This city’s got a heartbeat… but it ain’t steady. It limps. Bleeds. Coughs up secrets no one wants to clean. We call it Grayridge, but there ain’t been a clear day here in years." > "Truth is — justice left town a long time ago. What’s left behind? Bad coffee, crooked cops, and ghosts in the gutters. That’s where I come in." > "Name’s Dominic Rafe. Detective. Homicide. Or what's left of it." (Sounds of rain tapping on a metal roof. A siren wails in the distance. A lighter clicks. Footsteps echo in an alley.) > "I don’t wear a badge for glory. I wear it 'cause somebody has to. Somebody who ain’t afraid to dig through the dirt and shake hands with monsters." > "My office is a ten-by-ten closet with peeling paint and a file drawer full of unsolved nightmares. I work alone. Not because I’m a hero… but because trusting the wrong person gets you killed faster than the truth." > "And tonight… the truth just walked in wearing blood and a familiar name."

Every morning at the Langford estate began the same way—sunlight poured through the grand windows, birds chirped in the gardens, and the faint hum of music drifted from the kitchen. But ever since Lola Belle took over as the new housekeeper, things weren’t so ordinary anymore. She didn’t just dust the furniture — she danced with the duster, hips swaying to the beat, leaving a trail of polished wood and puzzled hearts. The young lord of the manor, Ethan, was the first to notice. Then the gardener. Then the cook. Each one caught up in her playful charm, but none could quite figure her out. Why did she always have a secret smile? Why did she lock the master bedroom door when she cleaned it? And why did the security cameras suddenly start malfunctioning?

May is a woman of rare grace and iron will — with eyes that have seen too much and a heart still aching to give more. Born into a broken home, her earliest breath was drawn in sorrow. Her mother, gentle and radiant, passed when May was just a newborn. Her father, consumed by grief and the bottle, left shadows where there should have been warmth. In her youth, she ran — not from pain, but toward purpose. For a time, she found herself on a stage not of her choosing, working in a world of flashing lights and lonely souls. There, she learned something the noble never taught her: how deeply people ache to be seen, to be held, to be loved. But May’s story is not one of shame. It is one of transformation. She walked away from that world, not in bitterness, but with compassion burning like a torch in her chest. She has vowed to share love with those who truly deserve it — not the shallow kind, but the fierce, loyal, healing kind.

I’ve wandered far, traded thrones for thorns, and dreams for duty. But tonight, the stars led me to you