flash
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 7 / 8

Chapter 7 - THE BLOODLINE SECRET

The room erupted into chaos. Flashbulbs went wild, reporters screamed questions, and security guards surged forward to control the crowd.

"Ruth?" I stammered, staring at the screen in absolute disbelief. "The lavender latte lady? No... no, that doesn't make sense!"

Julian grabbed my waist, pulling me back into his chest as his security detail cleared a path through the frantic reporters. "We need to go now!" he barked into his ear-piece.

We were rushed back into the private elevator, Cassie following closely behind. As the doors closed, sealing out the noise, I grabbed Julian by his lapels.

"You knew!" I yelled. "You knew it was Ruth all along!"

"I suspected," Julian admitted coldly. "Ruth didn't just give you that dress to be nice, Nora. She gave you that dress because it belonged to Clarissa. It was coated in synthetic pheromones and high-grade tranquilizers designed to make me sleep deeply after I touched you."

"What?!" Cassie gasped. "She drugged you through her dress?!"

"The perfume on the silk," Julian said, looking down at me with deep regret. "That's why I passed out at 5:00 AM. Ruth needed me unconscious so she could frame you for Clarissa's death and steal the Vance File."

"Why would Ruth kill Clarissa?" I asked, my head spinning. "Ruth hated you! She said you destroyed her family's firm!"

"Ruth didn't kill Clarissa to destroy me," Julian said quietly as the elevator reached the sub-basement garage. "Ruth is Clarissa's mother."

The elevator doors dings open.

Standing in the dimly lit concrete parking garage was Ruth Sterling—wearing her emerald coat, holding a heavy dark revolver aimed straight at Julian’s heart. Behind her stood four heavily armed men.

"Brilliant as always, Julian," Ruth said, her voice dry and icy. "Just like your father."

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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...

"Ruth," Julian said, stepping in front of me shieldingly. "It’s over. The footage is live on national television. The police are on their way."

"Let them come," Ruth spat. "They won't find anything except three bodies in a luxury garage. Hand over the drive, Julian, or the barista dies first."

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