บททั้งหมดของ Ruthless Hearts: บทที่ 21 - บทที่ 30

“I can give you information,” Mason replied steadily. “My family trusts me. I can tell you everything that goes down in the parties and what the charities really—”Raye shook her head. “We don’t care about their luncheons or their public charities. What we need are leverage points. Names of their allies. Proof of what they’ve buried. Where they keep it and who they use to hide it. Can you give me that?”Mason shifted, obviously uncomfortable. “Don’t you think we should tone it down a bit? Take a cleaner path? Your… confrontational methods aren’t winning you any friends.”Raye let out a short laugh, bitter at the edges. “You think this is confrontational? The Elite have ruined families, bankrupted dynasties, and rewrote history itself. They’ve built their fortune on the backs of people like us. You can’t dismantle people like that by smiling pretty at dinner parties. The truth has to be dragged into the light, clawing and screaming.”Mason’s jaw tightened, but he didn't argue. He just

he hall outside Evelyn’s office smelled faintly of lemon polish and something sharper like bleach, maybe. Everything in this wing was quiet, the carpets thick enough to swallow sound, the light softened to a constant dusk by the tall windows and heavy curtains. It felt like a place where secrets were supposed to live.Mason walked ahead of me with one hand in his pocket, and his stride unhurried. He wasn’t even trying to mask what we were doing. That was Mason’s way; move with the confidence of someone who belongs, and people rarely stop to ask questions.“Are you sure no one will be here?” I asked. My voice was low, more of a breath than a whisper.“My mother’s out at her board luncheon,” Mason said. “She won’t be back until late afternoon.”“And the staff?”“They know better than to come in here.” He gave me a quick smile, the kind that was meant to reassure me. “You worry too much.”Easy for him to say. He wasn’t the one sneaking around someone else’s house, trying to carve a hole

LaniIt was late at night, and I was starting to wonder if this was what madness felt like.The folder was burning against my skin like it had a pulse, like it was alive. I had shoved it under my mattress earlier, then yanked it out again, then stuffed it back. Every time I tried to sit still, it was like the leather called out to me, whispering what was inside. The contracts. The boardroom votes. The photographs of my family that the Caldwells had been keeping in neat, damning rows.I paced my room barefoot, feeling the cool floor beneath me as the late hour pressed against my window. A storm was moving in; I could smell the rain and hear the low rumble of thunder far off in the hills.‘Tell him,’ a voice in me said.‘Don’t,’ another hissed back.My hand touched the folder again. It was my family’s history, carved up and gutted by Richard and Evelyn Caldwell. Grey Industries, stripped and consumed, my father blackballed into ruin, my mother reduced to a lifetime of suffering. And me

The curtains in our living room didn’t close all the way anymore, and that was how I knew the cameras were still outside. Even without looking, I felt the flicker of light through the gaps— the low thrum of reporters talking into microphones, their words muffled but steady. They’d been there since Evelyn’s press conference, camping out on our dead-end street like wolves who’d finally sniffed out blood. It had been for one week. One week since Evelyn Caldwell went on live television and gutted me in front of the entire world. One week since Mason looked me in the eye and told me it was over. And one week since my family's life had been destroyed alongside mine.The house had grown smaller in the days since I came back.Not in size— our crooked little two-bedroom hadn’t changed— but in air, in space. Every corner felt tighter, every wall leaned closer. The air smelled faintly of mildew and cigarette smoke, and sometimes, when my father stumbled in late, of cheap whiskey.Home was supp

“Hello?” Dean’s voice was sharp, clipped, threaded with the same authority that had always set him apart from Mason. Even through the static, I heard the weight in it, the controlled calm of someone who knew people always listened when he spoke.For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. All the words I’d rehearsed in my head crumbled.“Dean,” I whispered. “It’s me.”Silence stretched on the other end, long enough that my stomach started doing back flips. Then: “Lani.” He didn’t say it like my name meant anything. Just a flat acknowledgement.“I— I need your help,” I blurted. The words tumbled out, shaky and fast. “You’ve seen what they’re saying about me. You know it’s not true. You know Evelyn made me become Liana Vale. You were there. You’ve been to my home, you’ve seen my real life. You’re the only one who can stop this, Dean. You can tell the truth. You can tell them I didn’t lie to anyone.”I waited for relief, for him to say yes, for him to say that he would help me get out of this mess