Chapter 7 - The Confrontation in Monaco
The grand suite on the fourth floor of the Hôtel de Paris smelled of spilled champagne, expensive perfume, and pure, unadulterated panic.
Suitcases were thrown open across the Louis XIV furniture, silk dresses and designer suits half-packed in frantic haste. Daphne Shaw stood near the balcony doors, her eyes red, her makeup smeared across her pale, delicate face. She was clutching a small velvet pouch to her chest like a frightened child.
Bennett Crane was pacing furiously, his shirt untucked, his hair disheveled, frantically dialing numbers on his phone only to be met with automated rejections.
“They canceled the private jet!” Bennett yelled, throwing a crystal tumbler against the marble fireplace, where it shattered into glittering shards. “The charter company said their accounts have been frozen by an emergency court order! What the hell is happening?!”
“Bennett, please!” Daphne cried, her voice trembling with hysteria. “You told me you had everything under control! You said Celeste was a harmless socialite who would do whatever your mother told her to do! You said we would be on a yacht in Greece by noon!”
“Shut up, Daphne!” Bennett snapped, turning on her with wild, bloodshot eyes. “If you hadn't posted that stupid photo on Instagram, Julian Sterling wouldn't have tracked our flight path to Geneva!”
“I wanted to show them we won!” Daphne sobbed, backing away from him. “You told me I was going to be the new queen of Crane Capital! Now the police are downstairs!”
“Give me the necklace,” Bennett demanded, advancing toward her with his hand outstretched. “Give it to me! I can still sell it to the private dealer in the casino suites! We need cash to get across the Italian border!”
“No!” Daphne shrieked, clutching the pouch tighter. “This is the only leverage I have! If I give it to you, you’ll leave me behind just like you left Celeste!”
Before Bennett could grab her arm, the heavy suite doors swung open with a terrifying, smooth click.
Two armed officers of the Monaco Police Department stepped into the room, flanking either side of the entrance.
And stepping past them, walking into the room with absolute poise, was Celeste Hart.
Behind her, Julian Sterling loomed like an oncoming storm, his imposing presence filling the room with an aura of suffocating, lethal power.
Bennett froze. His jaw dropped, his face draining of all color until he looked like a corpse in a wrinkled shirt. “Celeste...?”
Daphne gasped, falling back against the sofa, her hands shaking so violently she dropped the velvet pouch onto the carpet.
Celeste walked into the center of the suite. She looked at Bennett—the man she had spent two years of her life with, the man whose ring she had worn, the man who had promised to stand by her through life and death. Looking at him now, disheveled, cowardly, sweating in terror, she felt no pain. She felt no heartbreak.
She felt only an overwhelming, crystalline sense of disgust.
“You look terrible, Bennett,” Celeste said, her voice smooth and venomously polite. “The Mediterranean air doesn't seem to agree with you.”
“Celeste...” Bennett took a stumbling step forward, his hands raised in a pleading gesture. “Celeste, thank God you’re here. Listen to me—it was all a misunderstanding! Daphne—she tricked me! She stole the funds! She took the necklace from your room and convinced me you were conspiring with Julian to ruin my family! I was trying to recover it for you!”
A harsh, bitter sound escaped Daphne’s throat. “You lying coward!” Daphne screamed, lunging forward, her polished fingernails nearly clawing Bennett’s face before an officer stepped in to restrain her. “You told me you loved me! You told me Celeste was frigid, boring, and broke! You begged me to come with you!”
“Quiet, both of you,” Julian Sterling commanded.
His single sentence, spoken in that low, terrifying baritone, cut through the room like a guillotine. Both Bennett and Daphne fell instantly silent, staring at the billionaire with wide, terrified eyes.
Julian walked slowly toward Bennett. Julian was half a head taller, broader, his posture radiating the kind of effortless dominance that money could never buy. Bennett instinctively shrank back until his shoulders hit the wall.
“Arthur Crane was a thief,” Julian said softly, his silver eyes boring straight into Bennett’s terrified soul. “And he raised a coward. You took Celeste’s trust. You took her family’s legacy. And you thought that running across an ocean would protect you from me.”
“Julian... please,” Bennett whimpered, sweat dripping down his temple. “We were friends once. Our families—”
“Our families were never friends,” Julian whispered, leaning down so only Bennett could hear his next words. “Your father killed mine with paper and lies. Today, I killed your empire with the truth. You are finished, Bennett. You will never set foot in New York society again. You will never sit on a board. You will rot in a federal cell for wire fraud, and every time you close your eyes, you will remember that Celeste took everything back—on my arm.”
Julian stepped back, turning his gaze toward the floor.
Celeste stepped past him. She knelt down, her hand reaching out to pick up the fallen velvet pouch.
She untied the silk cord and tipped the contents into her palm.
*The Heart of Valois* tumbled out. The sixty-carat sapphire caught the morning sunlight streaming through the French doors, burning with an intense, unyielding blue that seemed to swallow the light. It was intact. Flawless. Untouchable.
Celeste closed her fingers around the cool platinum and sapphire. The weight of her family’s history settled into her palm, and for the first time in twenty-four hours, the tightness in her chest completely vanished.
She looked at Bennett one last time.
“You’re under arrest, Bennett,” she said softly.
The Monaco police officers stepped forward, pulling Bennett’s hands behind his back and clicking the steel handcuffs into place around his wrists. Bennett began to babble, pleading, crying, but no one listened. Daphne Shaw was escorted out behind him, sobbing into her hands as hotel guests peeked out from their rooms, recording the entire arrest on their smartphones.
The suite fell silent once more.
Celeste stood in the center of the room, looking down at the sapphire in her hand. Suddenly, she felt a pair of strong, gentle hands settle onto her bare shoulders.
Julian turned her around to face him. His expression was softer than she had ever seen it.
“Allow me,” he murmured.
He took the necklace from her fingers. With slow, reverent movements, Julian swept her dark hair over one shoulder. His cool fingers brushed against the sensitive skin of her collarbone as he clasped the heavy platinum chain around her neck.
The sapphire came to rest perfectly against her throat.
Julian looked down at her, his eyes ablaze with something so raw, so powerful, it made Celeste’s breath catch in her throat.
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“It belongs to you,” Julian whispered, his hands lingering on her bare shoulders, his thumbs gently brushing her collarbone. “You were born to wear it, Celeste.”
***
