Chapter 4: The Betrayer’s Tab

Nora's POV

I spent thirty minutes in the building's lobby restroom scrubbing the smell of Cade's blood off my wrists and under my fingernails.

By the time I walked into *The Grand Horizon* on 4th Avenue at one in the afternoon, the scent of lavender soap and expensive perfume had erased the iron stench of the alley. The restaurant was all white marble, crystal chandeliers, and vaulted glass ceilings—the kind of place where a single lunch bill cost more than a month of Eli's insulin had in the ruins.

Julian was already sitting at his reserved center table, wearing an impeccably tailored navy suit, checking emails on his gold-trimmed phone.

Across from him sat Tessa.

She wore a soft, pastel-yellow sundress, her brown hair falling in glossy waves over her bare shoulders, laughing softly at whatever Julian was showing her on his screen. The sight of them—seated so comfortably, so seamlessly domestic—sent a surge of pure, concentrated venom through my veins.

*Two hundred and twelve days.*

I took a slow breath, felt the cold weight of the System humming silently behind my temples, and forced my lips into a breathless, radiant smile.

"Sorry I'm late, sweetheart!" I chirped, stepping up to the linen-draped table.

Julian looked up, his face instantly softening into that polished, proprietary warmth he reserved for things he owned. He stood, leaning in to brush a kiss against my cheek.

His skin was smooth, smelling of expensive sandalwood cologne. In the first life, I had thought that scent meant safety. Now, it made my stomach churn with violent revulsion. My mind flashed to Cade—the raw, feverish heat of his bare skin, the smell of gunpowder and fresh rain, the desperate grip of his scarred fingers on my wrist.

Julian pulled my chair out with practiced chivalry. "You look flushed, Nora. Traffic bad?"

"Terrible," I lied, sitting down and smoothing my napkin over my lap. "The caterer for the reception wanted to argue about seasonal seafood imports. I told them we wouldn't compromise on quality."

Tessa reached across the table, her manicured fingers squeezing my hand with sickening affection. "Oh, Nora, you're working yourself to the bone! Jules, you have to stop letting her handle all the vendor bookings herself. She looks exhausted."

"I want everything to be perfect for Saturday's gala," I said, looking Tessa straight in the eyes, returning her squeeze with just enough force to make her gold rings pinch her skin. "After all, you only get married once. Right, Tess?"

Tessa’s smile faltered for a microsecond before her glossy veneer snapped back into place. "Of course, babe. Only the best for you."

Julian chuckled, signaling the sommelier for wine. "Speaking of the wedding accounts, darling... I got a notification on my watch about three large wire transfers an hour ago. Sixty thousand dollars moved to an unlisted commercial clearing entity?"

There it was. The audit.

In the old life, I would have apologized, flustered, offering receipts and begging for his approval.

I leaned back, picked up my water goblet, and took a deliberate, delicate sip.

"The botanical pavilion on the north bluff," I said, my voice completely relaxed. "They had a cancellation for next spring. If I didn't wire the non-refundable structural deposit within the hour, the mayor's daughter was going to snatch the date. You told me to secure the best venue in the state, Julian. Was I mistaken?"

Julian paused, his fork hovering. He hated losing status more than he hated losing cash. If the mayor's family was mentioned, his corporate ego took over the steering wheel.

"No," Julian conceded smoothly, flashing a proud grin across the table at Tessa. "No, you did the right thing. If the Reeves host an event, it happens at the north pavilion."

"Good," I said, leaning in across the linen, letting my fingers trail over the back of his hand. "Because the timber contractors need a secondary guarantee for the staging by five o'clock today. Another forty thousand. Can I use the corporate black card in your jacket, or do you want to approve the commercial voucher yourself?"

Tessa’s eyes flicked to Julian's breast pocket, a faint crease forming between her brows. She was keeping tabs on his liquidity; I knew for a fact Augustin reviewed their family ledgers weekly.

"Julian," Tessa said softly, her voice dripping with artificial caution. "Forty thousand on top of sixty in one morning? Maybe we should wait until Augustin's office clears the quarterly entertainment budget?"

I turned to Tessa, letting my gaze turn icy and sharp.

"Tessa, sweetie, are you planning this wedding, or am I?"

The table went dead quiet.

Tessa blinked, her cheeks flushing crimson under her makeup. She wasn't used to me having teeth. In her playbook, Nora Calder was a soft, pliable orphan girl who deferred to her sophisticated best friend.

"I... I just meant—"

"Tessa's just looking out for the books, Nora," Julian said, though a flicker of annoyance crossed his face at being told what to do with his money in front of a third party. To prove he wasn't chained to his father's ledger, Julian slipped a matte-black titanium credit card from his breast pocket and slid it across the white tablecloth, pressing it directly under my fingers.

"Take care of it," Julian said, his chin lifting with casual arrogance. "No limits on that card. Just make sure the Reeve crest is on the invitations."

My thumb rubbed the cold, embossed metal.

*No limits.*

"You're amazing, Jules," I whispered, flashing a wide, glittering smile that masked the poison in my teeth. "You have no idea what this is going to buy us."

The waiter arrived with plates of seared duck and truffle risotto. Julian and Tessa began chattering about stock options and seasonal galas, completely deaf to the ticking clock above their heads.

Under the table, I pulled my phone out beneath my napkin.

Six days, twenty-two hours left.

I opened an encrypted commercial portal and authorized an immediate bulk order to a wholesale food distribution warehouse in the industrial port: four tons of vacuum-sealed white rice, two tons of p***o beans, three hundred cases of canned meats, and fifty commercial water filtration barrels.

Delivery scheduled for midnight tonight at the abandoned rail dock behind Linden Avenue.

I glanced up. Julian was cutting his duck, smiling down at his watch, completely unaware that his black card had just funded the fortress that would lock him out in the cold.