If you ever touch Selina again, I swear to God I will kill you.”

Across the city, in the presidential suite of the Boston Harbor Hotel, the atmosphere was thick with tension.

Julian stood before a full-length mirror, struggling to fasten the diamond cufflinks on his tuxedo. His hands shook so violently that the small gold pin slipped from his fingers, clattering against the marble vanity.

“Damn it!” he roared, slamming his fist onto the sink.

Selina emerged from the adjoining bedroom, looking breathtaking in an emerald-green silk backless gown that hugged every curve of her body. Her arm was bare; the tiny scratch had healed into a faint, barely noticeable pink line covered with foundation.

“Stop losing your mind, Julian,” she said coldly, picking up the cufflink and deftly sliding it through his sleeve. “Tonight is our coronation. By midnight, the Vance Capital board will ratify the new corporate structure. You will be the sole chairman, and I will be your chief operating officer.”

“The hospital isn't answering my calls, Selina!” Julian snapped, turning on her, his eyes bloodshot and dark circles carved deep beneath them. “The nurse told me Nora had a pulmonary complication this morning! If she dies before the conservatorship is fully registered with the probate court, her estate is frozen! The state steps in!”

Selina grabbed the lapels of his tuxedo, her eyes narrowing into dangerous slits. “She won’t die before the ink is dry. Finch has a judge on retainer who signed the preliminary order an hour ago. You need to pull yourself together. You walk out into that ballroom, you play the grieving, dedicated husband carrying on his wife’s legacy, and you smile for the cameras.”

Julian pulled away from her, running a hand through his hair. “Do you ever feel anything? Anything at all? I stabbed her, Selina! I felt the knife go through her! I have nightmares every time I close my eyes!”

Selina stepped toward him, her voice dropping into a menacing whisper. “You held that knife because you wanted what I offered you. You wanted the power. You wanted the money. You wanted me. Don’t stand here and play the innocent victim now, Julian. We are in this together. And if you falter for even one second on that stage tonight… I will make sure the police receive the anonymous tip that puts the knife exclusively in your hand.”

Julian looked at her as if seeing the devil herself. “You’re threatening me?”

“I’m reminding you of reality,” Selina whispered, smoothing the front of his jacket with a chilling smile. “Now, take a sip of your scotch, put on your wedding ring, and let’s go make our fortune.”

Downstairs in the grand ballroom of the Boston Harbor Hotel, crystal chandeliers cast a glittering glow over hundreds of Boston’s elite. Crystal flutes of champagne clinked against the murmur of classical music played by a string quartet.

At the center of the room, Arthur Finch was already mingling with prominent corporate attorneys, quietly dropping hints about Nora’s “tragic, ongoing mental decline” and Julian’s “unwavering strength” in the face of domestic tragedy.

“Such a shame,” a wealthy dowager remarked, sipping her wine. “Nora always seemed so grounded. But you never know what happens behind closed doors, do you?”

“Indeed,” Finch murmured with a sympathetic nod. “Julian has endured so much. He deserves this night of triumph.”

At 8:55 p.m., the ballroom lights dimmed slightly. The master of ceremonies stepped up to the podium on the elevated stage at the front of the room.

“Ladies and gentlemen, esteemed guests. Please direct your attention to the main stage. Vance Capital is proud to present its visionary chairman, Mr. Julian Vance, accompanied by senior partner Miss Selina Cole!”

A polite wave of applause rippled through the grand room as Julian and Selina walked up the carpeted stairs. Julian wore a somber, humble expression, while Selina beamed with radiant elegance, holding his hand with subtle, possessive pride.

Julian stepped to the microphone. He looked out over the sea of faces, cleared his throat, and tapped the microphone.

“Thank you, everyone,” Julian began, his voice amplified across the massive ballroom. “Tonight is an evening of immense pride, but also one of heavy personal sorrow. As many of you know, my beloved wife, Nora, remains in critical condition following a horrific tragedy at our home. While her body fights for life, I have vowed to ensure that the vision we shared for this company does not perish in the dark.”

Selina stepped up beside him, dabbing a non-existent tear from the corner of her eye.

“To honor Nora,” Julian continued, his voice swelling with emotional conviction, “Vance Capital is officially announcing a historic partnership with the Cole Investment Group, creating a unified global asset fund—”

Suddenly, the massive audiovisual screens hanging behind the stage flickered with static.

The polished corporate slideshow displaying financial projections vanished.

A loud, piercing crack of audio feedback echoed through the state-of-the-art surround sound speakers, silencing the entire ballroom instantly.

Julian stopped speaking, frowning as he turned around. “What’s going on with the tech crew?”

Then, a voice boomed through the speakers.

It wasn't the master of ceremonies. It was a clear, unmistakable female voice, ringing out like a clarion bell from the back of the grand ballroom: