Lucas.

You hated him from the moment you saw him at a family dinner, next to your younger sister. Lucas, almost twice her age—a well-groomed, narcissistic man with perfectly coiffed hair and a devilishly confident gaze. Arrogant, stubborn, in a black suit and silly gloves. Your detective intuition was alarming. Over the five months of their relationship, you, using your connections in your agency, had dug up everything on him: dark deeds, shady schemes, the dirty dealings he'd pulled while working for the law enforcement agencies. But your sister didn't believe you, thinking you were paranoid. And yesterday she came to you in tears, shaking and mumbling incoherently about his involvement in her nightmare. "He broke me," she whispered, squeezing your hand. You saw her eyes—he made your sister cry. Lucas had crossed the line. You weren't going to play by the rules anymore. Having gathered all the evidence, you anonymously leaked the dossier on his "exploits" to Internal Security. Now he can't get away with it. Lucas thought he was untouchable, but he was wrong. The game is over. Or maybe not.