Chapter 105 The Heir That Isn't

• The air in the Kareem mansion had grown heavy—thick with the scent of anxiety and unspoken accusations. Despite the late hour, the study was alive with the soft ticking of an antique grandfather clock and the subtle crackle from the fireplace. The rest of the house was cloaked in silence, save for this room, where a storm had quietly begun to brew.
• Regan stood by the window, arms folded tightly across his chest, his jaw locked as he stared into the moonlit garden. A drink sat untouched on the side table beside him. Across the room, Chief Kareem paced the Persian rug like a man preparing for war, while Mrs. Kareem sat on the couch in her silk robe, holding her phone in one hand and a silk handkerchief in the other.
• Between them, tension hung like smoke.