Chapter Twenty-Nine: The Crown Bleeds Crimson

The ring burned in my palm.

Not literally, but I felt the fire all the same. The gold band was cool against my skin, yet my chest flamed with heat—rage, grief, and a question that echoed like a gunshot through my mind.

How did Eryx get my mother’s ring?

It had vanished the night of the fire. The night Reagan’s lies began consuming the house from within. I’d mourned it like a piece of her soul—something irreplaceable and sacred.

But now, it sat in my hand like a curse.

Lucien stood over me. His eyes weren’t just cold—they were murderous.

“He’s sending a message,” he said. “He knows you’ve crossed the line. And he’s letting you know he’s not finished.”

I held the ring tighter until it bit into my fingers.

“No,” I whispered. “He’s letting me know he never stopped.”

We held another meeting that night.

This time, there was no boardroom. No velvet chairs or champagne. Just the war table in Lucien’s private study—wood scarred by time, shadows draped across it like shrouds.

Mira was already there, cigarette lit, fury sharp behind her crimson lipstick.

“Eryx has always played dirty,” she said. “But this? This is more than personal. This is primal.”

“He’s trying to make Ivy feel small,” Andrei added, unfolding a map of their known shell companies. “He’s hitting her past to shake the present.”

Lucien looked at me. “What do you want to do?”

I stared at the ring in the center of the table.

“I want to go home,” I said.

Mira blinked. “You are home, darling.”

I shook my head. “No. I want to go to where my mother died. The house in Vermont. Reagan’s old summer retreat. It burned to the ground, but something tells me it was never quite ashes.”

Lucien stepped closer. “It’s dangerous.”

“So is everything else we’ve done,” I shot back. “But this time? I’m leading.”

The drive to Vermont was quiet.

Too quiet.

Lucien sat beside me in the back of the armored SUV, one hand resting lightly on my thigh, grounding me in ways he didn’t even realize.

The snow fell heavy outside, blanketing the world in false peace.

But I could feel the tension pulsing beneath our skin.

“I remember the night she died,” I said finally, breaking the silence.

Lucien looked at me.

I didn’t turn my head. I couldn’t. I just kept my eyes on the falling snow.

“I was ten. My mother tucked me in like she always did. She smelled like jasmine and cinnamon. Her hair was wet—she’d just showered. And she said something I’ll never forget.”

“What was it?” he asked quietly.

I swallowed. “She said, ‘No matter what happens, Ivy, you’ll never be alone. Even in fire.’”

A breath. A pause. The memory curled around me like smoke.

“Then she kissed my forehead. And an hour later… everything was flames.”

We arrived just after midnight.

The estate—or what was left of it—was a skeleton of its former self. Stone columns cracked with age. Ash-covered earth. Trees that bent like mourners toward the ruins.

But it was more intact than we’d expected.

The fire had only consumed the back half of the mansion.

Lucien and I walked through the foyer, boots crunching on shattered tile and frozen debris.

My flashlight caught something—a shimmer beneath the soot.

I knelt and brushed it clean.

Tiles. A mosaic. A rose carved into the floor.

Just like the ones at Blackwood Estate.

Lucien knelt beside me. “This wasn’t just a summer house. This was part of the legacy.”

“Part of Reagan’s kingdom,” I murmured. “And now we burn it down from inside.”

We found the hidden chamber by accident.

A hollow knock behind the remains of the fireplace. Lucien forced the bricks open, revealing a narrow stairwell.

We descended into darkness.

The air smelled of dust and time. And something else.

Fear.

At the bottom was a study. Books preserved in glass. Paintings. Photos.

And on the desk—another box.

Lucien opened it slowly.

Inside were documents. Letters.

And a journal.

I picked it up, fingers trembling.

It was my mother’s.

The pages were soft, her handwriting graceful and sure.

“Reagan promised me safety. He gave me silence.”

“I know about the lab. About the boys. About what he did to their mother.”

“If anything happens to me, let Ivy know I tried. Let her know the truth always finds the light.”

Tears blurred the ink.

My breath hitched as I clutched the book to my chest.

“She knew,” I choked. “She knew everything.”

Lucien wrapped his arms around me from behind, resting his chin on my shoulder.

“She died trying to protect you.”

“No,” I whispered. “She died because Reagan needed her gone. Because she saw through the crown.”

When we emerged from the chamber, the wind had picked up.

Snow howled through the trees.

And headlights glared through the storm.

Three black SUVs.

Lucien pulled his weapon before I even processed what was happening.

Men in masks stepped out. Armed. Trained.

Eryx’s ghosts.

They didn’t speak.

Just opened fire.

Lucien shoved me behind the stone wall.

Gunshots rang like thunder.

I drew the small pistol I kept in my coat pocket. Mira’s gift. “For when being underestimated gets boring,” she’d said.

I aimed. Fired.

One man dropped.

Lucien took down another.

But they kept coming.

And then—I saw him.

Eryx.

No mask. No fear.

Just walking through the storm like he belonged in it.

He raised his hand.

His men paused.

Lucien aimed the gun at his head.

Eryx laughed.

“I could kill you right now,” Lucien growled.

“You could,” Eryx agreed. “But then you’d never know who else Reagan lied to.”

Lucien’s jaw tightened.

I stepped forward. “What do you want?”

Eryx’s eyes locked onto mine. “You.”

Lucien surged forward, but I stopped him with a hand.

“I’m not yours,” I said.

Eryx tilted his head. “No. But you’re still mine to haunt.”

Then he turned and walked away.

Just like that.

No fight.

No body count.

Just a message.

He was in control.

Back at Blackwood Estate, I stood in front of the mirror.

The ring was back on my finger.

My mother’s voice still echoed in my ears.

Even in fire.

I looked at my reflection—hair wild, face smudged with ash and grief.

And I made a vow.

Eryx wanted to be the ghost that haunted me.

But I would become the one who burned him out of existence.

I was no longer just the bride in a war of billionaires.

I was the fire behind the crown.

And I was done waiting.