The silence of the study was a heavy, suffocating thing. Valentina remained on the floor, her back pressed against the cold mahogany door, listening to the frantic drumbeat of her own heart. The scent of the room, old leather, dried roses, and the lingering, metallic tang of her own terror seemed to press in on her.Kennedy Hale is running.The thought should have brought her comfort, but instead, it felt like a cold blade sliding between her ribs. If Kennedy was liquidating assets, if he was preparing to vanish, he would take the truth with him. Or worse, he would realize that the ghost haunting the Kingston estate wasn’t a hallucination, but a living, breathing threat that needed to be silenced permanently this time.She looked again at the photograph of Misha Kingston on the desk. The woman’s cold, triumphant gaze seemed to mock her. You think you can play this game? the image seemed to ask. You think you can survive in a world where even the air costs a fortune?Valentina stood up
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