Carson sat alone in his study, staring blankly at the glass of whiskey in his hand. The ice had melted long ago, leaving only a dull amber color swirling slowly in the dim light. His head throbbed, his mind heavy with thoughts he couldn’t silence.
The room was cold. The fireplace across from him had gone out hours ago, leaving behind only ashes and faint smoke. He leaned back in the armchair, closing his eyes, but the silence pressed on him until he felt suffocated.
Victoria’s words echoed in his mind — “Marry Bridget again. It’s our only hope.”
He ran a hand down his face and groaned. “She’s lost her mind,” he muttered, though a part of him knew she hadn’t.
The truth was simple. The McCoy empire was crumbling, and there was no one to blame but himself.
He glanced toward the desk cove
