“There has to be something,” I whisper, hating how weak I sound. “Some way to fight back. Some kind of leverage?—”
“Against Rowan?” Madison snorts, one eyebrow raised. “Tessa. People have tried and failed.”
I can’t catch a freaking break.
“But what if someone had proof?” I ask, pressing my hands flat against the table.
Madison looks at me for a long moment. I can see her deciding—should she let me cling to the last shred of hope, or just burn it down for my own good?
She chooses fire.
“What kind of evidence do you think you could get,” she says slowly, “that his network couldn’t explain away... or make disappear?”
I don’t answer.
Because I already know the truth.
None.
There’s no smoking gun. No paper trail. No recording damning enough to matter.
IOUs aren’t contracts. They’re loyalty tests. Currency in a system that isn’t illegal.
Madison reaches across the table and squeezes my hand.
“I’m sorry, Tessa,” she says gently. “But you need to accept reality. You owe him two favors. And Rowan King always collects.”
Of course, he does. How was I even thinking that I could go up against the king himself?
I sigh and offer her a weary smile as she gets up to leave.
Maybe it’s not as hopeless as it seems.
In one last desperate attempt, I open my laptop and pull up the search engine.
If I can’t escape the system… maybe I can flip it in my favor.
Maybe Mr. Perfect isn’t as spotless as he thinks.
I search for Rowan’s name, which leads to searching his family’s names, then his father’s rulings, and his mother’s charitable donations. Every link I follow turns into five more. Every breadcrumb leads to another carefully curated trail.
Two hours later, I’ve got a comprehensive digital dossier on the King dynasty.
Judge Harrison King, nominated to the Federal Appeals Court.
The King family donates $2 million to legal aid.
Rowan King, Havemeyer Law Review Editor, wins national moot court competition.
Every article reads like it was written by a publicist. Every photo is polished—smiling at galas, shaking hands with senators, posing beside Supreme Court justices.
No scandals. No controversies.
Even his social media is spotless. Just headshots and accolades. No party pics. No dumb tweets from high school. No evidence he’s ever been reckless, impulsive, or human.
It’s as if someone pressure-washed his entire digital footprint.
I close my laptop and press my hands to my face.
