The silence inside Maison Delacour was absolute, save for the rhythmic, unsteady sound of Mia’s breathing against her father’s chest. Lorenzo Rossi had not broken eye contact with me. To anyone else in the room, his gaze was a death sentence—a cold, calculated appraisal from a man whose word could ruin empires or end lives before the sun set over the Hudson.

By Thursday night, Julian Sterling’s threat stopped being a corporate warning and turned into a full-scale assault.

I was working late in my penthouse office, reviewing financial ledgers, when the overhead lights suddenly flickered and died. The hum of the climate control system cut out instantly, plunging the 50th floor into an eerie, suffocating silence. Only the emergency backup strips along the floor cast a dim, red glow across the room.

My heart hammered against my ribs. I stood up slowly, reaching for my phone on the desk.

No signal. Total blackout.

Before I could reach the office door, the heavy oak panels slowly creaked open. A tall, dark silhouette stepped out of the private elevator lobby, moving with an eerie, silent grace.

“Looking for your phone, Ms. Vance?” a smooth, chillingly familiar voice echoed through the dark office.

Julian Sterling stepped into the dim red glow, holding a silenced handgun casually at his side. Gone was the immaculate corporate facade; his eyes burned with a manic, unhinged desperation.

“Julian,” I breathed out, backing away until my hips pressed against the edge of my glass desk. “You’re out of your mind. Breaking into Rossi Tower? Lorenzo will hunt you down before you even reach the lobby.”

“Let him try!” Julian laughed softly, a harsh, jagged sound. “Lorenzo is currently tied up across town dealing with a manufactured crisis at the docks. His precious security detail is scattered. And you... you are the key to bringing his entire empire down.”

He raised the pistol, leveling the dark barrel straight at my chest.

“You’re going to sit down at your terminal, Elena, and authorize an emergency wire transfer of fifty million dollars to an offshore account controlled by my associates,” Julian commanded, stepping closer. “Then, you’re going to sign a confession stating that you embezzled the funds and framed Brenda Wallace. Once that’s done... well, accidents happen in high-rise buildings every day.”

My mind raced. Every survival instinct I possessed screamed at me to run, but there was nowhere to go. My fingers grazed the surface of my desk behind me, searching blindly for anything—a heavy stapler, a pen holder, anything.

“You really think Lorenzo won’t find out?” I stalled, keeping my eyes locked on his. “He knows everything that happens in this city.”

“He won’t know anything,” Julian snarled, taking another step forward, his finger tightening around the trigger. “Because by tomorrow morning, you’ll be just another tragic statistic of corporate greed.”

He raised the gun higher. I braced myself, my hand closing around the heavy crystal paperweight resting on my desk.