bChapter /bb209 /b

ADRIAN’S POV

The officers nodded and stepped past me into the living room, the hard soles of their boots echoing sharply bacross /bbthe /bpolished floor. For a moment, their presence seemed to sh against the calm luxury of the space

They nced around, but it was barely more than a polite nce. Their eyes skimmed over the oil paintings on bthe /bbwalls/bb, /bthe sculpted vases, and the intricate patterns of the rug beneath their feet. A part of me couldn’t help but notice. bI /bbhad /bspent years and a fortune curating this living room to perfection. Anyone stepping in for the first time usually took ba /bmoment to simply look.

But not them.

They moved with an unsettling certainty, barely hesitating before turning away from the living room entirely and heading straight for the hallway that led to my study. I watched them, my gaze narrowing, the practiced civility slipping just enough to reveal the edge of annoyance growing underneath.

They reached the study door and found it locked, just as it always was.

“Do you mind helping us with the key, sir?” one of the officers asked, his voice polite but clipped, as though we both knew this wasn’t really a request.

I didn’t answer right away. Instead, I turned slightly toward my maid, who stood a respectful distance behind me, hands folded neatly in front of her apron. I gave her a single nod. No words needed. She understood immediately, turning briskly on her heel and heading up the staircase to fetch the keys from my room.

“She’ll bring it down in a bit,” I said, my tone casual, though my eyes remained locked on the officers. “But I have to admit, I’m curious about something.”

They paused, looking at me.

“My house isn’t small,” I continued, my voice slow, controlled. “Even if I was hiding something, it could take you days to find it. Yet you two walk in here and head straight for my study, without checking so much as a single drawer in the living room. So tell me who gave you this leak?” I leaned back against the arm of the couch, folding my arms, a cold smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth.

The taller officer’s jaw tightened slightly, but he kept his voice neutral. “We’re not allowed to give out that information, bsir/b. We’re just here to do our jobs. So if you would please open the door and let us do that…”

Before I could respond, the quiet clinking of metal on metal drew our attention. My maid was alreadying bback /bbdown /bthe stairs, the keys dangling from her fingers. She crossed the living room quickly, her eyes lowered, and handed bthem /bbto /bollime. /li/ol

I weighed the keys in my palm for a brief moment. This felt like an unnecessary performance like handing ban /bbactor /bbhis /bbfinal /bprop before the curtain fell.

“This is just a waste of everyone’s time,” I said, almost bto /bmyselfb, /bbefore flicking bthe /bbkeys /bbtoward /bbthe /bbshorter /bbofficer/bb. /bbHe /bcaught them midairb, /bfumbling slightly, then bturned /bbto /bunlock bthe /bstudy bdoor/b.

b1/3 /b

27.00

10 b???/bb! /b

Chapter 209.

I followed them in, stepping lightly over the threshold, and rested my back against the wall just inside the doorway. bFrom /bhere, I could see every movement they made: the way their eyes scanned the room, the tension in their shoulders, bthe /bflicker of doubt that crossed their faces when they saw nothing immediately incriminating.

I watched them closely, a small scoff escaping my lips. Whoever had sent them clearly didn’t know me well. Or didn’t know how careful I was about what stayed visible.

But then, something shifted.

One of the officers moved behind my desk, running his fingers almost absently along the underside. His brow furrowed, as if he’d felt something unusual.

My posture straightened from the wall, a subtle frown tugging at my forehead.

And then, in the silence of the study, there was a soft click.

It was so quiet, it might have gone unnoticed by anyone else. But I heard it immediately: the hidden mechanism I’d installed under the desk. A small button meant to open a concealed drawer built into the desk’s design, something only! was supposed to know about.

The officers froze, their gazes snapping toward me for the briefest of moments. Our eyes locked, mine sharp, calcting; theirs surprised, but determined.

Then, without speaking, they bent down and pulled the drawer open. The polished wood gave way, revealing what I kept hidden there: myptop and a slim, ck leather notebook.

My jaw clenched. The room seemed to shrink, the walls pressing closer.

They didn’t even hesitate. One officer took theptop carefully, setting it atop the desk, while the other flipped open the notebook, scanning the pages inside.

“Hey, you can’t touch that,” I said, stepping forward, my voice edged with disbelief and rising irritation.

But before I could reach the desk, one of the officers moved sharply, blocking my path. His stance wasn’t aggressive, but it was firm enough to make it clear he wouldn’t let me pass.

“Actually, we can,” the second officer replied, his tone controlled but carrying a note of authority that grated against my nerves. “That’s the main reason we’re here with a warrant. And it looks like you had exactly what our lead described. So you know what that means…”

As he spoke, he reached behind his back and drew out a pair of handcuffs. The metallic clink as the cuffs slid free cut through the silence like a de.

My eyes narrowed, the cold mask slipping just a little as annoyance gave way to something closer to sh

“Wait,” I said, my voice dipping lowerb, /bslower. “What exactly are you trying to do?”

on’t tell me…

“We need you to apany us to the station,” the officer holding the cuffs said, his eyes steady on mine. “So we can discuss this further, Mr. Westwood?

I blinked, processing the absurdity of the moment. “Let me get this straight,” I said, the edge of a humorlessugh bin /bmy

b09:56 /bbTh? /b31 Jul 6

voice. “You want to arrest me because your mysterious ‘lead‘ ims these two items bmy /bbproperty/b, bby /bbthe /bbway /bat proof that I was involved in a murder case years ago?”

One of them didn’t flinch. “We want to bring you in for questioning, as our main suspect,” he corrected calmlyb, /balmost like he was reciting a script.

My eyes fixed on him, sharp and probing. “What’s your name?” I asked, voice cold, each word deliberate.

“That isn’t necessary, sir,” another officer cut in, stepping closer, the cuffs glinting faintly in the light filtering through bthe /bstudy window. “We’re the ones asking the questions here.”

“So you’re hiding the name of your lead,” I said, voice dropping even lower, “and you’re also hiding your own names? bMy /bgaze swept from one face to the next, searching for the slightest crack in theirposure.

They didn’t answer. Silence hung between us, thick and heavy.

“It doesn’t matter,” I continued, my tone turning frostier, my jaw tightening. “I will speak to yourmissioner directly. And when I do, you two will be going home for a very long time without your badges.”

For the first time, I caught something in their eyes. The briefest flicker of worry, almost too quick to catch passing between them as they exchanged a nce. A small, satisfying confirmation that my words had struck somewhere close to home.

“There’s no need to put me in cuffs,” I said, my voice settling into a calmer, sharper register. “I’ll get my phone, and I’lle with you.”

They hesitated, then nodded. One stepped ahead of me, the other fell in behind, their footsteps echoing off the marble floors as we left the study.

We passed through the hallway, sunlight now streaming fully through the tall windows, illuminating the carefully chosen art and the quiet luxury I’d built. But the calm that morning had started with was gone, reced by a tight knot in my chest.

Then, they opened the front idoor/i.

And the world outside roared to life.

The once–quiet driveway was flooded with people, reporters clutching microphones, photographers jockeying for position, camera lenses reflecting the bright morning sun back in harsh, rapid shes. Their voices rose instantly, ovepping iquestions /iflung into the air like knives.

Exactly what I was trying to avoid.