Chapter 7 - The True Heir of ValeThe name hung in the damp, dusty air of the old studio like a curse.
Victoria Vale.
My mind raced. Margaret had told us about her family, about the disappearance of her daughter Rose thirty-two years ago, about the arranged marriage and the rebellion. But she had never mentioned another daughter.
“You’re lying,” I said, my voice shaking despite my best efforts to sound composed. “Margaret never mentioned a second daughter.”
Victoria let out a cold, humorless laugh, pacing slowly across the creaking wooden floorboards.
“Of course she didn't,” Victoria sneered. “To the high-society Vales, I was the obedient one. The dutiful daughter who stayed behind, swallowed her ambition, married the corporate shark they chose for me, and spent thirty years kissing up to a family that never truly loved me. While your mother—the golden-haired rebel—ran off to play bohemian artist in a poverty-stricken neighborhood, leaving me to clean up the wreckage of her selfishness!”
She stopped pacing and turned her piercing, venomous eyes directly onto me.
“And then, out of nowhere, you and your little brat waltz into our gala, trigger a national media firestorm, strip my husband of his position, and suddenly threaten to take half of the empire I earned through decades of silent suffering? I don't think so.”
“Your husband?” I repeated, the pieces suddenly clicking together with terrifying speed. “Richard Winthrop is your husband?”
“Bingo,” Victoria smiled viciously. “Celeste is my daughter. And you destroyed everything she was supposed to inherit. So tonight, Elena, we are going to fix this. You are going to sign over every single percentage of voting shares you acquired this week back to my family. And then, you and your precious little dancer are going to vanish from Boston forever.”
She reached into her coat pocket, pulling out a heavy, legal-looking folder and tossing it onto the old wooden table beside the piano, along with a black fountain pen.
“Sign it,” Victoria hissed. “Or you won't live to see sunrise.”
I looked at the folder, then back at Victoria. My hands were clenched into fists inside my coat pockets.
“You think you can threaten me?” I asked, my voice dropping an octave, carrying an echo of the Vale stubbornness that Adrian had talked about. “You think because I spent years working as a server that I don't know how to fight?”
Before Victoria could react, the heavy front door of the studio flew wide open, crashing violently against the interior wall.
“Drop the pen, Victoria,” a voice commanded.
It was Adrian.
He stood in the doorway, framed by the harsh headlights of three black SUVs parked outside in the street. Behind him, local police officers and private security guards flooded the room in seconds, their flashlights cutting through the darkness.
May you like
Victoria’s face went completely white. She spun around, frantically reaching into her coat, but before she could pull out whatever weapon she had hidden, Adrian was across the room, grabbing her wrist with iron force and pinning her arm behind her back.
“It’s over,” Adrian growled, his face twisted in absolute fury. “You’re done.”
