Thee wedding cake hit my face so hard that the entire reception went silent

The blast door sealed with an airtight hiss that cut off all sound from the cellar, plunging the vault into an eerie, suffocating silence.

I pounded on the cold titanium panel until my fists were bruised and raw. "Julian! Julian, open the door!"

No answer. Only the low, rhythmic hum of the ventilation fans and the steady green blinking of the satellite uplink console on the central desk.

Behind me, Eleanor lay motionless on the cot Julian had managed to drag her to before the breach. I rushed to her side, pressing my fingers to the hollow of her throat.

Her pulse was faint—a fluttering, dying bird—but she was still breathing.

"Don't you dare die on me now, Eleanor," I whispered through gritted teeth, my voice shaking with rage and terror. "You dragged me into this war. You don't get to leave before I finish it."

I looked over at the monitors.

To the left of the satellite terminal, a series of CCTV monitors flickered to life, showing the cellar just beyond the blast door. The camera angle was hidden behind a rusted ventilation grille near the ceiling.

My heart seized in my chest.

Through the heavy grey smoke of the thermite explosion, four men in black tactical gear poured into the stone chamber, their weapons raised. Leading them was not an anonymous hitman.

It was Garrick.

His designer tuxedo was ruined, his white shirt open at the collar, his hair disheveled, and his eyes wild with a manic, unhinged fury. Behind him walked a tall, older man with silver hair neatly combed back, wearing a tailored charcoal overcoat.

The resemblance between that man and Julian was so striking it made my breath hitch in my throat.

Arthur Vance. The ghost who had pulled every string.

In the center of the chamber, Julian stood with his back to the blast door, both arms raised, his weapon lying on the stone floor at his feet. He was bleeding from a cut across his forehead, but his posture was straight, unyielding, like an oak tree that refused to bend before a hurricane.

"Look at you, Julian," Garrick sneered, his voice transmitting through the vault’s hidden audio feed with crystal clarity. "Playing the heroic watchdog for a baker. Where is she? Where is that little peasant bitch?"

Julian didn't even look at Garrick. His cold, venomous glare was fixed entirely on Arthur.

"Twelve years, Father," Julian said, his voice level, terrifyingly calm. "Twelve years of letting me shoulder your debts, your disgrace, and your sins. And you come back as an executioner."

Arthur Vance stepped forward, stopping just five feet from Julian. His face was a mask of cold aristocratic indifference. "You were always too sentimental, Julian. You inherited your mother's weak heart. You thought restoring Vance Enterprises through legitimate finance was noble? It was tedious. The Sterlings held the true levers of power in this valley. Eleanor was supposed to die quietly. Helena was supposed to manage the transition. But you... you had to interfere. You had to bring Clara into your bed and into your court."

"Clara has more honor in her little finger than you and the entire Vance lineage combined," Julian replied coldly.

Garrick stepped forward, raising the butt of his assault rifle and smashing it brutally across Julian’s face.

Julian took the blow, stumbling sideways against the stone wall. Blood welled from his split lip, but he didn't cry out. He spat a mouthful of crimson onto the stone floor and looked right back at Garrick with utter contempt.

"You like hitting people when they can't fight back, don't you, Garrick?" Julian mocked, his voice laced with venom. "Just like you did with the cake. You're a coward. You were born a coward, and you will die a coward."

Garrick raised the weapon again, his face twisting in rage, but Arthur held up a single, leather-gloved hand.

"Enough," Arthur commanded softly. Garrick instantly froze, lowering the weapon like an obedient dog. Arthur looked at the blast door behind Julian. "The seal is locked from within. Eleanor’s master cipher is inside. Open it, Julian, and I will let you walk away. You can take a private jet to Zurich and live out your days in comfort."

"You really don't know me at all, do you, Arthur?" Julian replied, wiping the blood from his chin. "I'd rather burn in this cellar than give you a single inch of Clara's inheritance."

Inside the vault, my tears dried instantly. A cold, lethal calm washed over me, stilling the panic in my limbs.

I turned away from the screen and walked toward the master terminal.