Chapter 30

The walk-in closet of the Master Suite was larger than Vespera’s entire apartment in her previous life. It was a cathedral of fashion, lined with backlit glass cabinets and velvet islands.

In the center of the room, Vespera stood before a floor-to-ceiling mirror.

She wasn't looking at her face. She was looking at the armor.

The dress was a custom creation from Maison du Ciel, delivered only an hour ago. It was crimson—a deep, arterial red that seemed to absorb the light rather than reflect it. The silk clung to her body like a second skin, the neckline plunging in a daring V, the back completely open. It was a dress designed to stop hearts and start wars.

"Red again?"

The voice came from the doorway.

Vespera didn't turn. She watched in the mirror as Cyprian entered the room. He was already dressed in a tuxedo that fit his broad shoulders with military precision. The black tie was undone, hanging loose around his neck.

"Beige is for victims," Vespera murmured to her reflection. "Pastels are for peace. Tonight is not about peace."

"No," Cyprian agreed, stepping up behind her. "Tonight is an execution."

He met her gaze in the glass. He looked dangerous. The "Thornless Rose" tattoo on his neck peeked out from the crisp white collar of his shirt.

"Turn around," he said softly.

Vespera turned.

Cyprian held a long, thin velvet box. He opened it. Inside lay a bracelet—a band of platinum set with jagged, raw diamonds that looked like shards of ice.

"It matches your eyes," he said. "Cold. Sharp."

"I can put it on," Vespera said, reaching for it.

"Allow me."

Cyprian took the bracelet. He lifted her left wrist—the one Lysander had bruised, though the marks were fading now under a layer of expensive concealer.

He circled her wrist with the platinum band. His fingers were warm against her cool skin. He took his time with the clasp, his head bent, his dark hair brushing against her arm. The intimacy of the gesture was suffocating. It was more personal than a kiss.

Click.

The lock engaged.

Cyprian didn't let go. He brought her wrist up to his mouth. He pressed his lips against the soft skin of her inner wrist, right over her pulse.

Vespera’s breath hitched. A shiver raced down her spine, making the silk rustle.

"You're trembling," Cyprian whispered against her skin.

"I'm anticipating," Vespera corrected. "There's a difference."

Cyprian looked up. His grey eyes were dark, dilated.

"You look like a queen who just bathed in the blood of her enemies," he said. "It suits you."

"I haven't drawn blood yet," Vespera said, pulling her hand back slowly. "Tonight is just the wound. The bleed-out comes later."

"Are you ready to see him?" Cyprian asked. "He'll be there. Desperate men always return to the scene of their former glory."

"I'm counting on it," Vespera said. She turned back to the mirror, smoothing the red silk over her hips. "He thinks he's going to a party. He doesn't know he's going to a funeral."

Five miles away, the atmosphere was very different.

The library of the Thorne Estate was a scene of carnage.

"Sell it!" Lysander screamed into his phone. "I don't care if the market is down! Sell the Patek! Sell the vintage Ferrari! I need cash, and I need it in the next hour!"

He paced the room, kicking aside a pile of auction catalogs. His hair was disheveled. He was wearing a tuxedo shirt, but he hadn't put on pants yet. He looked like a man unraveling at the seams.

"Sir," the broker on the other end of the line stammered. "If we liquidate the classic car collection this quickly, you'll take a forty percent loss on the asset value. We're talking millions in lost equity."

"I don't care about equity!" Lysander roared. "I need liquidity! I need a certified check for five million dollars ready for the auction house by 7:00 PM! Do it, or I'll sue you for incompetence!"

He hung up and threw the phone onto the sofa.

"Five million," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. "That should be enough. It has to be enough."

Elara was sitting in the corner, painting her nails. She was wearing a pale blue gown that made her look like Cinderella, if Cinderella were a sociopath.

"Are you sure she wants it?" Elara asked, not looking up. "Maybe she doesn't care about the necklace. Maybe it's a trap."

"She cares," Lysander insisted. "It belonged to her mother. It's the only thing she ever asked me for. For three years, she begged to see it. It's her weakness."

He walked to the window, staring out at the driveway where a tow truck was currently hauling away his prized Aston Martin. A pang of agony hit him, but he shoved it down.

"She thinks she's won," Lysander spat. "She thinks because she crashed my stock and humiliated me on T*****r that she's the alpha. But she's still just a sentimental little girl."

Elara blew on her nails. "So the plan is..."

"I buy the necklace," Lysander said, his eyes gleaming with a manic light. "I outbid her. I don't care what it costs. I stand on that stage, I hold up her mother's legacy, and I make her watch me take it home."

He turned to Elara, a cruel smile stretching his face.

"And if she wants it back... she'll have to come begging. She'll have to drop the lawsuit. She'll have to publicly apologize. I will hold that necklace hostage until she breaks."

"It's risky, Ly," Elara noted. "That five million is the last of the operational cash. If payroll bounces next week..."

"It won't matter!" Lysander shouted. "Once I break her, I get the code back! I get the clients back! This is the turning point, Elara! Tonight, we remind everyone that the Thornes are still the kings of this city!"

Back at the Fortress, the mood was calm.

Vespera stood in the foyer, fastening a diamond earring. Cyprian was waiting by the door, checking his watch.

The elevator chimed.

Oryn stepped out. He was dressed in a suit, looking less like a bodyguard and more like a monolithic statue of justice. He held a tablet.

He walked straight to Vespera and showed her the screen.

INTEL REPORT: 18:45 PM Subject: Lysander Thorne. Activity: Asset Liquidation confirmed. Items sold: 3 Vehicles, 4 Timepieces, Crypto Portfolio. Total Liquid Cash Raised: $5.2 Million. Destination: Verified transfer to Auction House escrow account.

Vespera read the numbers.

She didn't frown. She didn't look worried.

A slow, radiant smile spread across her face. It was brighter than the diamonds on her wrist.

"He did it," she whispered. "He actually did it."

"He sold the Aston Martin?" Cyprian asked, glancing at the screen. "He loved that car more than he loved you."

"He hates me more than he loves the car," Vespera corrected. "He's scraped the bottom of the barrel. That five million is everything. It's the payroll. It's the vendor payments. It's the mortgage interest."

She handed the tablet back to Oryn.

"He's going to the auction intending to spend every last dime he has to keep that necklace away from me."

"And are we going to let him?" Cyprian asked, offering his arm.

Vespera looped her arm through his. She felt the hard muscle beneath the tuxedo jacket. She felt the power of the man beside her, and the power of the trap she had set.

"Oh, we're not just going to let him," Vespera said, her voice dripping with anticipation.

"We're going to drive the price up until he bankrupts himself to win."

She looked at the door.

"Shall we go, husband? I believe there's a necklace I need to lose."