ARTHUR POV
I had spent the last seven days trying to turn anger into something useful.
Anger was easy. It had form. Heat. Purpose. When I entered, it filled the room. Lesser men stiffened, lowered their eyes. But this—this slow, grinding humiliation—was harder. Seven days of calls. Messages. Visits. Silent pressure from men who smiled with their mouths but threatened with their eyes. Seven days of being asked the same question in shifting tones.
Where is she? How was she able to escape? The board is not pleased with your negligence in this matter!
As if I hadn’t torn half the property apart looking for her. As if my own failure hadn’t already become a stain I could feel.
I stood at the window of my office and looked out across the grounds. My jaw was locked. One hand pressed against t
