Jonathan wasn't sure why, but a deep unease coiled in his gut—an instinct, raw and unshakable.
His mind drifted to a fleeting encounter, a man he had met only once, yet one who left an indelible impression.
Philip Winchester.
That old man, with his quiet but undeniable presence, his sheer power humming beneath the surface like a storm waiting to strike. Jonathan had sensed it then—this was not a man to cross.
And now, Joanne had been hurt.
He didn't doubt it for a second. Philip Winchester would not take this lightly.
Neither would he.
Whoever dared to lay their hands on Joanne, whoever thought they could hurt her and walk away unscathed, had just signed a contract with the devil.
And if they had help? If this was orchestrated?
Then every last one of them needed to be dealt with. Ruthlessly.
Jonathan exhaled, forcing himself to focus. His fury could wait—he needed answers first.
He glanced down at Charlotte, still trembling, her tiny hand clutching his.
