CHAPTER 2 — PRESTON WHITCOMB’S LAST LIE
Enzo stood abruptly.
Harper flinched, thinking he was leaving.
Instead, he walked to the door and opened it.
Two guards immediately straightened outside.
“Bring Preston Whitcomb,” Enzo said calmly.
One guard hesitated.
“It’s past—”
Enzo’s eyes lifted.
That was enough.
The man moved.
Preston arrived twenty minutes later.
Still in his ruined confidence. Still trying to wear power like a suit that no longer fit him.
Until he saw Harper.
And stopped.
Not because she was there.
Because of how she looked.
Because of what had been exposed.
“What is this?” Preston snapped too quickly. “What did you do to her?”
Enzo stepped between them.
“No,” he said quietly. “What did you do to her?”
A pause.
Too long.
Too guilty.
Preston’s expression flickered—just for a second.
And Enzo saw it.
Not denial.
Recognition.
Harper’s voice cut through it, fragile but sharp.
“Tell him,” she whispered.
Preston’s eyes hardened instantly.
“Harper, don’t—”
“Tell him what you called it,” she said.
The room froze.
Even the guards shifted slightly.
Preston’s voice dropped.
“Private discipline,” he said flatly.
Something inside Enzo cracked—but not loudly.
Quietly.
Like ice splitting under pressure.
Harper laughed once.
Small.
Broken.
“It wasn’t discipline,” she said.
Then she looked at Enzo.
And for the first time, her voice didn’t shake.
“It was containment.”
Silence hit the room like a gunshot that never fired.
Enzo turned slowly toward Preston.
“Containment,” he repeated.
Preston exhaled like a man still bargaining with reality.
“She was unstable. She needed structure—”
Enzo moved.
Not fast.
Not dramatic.
Just enough.
His hand grabbed Preston by the collar and slammed him into the wall hard enough to rattle the chandelier light.
“You sold me revenge,” Enzo said low. “But what I bought was a crime scene.”
Preston choked.
May you like
“She’s my daughter—”
“No,” Enzo interrupted. “She’s evidence.”
