Chapter 60: The High Table

The top floor of The Vault—a private, subterranean club built into the bedrock of an old banking foundation—was dead quiet. No public access, no unsecured lines, and no windows.

Xavier sat at the head of the dark marble conference table, the top two buttons of his black dress shirt undone, his broad shoulders relaxed with absolute control. Beside him, Selah leaned back in her high-backed leather chair, wearing an immaculate ivory silk suit that contrasted sharply with the room’s dark wood and slate.

There were no bodyguards inside the room. Isaiah and Marcus held the single private elevator access upstairs. Down here, it was only power facing power.

When the heavy oak doors clicked open, Lucian Mercer walked in alone.

He moved with the effortless grace of European old money, carrying a tailored coat over one arm. His sharp grey eyes swept the room, pausing briefly on Xavier before locking onto Selah.

"A underground vault," Lucian murmured smoothly, taking the seat at the opposite end of the long table without waiting for an invitation. "A bit theatrical for a corporate sit-down, don't you think?"

"It keeps out uninvited noise," Xavier said, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that filled the silence of the room like a heavy weight. "And it ensures that whatever is said down here stays between the people who actually run the table."

Lucian leaned forward, resting his forearms on the marble. "Julian Drake was a fool. He thought he could leverage Vandenberg's off-market credit lines to force a hostile takeover, only to lose his entire board position in seventy-two hours. He left a mess in his wake."

"Julian was a symptom," Selah cut in, her voice silky, smooth, and laced with iron. "You were the bankroll behind the audit. You thought that by choking our domestic supply lines, you could force us to sell controlling interest in the port terminals to Vandenberg."

Lucian’s eyes narrowed slightly, a faint, cold smirk touching his lips. "You're direct, Mrs. Knight. I appreciate that. But let's look at the board realistically. Your merger is barely finalized. The federal audit left scars on your liquidity, even if you cleared the charges. Vandenberg has fifty billion euros in private capital sitting on the water right now. We can buy every logistics hub from the Great Lakes to the Atlantic before your board registers the bid."

Xavier didn't move an inch, but the atmosphere in the room shifted instantly. The air grew dense, charged with a dark, suffocating intensity.

"You can try," Xavier said softly.

He stood up slowly, all six-foot-four of his broad frame towering over the head of the table. He didn't raise his voice, but the sheer menace in his tone made the air feel thin.

"You think because you sit in Geneva behind numbered accounts that you're untouchable, Mercer?" Xavier leaned over the marble table, his dark eyes burning into Lucian's. "Drake thought the same thing. Look where it got him. You touch one more port in our network, and I won't just block your clearinghouse—I will gut Vandenberg's domestic charter from the inside out."

Lucian held his breath for a fraction of a second, feeling the undeniable, raw dominance radiating from Xavier.

Selah didn't miss the subtle break in Mercer’s posture. She stood up smoothly, stepping around the table to stand right at Xavier's side. She slid her hand into Xavier's, her fingers lacing tightly through his.

The contrast was lethal—his rugged, unyielding muscle paired with her sharp, terrifying composure.

"The ghost channel we pinged back to Geneva wasn't a warning, Mr. Mercer," Selah said quietly, her eyes locked on Lucian with devastating calm. "It was an itinerary. You came here thinking you were inspecting damaged goods. You're actually sitting in a room with the only people who decide if Vandenberg operates on this side of the Atlantic at all."

Lucian looked between the two of them—the absolute, unbreakable alignment in their posture, the quiet fire between them, and the cold reality that they weren't bluffing.

For the first time since landing, Lucian Mercer didn't have a slick response.

He slowly stood up, buttoning his coat. "You two are playing a very dangerous game."

"We don't play games," Xavier growled, his grip tightening protectively around Selah's hand as he pulled her slightly closer to his side. "Now get out of my city."

Mercer offered a brief, tense nod, turned on his heel, and exited through the heavy oak doors, the heavy latch clicking shut behind him.

The second the doors locked, the quiet in the subterranean room turned electric.

Xavier turned immediately, pulling Selah flush against his chest. His hands gripped her waist hard, lifting her slightly off her feet as his mouth came down on hers with a fierce, possessive hunger.

The adrenaline from the confrontation burned hot between them. Selah wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, her fingers running through his hair, meeting the intensity of his kiss measure for measure.

When he finally pulled back just an inch, his heavy chest heaved against hers, his dark eyes searching hers with wild, dark adoration.

"You were incredible," Xavier breathed against her lips, his hands sliding up her back, feeling the warmth of her body through the silk.

"We were lethal," Selah whispered back, her heart thumping wildly against his chest, her lips swollen and flushed. "He’s retreating to regroup."

"Let him," Xavier muttered, leaning down to trail deep, burning kisses along the curve of her jaw down to the exposed collarbone of her suit. "He just learned who runs the throne."