Ethan’s shoulders stiffened, and for the first time I saw the cracks beneath the surface of his mask. The confident, untouchable version of him—gone. Every strategy, every hidden maneuver he had plotted for months, now faced documentation, legal proof, and my observation.

The clerk at the counter spoke quietly to Ethan, a subtle reminder of process. “Without both parties’ consent, this cannot proceed.” Her words were procedural, but they rang like a bell, echoing in the sudden tension of the space.

Morgan tilted her head, studied me for a long, deliberate moment, then allowed a slow, measured smile. “Interesting,” she said. Her tone was neither friendly nor hostile, just calculated. “You didn’t just catch him—you anticipated him.”

I let her words settle. It wasn’t pride or triumph—it was recognition of the situation’s gravity. Friday was still coming, but this time, it wasn’t his day to control.