Chapter 4 - NIGHT AT THE MANORMidnight descended upon the Charlotte estate like a heavy black shroud. Rain pounded relentless beat against the glass skylights of the mansion.
Inside, the lights were cut. The massive 12,000-square-foot home was plunged into pitch darkness, illuminated only by the periodic flashes of lightning from the storm raging outside.
Grace was hiding in the reinforced panic room behind the wine cellar with her daughter Lily. I had personally locked the titanium door myself an hour earlier.
"Stay here, Grace," I had told her, looking into her terrified eyes. "No matter what you hear on the security speakers, do not open this door until I come get you."
"Daniel..." she had whispered, using my first name for the very first time. Her hand grabbed my wrist, her grip surprisingly tight. "Please... come back alive."
"I built this city, Grace," I replied. "A few mercenaries aren't taking my home."
Now, standing in the shadows of the second-floor balcony overlooking the grand foyer, I watched two figures clad in tactical gear slip through the side terrace doors. Vanessa was standing near the fireplace, holding a suppressed 9mm pistol, a cold, calculating look on her face.
"Is the staff dealt with?" Vanessa asked the lead mercenary in a sharp whisper.
"The guards at the gate were taken down silently," the mercenary replied. "Where is Whitfield?"
"In his master bedroom upstairs, sleeping off his pain meds," Vanessa sneered. "And the maid?"
"We'll find her and her kid after we secure Whitfield's master safe."
Vanessa smiled—a cruel, hideous expression that completely erased the beautiful woman I thought I knew. "Good. Make sure Daniel's death looks like an accidental drug overdose. The concussion made him depressed. It’ll read perfectly in the newspapers."
"Is that so, Vanessa?"
My voice boomed through the high-ceilinged foyer, amplified by the house intercom system.
The three figures froze instantly, raising their weapons toward the dark second-floor balcony.
"Who's there?!" Vanessa shrieked, her composure shattering.
The grand chandelier overhead suddenly flared to life with blinding, 10,000-lumen brightness.
Vanessa and the two mercenaries shielded their eyes, blinded by the sudden glare. Before they could adapt, high-caliber gunshots echoed through the hall. Marcus and four of my elite tactical guards emerged from the hidden doors behind the draperies.
Within four seconds, both mercenaries were on the floor, disarmed and pinned down under heavy boots.
Vanessa dropped her pistol, backing away until her spine hit the cold marble wall—the exact same spot where I had bled weeks before.
I walked slowly down the marble staircase, step by step, fully upright, my eyes locked on hers.
"Your... your head..." Vanessa stammered, hyperventilating as she looked at me. "You were hurt... you were weak..."
"I was never weak, Vanessa," I said softly, stopping three feet away from her. "I was just watching. Waiting to see how far you'd go."
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"Daniel, please!" she sobbed, falling to her knees—just as Grace had done, but without an ounce of genuine grace. "Julian forced me! He threatened my family! He told me he'd kill me if I didn't get your safe codes!"
"Save it," I said coldly. "Marcus, take her to the basement cell. We have a guest coming from Atlanta, and I want her to be there to welcome him."
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