CHAPTER 6

​The grand ballroom of the Grand Regent Hotel was a blinding maze of crystal chandeliers, flowing champagne, and the city’s most dangerous elite.

​I walked in on Killian’s arm, wearing the custom silk gown he had selected—a deep crimson dress with a plunging back that exposed every inch of skin his hands had marked just hours earlier. I held my head high, smiling smoothly for the photographers while my heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs.

​“Killian knows who you really are. He’s setting a trap for you at the gala tonight.”

​Elena’s text message echoed continuously in my mind. Was it a genuine warning, or was my half-sister playing another game to save her own skin?

​Beside me, Killian was the epitome of cold, terrifying authority. His dark suit was immaculate, his hand resting heavy and possessive over mine where it looped through his arm.

​“Smile, wife,” Killian murmured, leaning down so his lips brushed the shell of my ear, sending an involuntary shiver straight down my spine despite the terror inside me. “Everyone is watching the new Mrs. Vance.”

​“I am smiling, Killian,” I whispered back, matching his public mask.

​Within twenty minutes, we were surrounded by high-society vultures. Board members, politicians, and syndicate bosses lined up to pay homage to Killian.

​“Killian, my boy,” a sharp, raspy voice cut through the crowd.

​An older man with silver hair, cold grey eyes, and a sleek obsidian walking stick approached us. Marcus Vance—Killian’s uncle, and the secondary target of my financial investigation.

​“Uncle Marcus,” Killian said, his voice dropping into a dangerously polite register.

​“So this is the Sterling girl,” Marcus said, his eyes scanning me with calculating disdain. He reached out, taking my hand and pressing a dry, cold kiss to the back of my fingers. “Your father left quite a mess behind, my dear. It’s a miracle Killian was willing to clean it up.”

​“My father’s debts are being handled, Mr. Vance,” I replied smoothly, keeping my voice soft and submissive.

​Before Marcus could speak again, a tall security officer leaned in, whispering into Killian’s ear. Killian’s jaw tightened slightly.

​“Excuse me for a moment,” Killian said, his dark gaze locking onto mine with an unspoken warning. “Stay right here, Aria.”

​He walked away toward a glass balcony at the end of the ballroom, surrounded by his security detail.

​The second Killian was out of earshot, Marcus stepped closer, blocking my view of the room. “You play the quiet bride very well, Aria. But a cage is still a cage. If you ever find yourself needing an escape route from my nephew... come see me.”

​“I’m very happy where I am, Mr. Vance,” I said, angling my body slightly.

​As I spoke, my fingers subtly unlatched the clasp of my clutch bag. Tucked inside was a pocket-sized radio-frequency duplicator—a high-end hacking tool I had disguised as a compact powder mirror. While keeping eye contact with Marcus, I brushed past his left side, bringing the clutch within two inches of his jacket pocket where his corporate keycard sat.

​Bzz. A faint, microscopic vibration pulsed against my palm.

​Target keycard cloned.

​I pulled back instantly, offering Marcus a polite, dismissive nod before gliding away toward the edge of the ballroom.

​I needed two minutes alone in a private restroom to dump the keycard's encrypted data into Ghost-X's cloud server. With Marcus’s root access key, I could unlock the offshore ledger and secure enough leverage to disappear forever.

​I turned down a quiet, dimly lit corridor away from the main hall.

​Suddenly, a massive arm wrapped around my waist from behind.

​Before I could scream, I was yanked forcefully into a dark, vacant VIP balcony suite. The heavy glass door slammed shut, cutting off the noise of the gala entirely.

​I was slammed back against the iron balcony railing, the cool night air hitting my bare back.

​Killian loomed over me, his massive frame trapping me against the metal barrier. His shadow completely consumed me under the moonlight, his dark eyes ablaze with lethal rage.

​In his right hand, he held up a sleek, portable diagnostic tablet—and on the glowing screen was a real-time signal trace showing the exact RFID clone signal I had just emitted next to Marcus.

​“You’re a terrible liar, little fraud,” Killian rasped, his voice a low, terrifying growl that vibrated against my skin. He leaned in until his lips hovered a millimeter from mine, his hand gripping my throat with just enough pressure to keep me pinned. “Who are you working for, Aria?”