The letter was written in elegant but sharp handwriting, its tone a mixture of teasing and foreboding:
"Dear Lady Qiao,
You look hot… I mean—
You stand at the edge of a precipice. The man you call your husband delves deeper into darkness, blinded by ambition. He risks not only his life but also yours and your household's future. Should you wish to escape the abyss he has bound you to, I offer you a path. Seek me out at the end of this week, and we shall discuss the terms of your freedom.
—T.W."
Lady Qiao's hands trembled as she read the signature. Tyler White. The name was unfamiliar, but the precision and confidence of the letter's tone unsettled her. She glanced toward her husband, who was pacing in a nearby room, shouting orders at his hired grandmasters. Carefully folding the letter, she tucked it into the folds of her dress, her mind racing with questions.
Could this be a trap? Or salvation?
