Chapter 3 - THE BLACK KEYIn the quiet hospital room, Dante pulled an old, tarnished black key from his pocket and laid it on the bedside table.
"Your mother saved my life when I was sixteen years old," Dante confessed, his tough exterior softening. "She pulled me out of a war I had no business fighting. When she passed away, she asked me to use whatever power I built to protect people who couldn't fight back."
He looked away, admitting something that nearly broke me: he had secretly been paying for Miles’s specialized heart treatments out of his own pocket every single time my father’s financial accounts mysteriously ran dry.
Three days later, the tabloids exploded. My father publicly denounced me as mentally unstable, while Julian held a press conference claiming Dante had violently abducted me from the altar. They expected public shame and humiliation to drag me crawling back to them.
Instead, I decided to play their game.
I went to Julian’s annual charity gala on Dante’s arm, stepping directly into the blinding glare of every camera they had invited.
Julian cornered us near the champagne fountain, his face red with fury. He called me confused and hysterical, while my father hissed under his breath, "Don't make a scene, Victoria."
I looked my father dead in the eye and gave him the only truth he deserved: "I am not making a scene. I am the scene."
Before Julian could grab my arm, a quiet waiter wove through the panicked crowd, carrying a heavy black envelope sealed with thick silver wax.
Dante caught it, tore it open right over my shoulder, and went completely, deathly still. For the first time all night, absolute terror flashed across Julian’s face from across the room.
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The first line of the note inside read that my mother’s death twelve years ago had never been an accidental car crash. And the final line spelled out our next move:
“Room B12. Beneath the ballroom. Come alone if you want the whole truth.”
