Becca
The TV volume is deafening. I don’t remember turning it up, but the noise fills the room, making the air feel thick and suffocating. My name is still scrolling across the bottom ticker, but it isn’t alone anymore. Now, his name is there, too.
JACE HALE ACCEPTS RESPONSIBILITY FOR LEAKS.
My heart hasn’t slowed since the moment he stepped behind that podium. No script, no legal team—just him, standing there and owning every bit of it. Like a goddamn i***t. Like someone who didn’t care if he was reduced to ash, as long as it kept the fire off me.
My throat tightens until it aches. “f**k,” I whisper.
The news analysts are already circling like sharks, throwing out words like unprecedented, potential criminal liability, could face prison time, and family war escalates. Every headline
