?Chapter 1363:


    The photographer blinked. “One hour?”


    Alexander didn’t flinch. “You’ve got a team. Use them. Make it wless. Money’s not an issue.”


    He pulled out a check and handed it over without ceremony. The moment the photographer saw the number, his doubt vanished.


    Later that evening, as he looked at the photos, Hamilton opened the email and froze. Staring at the attached images, he didn’t wait—he called Alexander straight away.


    “Are these photos real?”


    Without hesitation, Alexander replied, “Absolutely. Ask anyone. Dani was obsessed with me for years. We’re getting close again. It was bound to happen eventually.”


    Though Hamilton said nothing, he remembered the cold look on Dani’s face thest time he saw her—nothing like the affection captured in the photos.


    “Mr. McCoy, show them to Cedric if you want. They’re authentic photos. He’ll believe them,” Alexander added.


    Once the call ended, Hamilton leaned back in his chair, still staring at the photos.


    Wasting no time, his secretary brought in an expert to examine the photos. Thirty minutester, the results were in.


    “Mr. McCoy, we ran a full analysis. The photos are digitally altered,” the assistant said. “Still, the experts were impressed. They said anyone without a trained eye would bepletely fooled. It’s nearly good enough to pass as real.”


    A dry sneer tugged at Hamilton’s lips.


    So much for Alexander’s bravado—he couldn’t even manage a couple of convincing photos after all that talk about Dani being infatuated with him. Right then, his phone buzzed again with a message.


    “Mr. McCoy, Oiscoll’s airspace is locked down. I can’t get through. Can you send a private jet to pick me up? Trust me—once I arrive, Cedric and Dani will be over for good!”


    Stay updated with galnσν??????.c?m


    ncing up, the secretary raised a brow. “Should we send a ne for him, Mr. McCoy?”


    Hamilton didn’t bother hiding his irritation. “No. Tell him to wait for air traffic to clear and find his own flight.” His gaze flickered toward the photos spread across the table—fabricated intimacy.


    Later that evening, Hamilton walked into his home with his usual heavy silence. Without a word, he ced the folder of photos on the living room table before heading upstairs.


    When Niks stepped through the front door a few minutester, the housekeeper greeted him warmly. “Your father’s tied up with an online meeting tonight. He said he won’t be joining for dinner. Are you hungry? Should I make something?”


    Niks replied, “I didn’t have lunch, so could you prepare something?”


    His attention drifted mid-sentence, drawn to the photos lying open on the table—its contents visible under the softmp light.


    Noticing the pause, the housekeeper leaned out from the kitchen. “What would you like to eat?”


    Niks stood motionless, his gaze locked onto the photos in his hands, his mind frozen, struggling to process the moment.


    “Mr. McCoy?” The housekeeper’s voice broke the silence, calling him once more.


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