Kaia’s POV

The lights in the visitation room buzzed overhead—faint, relentless, like flies swarming the inside of my skull.

The table was cold. My wrists were colder. The handcuffs didn’t bite anymore. They just reminded me of what I used to hold—power, wealth, control—and how fast it all evaporated.

The guard told me I had a visitor.

I didn’t expect him.

Not him.

Brian Winterfield.

He strolled in like he owned the damn prison—pressed blazer, smug smile, and that air of ...