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The security guards paused, confused by the sudden drop in temperature between the arrogant young man and the unassuming nurse. But Dominic Callaway no longer cared about his bruised ego, his scraped wrist, or the onlookers. / Chapter 2 / 10

Chapter 2 - The Syndicate's LedgerInside Room 412, Bertrand Callaway was attempting to adjust his motorized bed when the door clicked open.

Dominic stumbled into the room, slamming the heavy wooden door shut behind him and locking the deadbolt with shaking fingers.

“Dad.” Dominic’s voice cracked. “Dad, listen to me. We have a massive problem.”

Bertrand frowned, pausing his remote control. “What is it now, Dominic? Did you total another car? Did the bank call about your trust fund?”

“No. It’s not about money. It’s about her.” Dominic pointed frantically toward the hallway. “The new nurse. Marin Kessler.”

Bertrand’s expression shifted instantly. The impatience of a wealthy real estate mogul vanished, replaced by an old, deep-seated terror that aged him ten years in a fraction of a second. The color drained from his jaundiced skin.

“Describe her,” Bertrand whispered, his voice strained.

“Copper hair. Gray eyes. Thirty-six years old.” Dominic’s breath came in short, ragged gasps. “And she has the tattoo, Dad. The black crown with the broken point. I saw it when she took me down. She pinned me to the wall like a child, and she didn't even break a sweat.”

Bertrand grabbed the edges of his hospital blanket, his knuckles turning white.

Years ago, before Bertrand built his real estate empire in northern Ohio, he had been a mid-level money launderer for the European underworld. He had stolen twenty million dollars from a coalition known as the Broken Crown—a ghost syndicate composed of elite assassins, intelligence operatives, and financial masterminds who operated above governments. When they came for him, Bertrand didn't fight back; he cut a deal, giving up every partner he had, and fled to America under a fake identity.

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He Moved His Mistress Into the Beach House I Bought His Parents—So I Sol...

The dark walnut paneling of Valance absorbed the ambient amber light, making the private dining room feel like a velvet trap. Sabrina shifted slightly beside Nathan, her fingers grazing the base of her crystal water glass. She had spent two hours curling her hair and selecting a dress that whispered corporate elegance, convinced tonight was the night she cemented her place not just in Nathan’s office, but in his life.

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The Syndicate had let him live, but with a terrifying condition: “We own your future, Bertrand. Whenever the Crown calls a debt, you pay. And if we ever send our best to collect, you bow your head.”

“She’s not here for a routine shift,” Bertrand gasped, panic choking his throat. “She’s here because my debts have finally caught up with me.”

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