“I want someone to find out who tried to kill Jude,” Jackson said coldly.
They might be in a foreign country now, but the Quincy family wasn’t the kind you could just mess with and walk away unscathed.
Jocelyn’s expression flickered, but Jackson was busy texting on his phone and didn’t notice.
She watched as he sent message after message, anxiety twisting tighter in her chest.
She knew exactly what her brother was capable of.
If he kept digging, it wouldn’t be long before he uncovered the truth.
And the one who’d ordered the hit on Jude—was her.
A moment ago, she’d considered pretending to be concerned about Jude, but the thought made her hesitate. She and Jude had never gotten along; if she suddenly started acting worried in front of her brother, he’d be suspicious in an instant.
It was safer to stick to her usual routine: a cold sneer and a sarcastic remark whenever Jude’s name came up.
Sure enough, Jackson didn’t sense anything out of the ordinary.
But if he kept investigating…
“Jackson,” Jocelyn broke the silence, “do we even need to look into it? Think about it—aside from us, who else is even around here?”
Jackson paused, finally looking up at her.
“You’re suggesting… Elvis?”
“Who else could it be?” Jocelyn replied smoothly, keeping her tone even. “He’s got the means, doesn’t he?”
Those two were engaged, and—well, everyone knew how close they were.
Jackson lowered his gaze, his expression unreadable.
“Besides what?” Jocelyn pressed, frowning.
“It’s nothing,” Jackson said with a shake of his head. “Anyway, don’t overthink it. It’s late—get some rest.”
Jocelyn clenched her fists so tightly her nails nearly drew blood.
She’d tried to pin this on Elvis, but Jackson refused to believe it.
Fine. Even if he did find out it was her—so what?

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