Without being told she could tell Something was wrong.
He had seen that look before… not in normal men, but in the kind who had stared down death and didn't blink. Something about Zane didn't add up. His confidence wasn't fake. It wasn't arrogance. It was the type of quiet certainty that came from power—real power.
The detective's fingers hesitated an inch above the cuffs, his instincts screaming that Zane wasn't bluffing.
And suddenly… he wasn't so sure anymore.
The room went tight with silence, but Emma's father couldn't hold it in anymore. His face flushed with rage, lips trembling, eyes wide like he was watching a nightmare play out in slow motion.
"You—what are you standing there for?!" he shouted, pointing at the detective. "Are you blind? Didn't you see what he just did? He pushed me! He laid his filthy hands on me in my own house!"
His voice echoed, the anger sharp and cutting, but the detective didn't budge.
