Chapter 9 - Unmasked
Dawn broke over the Atlantic in shades of bruised purple and fiery gold.
Marin had not slept a wink. She stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows of her lavish new quarters, watching the sea churn against the jagged cliffs below. Her phone—a secure, encrypted device provided by Damian’s tech crew—chimed.
It was a live video link. On the screen was Posie, nestled in a state-of-the-art medical suite surrounded by three doctors. Posie looked pink-cheeked and was resting comfortably. A lead surgeon looked into the camera, nodding reassuringly: *"The pre-op is complete, Miss Ross. Your sister is stable. Surgery begins in twenty minutes."*
Marin pressed her hand to the glass screen, a silent tear of overwhelming relief sliding down her cheek.
Suddenly, the heavy double doors of the lower foyer banged open with enough force to echo through the three-story atrium. Shouting erupted below.
Marin stepped out onto the mezzanine balcony.
Vincent Vance, a silver-haired patriarch with an arrogant sneer, had marched into the grand foyer, flanked by six armed bodyguards and a smug-looking Genevieve. Genevieve had traded her ruined Dior for a sharp ivory pantsuit, looking triumphant.
"Damian!" Vincent Vance bellowed, his voice booming through the estate. "You dare threaten my daughter over a low-class servant? You dare mobilize troops against Rossi’s docks? You have forgotten who gave your father his first fleet!"
Damian walked down the grand marble staircase, completely unfazed. He wore a dark charcoal three-piece suit, his hands casually shoved into his pockets. Two of his lieutenants followed him, carrying a heavy metal briefcase.
"You're making a scene, Vincent," Damian said calmly, descending the final step.
"You broke the contract!" Genevieve screeched, stepping forward. "You humiliated me! For what? That pathetic, thieving girl? She stole from my purse yesterday, Damian! I caught her red-handed! That's why I confronted her at dinner!"
Vincent sneered. "My daughter will not be insulted by an unhinged boy playing king. You will marry Genevieve next month as agreed, or the Vance syndicate cuts your logistics lines across five states."
Damian stopped ten feet from them. A terrifying, slow smile spread across his lips.
"Open it," Damian murmured.
His lieutenant set the briefcase on the central marble table and popped the latches. Inside lay dozens of printed bank statements, wire transfers, and a pristine Kingston encrypted thumb drive.
May you like
Vincent Vance’s smug expression instantly vanished. Genevieve took an involuntary step back, her eyes widening in horror.
"Recognize it, Genevieve?" Damian asked, his tone dripping with lethal amusement. "You gave this to Marcus Rossi yesterday at four-fifteen in my conservatory. Unfortunately for you, Rossi had an unfortunate car accident at four this morning. And your encrypted drive was remarkably easy to crack."
