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The digital deadbolt beeped, a sharp electronic chord slicing through the frozen silence of the kitchen at 6:15 AM. / Chapter 4 / 19

Chapter 4

The entire living room plunged into an eerie, suffocating dead silence. You could hear the faint hum of the refrigerator in the open kitchen down the hall.

Fiona slowly stood up from the leather sofa, her mink shawl slipping slightly off her bony shoulder. Her eyes bulged as she stared past my shoulder at the camera crews crowding into the private hallway.

“What... what is the meaning of this? Julian! Why are reporters in our home? Get these trashy people out of here right now!” Fiona shrieked, her voice cracking with sudden, rising panic as she pointed a trembling, manicured finger at the camera lenses flashing in her face.

Julian finally found his voice, though his face was an ugly shade of pale purple, sweat pouring down his temples in thick beads. He lunged forward, his hands clenched into tight fists, his eyes blazing with murderous fury.

“Sloan! Have you completely lost your mind?!” Julian screamed, his voice echoing off the high ceilings as he tried to physically block the camera view. “You staged some ridiculous stunt with cheap media clout while my mother’s party is ruined?! I am going to destroy you! I’ll file charges, I’ll—!”

“You’ll do absolutely nothing, Julian,” a cool, authoritative voice cut through the air like a gunshot.

Darcy stepped forward, smoothly pulling a thick sheaf of legal documentation from her leather portfolio and holding it up directly in front of Julian’s face.

“I am Darcy Vance, Senior Partner at Vance & Sterling Litigators,” Darcy announced crisply, her voice carrying the terrifying weight of absolute legal supremacy. “Julian Vance, you are hereby officially served with a comprehensive dissolution of marriage petition, an emergency asset-freezing injunction covering all corporate and personal accounts, a restraining order barring you within five hundred feet of my client Sloan Vance, and a federal preservation notice regarding your internal corporate embezzlement of client entertainment funds at Apex Capital.”

The color drained completely from Julian’s face. He staggered backward, stumbling against the edge of a mahogany side table, sending a crystal vase crashing to the floor in a shower of glittering shards.

“Embezzlement? What are you talking about? That’s a lie! You can’t prove—!” Julian stammered, his voice pitching up into a hysterical, high-pitched whine.

“Oh, we can prove it down to the exact penny,” I interrupted softly, stepping forward until I stood just inches away from his trembling face. I reached into my Chanel jacket pocket, pulled out a flash drive, and tossed it casually onto the marble coffee table right in front of Fiona’s horrified eyes.

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I stepped past the door frame, my leather shoes clicking softly against the linoleum floor.

I stepped past the door frame, my leather shoes clicking softly against...

The screech of the chopper’s rotor blades vibrated directly through the freezing slate beneath my spine. The blinding white vortex of snow kicked up by the downdraft burned my eyes, but I forced my lids open, locking my gaze onto the amber visor of the rescue specialist dropping out of the sky.

The screech of the chopper’s rotor blades vibrated directly through the...

Daniel stepped toward the bed, his polished leather shoes squeaking against the pristine hospital linoleum. He reached for the tray table, his fingers brushing the edge of the papers. His voice was low, coated in a practiced, corporate calm that made my stomach churn worse than the spiked blood pressure.

Daniel stepped toward the bed, his polished leather shoes squeaking agai...

“Course number one through fifty-nine, Julian,” I whispered, my eyes burning with cold, unyielding fire. “Every single receipt for the designer handbags you bought your secret mistress behind my back using my mortgage payments. Every forged corporate expense report you filed to fund Fiona’s luxury vacations while I worked eighty-hour weeks. Every screaming, abusive threat you recorded when you locked me in the kitchen last night—currently streaming live to a federal compliance officer and thirty-four investigative journalists.”

A collective gasp swept through the room of elite socialites. Whispers erupted like a swarm of angry hornets. Several of Fiona’s closest high-society friends instantly stepped backward, clutching their purses and distancing themselves from the disgraced family as if they carried a deadly plague.

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