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The champagne flute in Lucian Moretti’s hand didn't tremble. Not a drop spilled over the crystal rim as he steered Selena past the low murmur of the financial elite, his thumb resting feather-light against the back of her wrist—just enough to anchor her, just enough to signal to every predatory eye in the room that she was currently classified under off-limits. / Chapter 10 / 20

Chapter 10 - The Queen’s GambitThe private helicopter touched down on the helipad of the Moretti Tower, the rotor blades slowly winding down into a heavy, rhythmic thrum against the howling wind of a Manhattan autumn storm.

Selena stepped out first, her tailored coat snapping in the gale, her heels clicking against the reinforced steel platform with absolute authority. Lucian followed closely behind, his hand resting securely at the small of her back—not a hold of ownership, but a partnership of equals standing at the top of the world.

They walked into the penthouse suite, the city lights below them sparkling like a million scattered diamonds.

Lucian poured two glasses of scotch, handing one to her before leaning back against the edge of the glass wall, his dark eyes gleaming with a mixture of respect and intense, burning fascination.

"The board approved the European expansion," Lucian said quietly, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "We now control eighty percent of the private debt in London and Frankfurt. You officially own half the board."

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The burner phone in my hand felt heavy, like a slab of cold iron pulled from a sunken ship. Across the line, Marcus let out a breath that sounded like a low whistle escaping a pressure valve. Nineteen years of rust, nineteen years of school plays, quiet dinners, and ledger sheets—all of it dissolved in the space of a single heartbeat.

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The man in the back of the Bentley was not a stranger, though it took me three agonizing seconds to place the face behind the silver-trimmed beard. Arthur Vance. The reclusive billionaire shipping tycoon, corporate sniper, and my father’s oldest, most estranged rival.

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The ink on the medical schedule wasn't standard printer black. It was darker, heavier, pressed down with the kind of deliberate malice that only a fountain pen could deliver. I stared at the signature at the bottom of the page, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.

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Selena took a slow sip of the scotch, feeling its fierce warmth spread through her chest. She looked out over the glittering expanse of the city—the skyline that had once felt so massive, so intimidating, and so entirely out of reach when she was just a secretary standing in the shadow of men who thought they owned the world.

"Good," she said, a slow, breathtaking smile curving her lips as she turned her gaze from the city to meet his dark, unwavering eyes. "Because we're just getting started."

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