Chapter 4 - The Vance Legacy
The air in the bridal suite turned to lead.
Marcus Vance leaned heavily on his silver-handled cane, taking two slow steps into the room. His footsteps echoed like gunshots against the marble. Behind him, the two bodyguards fanned out, blocking the only exit. Daniel hovered in the doorway, refusing to meet Grace’s eyes, staring intently at the floorboards as if looking for dropped change.
"Grandfather," Grace whispered, the word tasting like ash in her mouth. She looked from the ancient, polished monster standing before her to Daniel. "You knew. You knew all along why Daniel proposed."
Daniel winced, finally looking up with a miserable, defensive grimace. "My family keeps tabs on everyone, Grace. When my father found out who your adoptive parents were... when they realized Arthur kept copies of the old ledgers before he died... we had to secure the asset. You were the only loose end."
"An asset," Grace repeated, her voice dead. All the tears had dried up, replaced by a cold, numbing shock. She looked down at the white satin gown—the armor of a princess that was actually a prisoner’s uniform.
Marcus chuckled, a dry, rattling sound. "Don't be dramatic, my dear. You’re marrying into royalty. The Vance Group controls half the infrastructure of this coast. Your real parents were thieves and grifters who tried to sink a ship they had no business boarding. Arthur had the good sense to hide you, but he was a fool to keep that paper."
Marcus extended a gnarled, age-spotted hand toward Grace.
"Hand it over, child. Give me the paper, and we’ll pretend this little family reunion never happened. Daniel and you can still walk down the aisle. We’ll take a private jet to Monaco by tonight."
Grace looked down at the yellowed onion-skin paper in her hand. Then she looked at Evelyn.
Evelyn hadn't retreated an inch. She stood like a monolith, her chin held high, her eyes fixed not on Marcus, but on the small, unassuming leather box sitting on the vanity table behind him.
"Don't do it, Grace," Evelyn said calmly. "The paper doesn't matter anymore."
"Shut your mouth, you old parasite," one of the bodyguards barked, stepping forward and shoving Evelyn hard against the edge of the vanity.
Evelyn stumbled, her hip catching the sharp corner of the wood, but she didn't cry out.
Something inside Grace snapped. It wasn't sadness. It wasn't fear. It was the sudden, violent awakening of the bloodline she had inherited—the bloodline of people who did not run from monsters, but hunted them.
Grace didn't hand over the paper. Instead, she slowly brought the onion-skin sheet to her mouth, bit down on the corner, and began to chew.
Marcus’s face twisted in absolute horror. "Stop her! Tackle her!"
The bodyguard lunged forward, but Grace was faster. She swallowed the paper with a violent gulp, her throat burning, and snatched up the open velvet box from the table. With a scream of pure fury, she hurled the box directly into Marcus Vance’s face.
The heavy wooden corner caught the old man right under his left eye, splitting the skin and sending him staggering backward into Daniel’s arms.
"Now, Evelyn!" Grace roared.
Evelyn didn't hesitate. She kicked off her sensible low-heeled shoes, swept her leg out in a vicious, practiced arc, and caught the first bodyguard square in the knee joint with the force of a professional brawler. As the man went down howling, Evelyn lunged for the doorway, hitting the master alarm panel hidden behind the fire extinguisher box.
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WEE-WOO! WEE-WOO! WEE-WOO!
The entire hotel’s emergency sprinkler system roared to life, soaking the bridal suite in freezing water within seconds, while downstairs, the automated fire doors slammed shut with deafening booms, trapping everyone inside the penthouse wing.
