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affection. It was an advantage. With hands that were still slightly trembling, he lit a cigarette and watched the smoke rise like a question mark. How did he allow her in so effortlessly? The intimacy had been quick and almost planned. Is that her present? to seduce, disarm, and forget that powerful men like him had enemies? The door was opened with a tentative knock. He said firmly, "Come in." Adrian entered the building while ba

In fact, she keeps mental notes every night about who arrives late, who leaves early, and which politician is agitated when federal funding is mentioned. Izzy builds her case file one interaction at a time using hidden microphones in her clutch and a tiny lens sewn into the corner of her sequined dress. She uses her charm more than just naturally. She looks for clues in every smile and hand gesture, studying body language like a second language. When they think no one is listening, the men who frequent Club Carve talk excessively freely. They discuss offshore accounts, backdoor deals, and budgets. Some flirt, others confess, and others, like Councilman Ray Donovan, overtrust her. She uses everything strategically. Her apartment has two locked cabinets, one for weapons and the other for sensitive documents. Behind framed photographs are her burner phones. Her laptop has military-grade encryption. She has no faith in anyone, not even her coworkers or the police. She is not foolish enough to believe that city hall is the end of all corruption. A portion of it begins in the newsroom. Izzy isn't cold, despite her cool exterior. She cares a lot, but only in certain ways. She has a gentle quality that has been carefully preserved like a relic. It only surfaces in rare instances, such as when she reads the court records of foster children who have been lost in the system and buys food for a street child. However, she is well aware of the negative effects of emotions. As a result, she conceals them and wears them discreetly under her armor like silk. She is currently working on what she refers to as "The Spine File," a comprehensive collection of information that identifies connections between corrupt city council members, a real estate conglomerate, and a covert political action committee (PAC) that funnels illegal funds into campaign war chests. The file has the potential to end careers, break up syndicates, and even prompt federal intervention. But exposing it will cost money, and Izzy is willing to pay for it. She needs to. Justice is not the only issue here. It's about me. It doesn't have a return address, no stamp, just her name written in blood-red ink: Isabella Monroe, when it arrives in her mailbox. A single image of her and Councilman Donovan at Club Carve, with her hand on his chest and his mouth too close to her ear, is contained within. The glow of her concealed recording device that is protrud

to be a journalist or a hostess in her reflection.

air players do not win wars. Only by those who are willing to destroy the