CHAPTER_DETAIL_H1

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Sienna yanked her collar up in a panic. "The mosquitoes were terrible last night. I kept waking up because I was getting bit."

Zachary suddenly seemed to lose his appetite. He stood up and shot Logan an order. "Have the staff light some citronella candles in the courtyard."

Logan nodded and trailed closely behind him.

They got into the luxury sedan. From the driver's seat, Logan watched his boss through the rearview mirror.

His wife had just demanded a divorce, yet the boss didn't even bat an eye.

Having worked for him for years, Logan was supposed to be a mind reader, but sometimes he had absolutely no clue what was going on in the man's head.

Everyone in the corporate world swore Zachary was an unfathomable mastermind, assuming Logan was kept around because he could perfectly decode his boss's hidden desires.

But Logan was completely lost right now. Gripping the steering wheel, he hesitantly asked, "Boss, do you want me to find out where Mrs. Shaw is working now?"

Zachary, dressed in an immaculate dark suit, had opened his laptop the second he sat down. He was always like this—an unfeeling machine.

He never lost control.

That overwhelming, aristocratic composure had been bred into him by decades of unimaginable wealth and power.

"No."

His voice was completely flat, his fingers continuing to fly across the keyboard without skipping a beat.

Logan let out a silent sigh, officially accepting that he was a terrible mind reader.

A few years ago, Winona had been a law student. But after fleeing the country, she had met a legendary mentor and dove headfirst into investigative journalism.

Two years ago, she had blown open an international child trafficking ring—a story she got by going undercover for three months, risking her life to secretly film the horrific truth.

Her mentor had always told her she possessed a reckless, suicidal courage that most journalists lacked.

Being a journalist meant exposing the truth, no matter how ugly, dangerous, or terrifying that truth happened to be.

Three years ago, she had lost her baby and found out she was a nobody instead of the Wynn family heiress. And her husband, the one person who was supposed to protect her, had simply scooped up a crying Sienna and walked away, leaving Winona bleeding on the floor.

The compounding trauma had actually triggered a psychosomatic mute phase; she physically couldn't speak for months.

That was the state she had been in when she met her mentor. He told her that since she clearly didn't care about living anymore, she might as well channel that apathy into something productive.

He had tossed a stack of photos of abused children onto the table. "These kids are kidnapped whole. If they fight back, their limbs are broken, and they're thrown onto the streets to beg. The compliant ones are sold. You were almost a mother. Doesn't this piss you off?"