Chapter Thirty-Four: The Crownless Storm

They called it a press conference.

But I knew what it really was.

A battlefield dressed in suits and gold-plated microphones.

The room was full of people in polished shoes and fake smiles. Investors. Politicians. Journalists. And above them all, seated like royalty behind a long black table, the remaining Council members—men who’d once answered to Reagan Blackwood, and now, in his absence, waited to see which shadow would rise in his place.

Lucien stood beside me, expression blank, posture coiled like a panther.

Clara watched from backstage, fingers twisting in the hem of her dress, eyes scanning every movement like it might come with a blade.

And I—

I was about to turn the Crown of Thorns inside out.

The Council’s spokesperson cleared his throat. “Ms. Sinclair. You requested an audience to address the allegations and restructuring of Blackwood Global Holdings. You may proceed.”

I stepped forward, heels clicking like a war drum on marble.

“I’m not here to address allegations,” I said. “I’m here to dismantle a lie that has ruled this empire for generations.”

A murmur stirred.

I let it build, let them twitch. Let them fear.

“I stand here not as Lucien’s wife. Not as a Sinclair. I stand here as a survivor.”

Lucien’s jaw tightened.

I continued.

“Reagan Blackwood founded a legacy built on blood. Not just wealth—but ownership of it. He curated a lineage. Created children in labs. Designed heirs. And when some of those heirs failed to obey, he buried them.”

One of the older councilmen stood. “This is slander—”

“No,” I cut him off, my voice slicing clean. “This is truth. And I have the files to prove it. Photos. Names. Bodies.”

Gasps. More movement. The sound of shifting loyalties.

“I was not born into this game. I was sold into it. And the man who bought me,” I looked at Lucien now, “chose to burn the cage with me rather than rule it.”

His eyes met mine, storm and softness woven together.

I turned back.

“There will be no new crown. No new dynasty. No next generation of chained blood.”

And then I pulled a velvet box from beneath the podium and opened it.

Inside was a silver circlet.

Wreathed in fire-shaped metal.

Twisted. Scarred. Beautiful.

“The Blackwood Crown,” I said. “Forged from the original heirloom. Melted. Recast. Not a symbol of rule. But of rebellion.”

And I placed it on the podium—not my head.

“I don’t wear crowns. I break them.”

They didn’t clap.

But they didn’t drag me out either.

Which meant the message had landed.

Later that night, we returned to the Vermont chapel.

The scent of ash still lingered, sweet and metallic.

Clara sat on the altar steps, her eyes fixed on the stars.

I joined her.

“I think I always knew,” she said softly. “That I wasn’t meant to survive.”

“You weren’t,” I said. “You were meant to obey. There’s a difference.”

She looked at me. “And now?”

I smiled faintly. “Now you get to write your own ending.”

She tilted her head. “What if I don’t want an ending? What if I want to burn forever?”

“Then let’s keep feeding the fire.”

The call came at midnight.

A private line.

Lucien answered, his voice tense.

Then he handed it to me.

“It’s him.”

I didn’t ask who.

I knew.

I pressed the phone to my ear.

And Eryx’s voice poured through like poisoned honey.

“Well, well, Ivy. Or should I say storm-bringer? That was quite the performance today.”

My throat went tight. “What do you want?”

“Let’s skip the pretense. You’ve become troublesome. Inspiring. A little too powerful. And yet… there’s still one card I hold.”

I said nothing.

“Clara. The Council doesn’t just want to eliminate her. They want to use her again. You’ve ruined one version of the future. But I can give you another.”

“What do you mean?”

“Give me Clara. And I’ll hand over full control of Blackwood Global. The assets. The codes. The hidden files. Everything.”

I froze.

He continued.

“She’ll be protected. Cared for. Kept alive. And you… you’ll be free to build your empire. Without blood on your hands.”

Lucien watched me, eyes narrowed.

I swallowed hard.

Then spoke.

“No.”

There was a long pause on the other end.

“I thought you wanted peace, Ivy.”

“I want truth. And Clara is the only piece that hasn’t been poisoned by men like you.”

I hung up.

Lucien stepped forward.

“Well?”

I met his gaze. “He offered me the crown again.”

Lucien’s smile was razor-thin. “And you told him to choke on it?”

“Not in so many words.”

He kissed me.

Not soft. Not sweet.

But like a soldier before the next war.