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The early morning air felt like cold water slapped against my face as I stepped out onto 5th Avenue. My thrift-store silver dress swished against my ankles, a noisy, glaring sign of a fantasy that was already evaporating into the dawn mist. / Chapter 5 / 8

Chapter 5 - THE PHANTOM IN THE MIRROR

My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. "You... you stalked me?"

"I protected you," Julian corrected, his eyes dark with an unreadable emotion. "Three years ago, Clarissa didn't just vanish. She stole the original Vance File and tried to sell it to Ruth Sterling. When I found out, she ran. The night she disappeared, she was painted on a fire escape in Lower Manhattan. Your fire escape."

The room seemed to spin. Memories rushed back—a rainy night three years ago, a terrified woman in an evening gown ducking into my studio alleyway, crying, begging for a place to hide. I had given her a jacket and pointed her toward the subway.

"She was the woman in my sketch," I gasped.

"Yes," Julian said softly. "Clarissa used you as her distraction three years ago. And last night, whoever killed her used you again to finish the job."

Before I could process the terrifying truth, the double doors of the study burst open.

Standing in the doorway was a tall, imposing man in a bespoke blue suit with silver hair slicked back. His face was identical to Julian’s—older, sharper, and utterly cold.

"Julian," the man sneered, his voice dropping like lead. "I see you’ve brought your little street rat to the penthouse."

"Uncle Marcus," Julian said, his posture immediately stiffening into armor. "You're breaking protocol by coming up here."

Marcus Vance stepped into the room, his eyes scanning me with deep disgust. "The board is calling an emergency meeting. Clarissa's body was just recovered from the Hudson River. Her throat was cut... and she was holding a piece of your silver mask in her hand."

I gasped, taking a step back. "That's impossible! The mask was intact on the table!"

Marcus pulled a clear evidence bag from his coat. Inside was a tiny fragment of silver plastic with a single pearl glued to the edge.

"The police have an arrest warrant for Nora Calloway," Marcus smiled dangerously. "And if you try to protect her, Julian... the board will strip you of your title and arrest you as her accomplice by noon."

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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...

The silence in the dining room stretched thin, heavy enough to slice with a butter knife. Robert, Michael’s father, adjusted his napkin, completely oblivious to the silent war being fought across the porcelain plates.

The silence in the dining room stretched thin, heavy enough to slice wit...

Julian didn't flinch. He stepped directly between me and his uncle.

"Tell the police to come get her," Julian said calmly. "But tell them to bring the press. Because at noon, Nora and I are holding our wedding announcement."

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