her sleep, a small, eerie smile that made his skin crawl. What was she dreaming about? Their revenge? Elera’s downfall? Or something darker, something from hat fractured mind that even he couldn’t fully understand?
‘God help me,” Xan whispered to the darkness. “I think I’m in love with the wrong woman.”
And wasn’t that the truest thing he’d said all night?
The morning after the revelation was chaos of a different kind.
Elera woke up in her own bed again, having fled there after the awkward, painful conversation with Drakonius. Her phone was buzzing so hard it had vibrated itself halfway across the nightstand. She reached for it blearily, squinting at the screen.
Two hundred and forty–seven notifications. And it was only seven in the morning.
She scrolled through them with a growing sense of unreality. Email from her publisher begging her to do interviews. Text from Clara with about fifty exclamation points. Voicemail from three different morning shows. DMs from fans, from critics, from people she’d gone to high school with and hadn’t spoken to in a decade.
Everyone wanted a piece of Raven Shadowmnere now that they knew who she was
There was a soft knock on her door. “Come in,” she called, her voice rough with sleep.
It was Simon, carrying a tray with coffee and what looked like actual food and not just pastries. Bless him
“Good morning, Mrs. Vex,” he said with his usual professional calm, like the entire world hadn’t exploded. last night. “Mr. Vex thought you might need sustenance. And in to inform you that the west wing lab has been fully secured. Frost has implemented new protocols given the increased public attention

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