Chapter Thirty-One: The Lion's Roar

It started with a scream that could have shattered crystal.

Not from me.

Not from any of the pampered guests still recovering from the chaos of my fall.

From the head of security—a man who looked like he'd rather face a firing squad than deliver this news.

"The gift is gone."

The words echoed through the east wing like a death knell, bouncing off marble walls and settling into my bones with the weight of catastrophe.

Jules froze beside me, her hand instinctively moving to the weapon concealed beneath her jacket. I was still aching from my tumble down the stairs, my shoulder throbbing and my ribs protesting every breath, but this—this was so much worse than physical pain.

This was betrayal with surgical precision.

Dominic materialized in the doorway like vengeance incarnate, his perfectly tailored tuxedo somehow making him look more dangerous, not less. His eyes were burning with a fury so cold it could freeze hell itself.

"What did you say?" His voice was deadly quiet, the kind of calm that preceded hurricanes.

The guard swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing with terror. "The velvet box, sir. It's missing from the secure vault. The one Mrs. Blackwood placed there herself."

Dominic's face didn't change.

Not visibly.

But I could feel the shift in his energy—volcanic, tectonic, like the earth itself was about to split open and swallow our enemies whole.

He turned toward the gala floor with a calm that terrified me more than any amount of shouting ever could.

"Seal every exit," he said, his voice carrying the authority of someone who'd built empires and destroyed kingdoms. "No one leaves this mansion. Not until we find what was stolen."

A heartbeat of silence.

Then he turned to Jules, his eyes never leaving mine. "Get her to the security room. Now."

"Dominic—" I started, but he was already moving, transforming from protective husband to predator in the span of seconds.

"We end this tonight," he said, and I believed him.

***

The security room was a fortress of technology hidden behind Renaissance paintings and crystal chandeliers. Cold fluorescent lights replaced the warm glow of the ballroom, and monitors lined every wall, displaying feeds from cameras that captured every angle of the mansion.

Every angle except one.

The one where the velvet box had once been safe.

Dominic entered like death itself, his jaw clenched so tight I could see the muscle jumping beneath his skin. His hands were curled into fists that looked capable of crushing diamonds.

And then, because this night hadn't been dramatic enough, Delacroix swept in wearing righteous indignation like a designer gown.

"Oh, this is absolutely ridiculous," she huffed, her voice pitched to carry just enough disdain to make everyone in the room feel beneath her. "It must have been misplaced. People get emotional during these events. Things get moved around."

She glanced at me with the kind of smile that could cut through steel.

And I saw it.

A flicker behind her eyes.

A twitch at the corner of her mouth.

She was nervous.

More than nervous. She was terrified.

"Or perhaps," she continued, her voice getting smoother, more calculated, "someone moved it without realizing. You know how it is."

Her gaze dropped deliberately to my stomach, and I felt every protective instinct I'd developed surge to life.

"Emotions run so high during pregnancy. Memory gets fuzzy. Judgment becomes... clouded."

Jules took a step toward her, and I could practically feel the violence radiating from her small frame. But I lifted a hand, stopping her.

"No," I said, my voice calm as winter morning. "Let her finish digging her own grave."

Dominic turned to me, his eyebrows lifting slightly. "You're remarkably calm for someone who just lost a billion-dollar deal."

"I'm always calm when I'm about to destroy someone," I replied, pulling out my phone with deliberate slowness.

The room fell silent.

"I want to see the footage," I said, unlocking my phone and scrolling to a specific app. "From the backup micro-feed."

Delacroix went pale as fresh snow.

Dominic blinked, and for the first time all evening, I saw genuine surprise flicker across his face. "You...?"

"Three days ago," I said, my voice steady and sure, "while I was placing all the high-value items for the gala, I decided I didn't trust anyone in this house. So I took out a little insurance policy."

Jules was starting to grin, the expression transforming her face from protective bodyguard to proud mentor.

"I added a micro camera to the inside velvet lining of the box. Motion-activated. Serial-tagged. Every person who touched it, every second it was moved—all recorded to a private cloud server."

Delacroix opened her mouth, probably to spout more lies, but I held up a finger.

"I'd sit down if I were you," I said sweetly. "You're about to watch your career end in real time."

Jules plugged the drive into the main monitor with the efficiency of someone who'd been waiting for this moment.

The footage began to roll.

At first, nothing but an empty room, peaceful and secure.

Then, movement.

Delacroix entered the frame like a thief in the night, but this thief wore designer shoes and a guilty conscience.

She was alone.

Looking around nervously.

Moving with the careful precision of someone who knew exactly what she was doing and exactly how wrong it was.

She opened the drawer, her hands shaking slightly as she lifted the velvet box. She tucked it into a black velvet pouch that looked suspiciously prepared for this exact purpose.

And then she left.

But she didn't go far.

The next frame showed her in the corridor, and I held my breath.

A masked woman approached.

Tall. Slim. Moving with the kind of regal bearing that spoke of generations of privilege and power.

Navy velvet gown that probably cost more than most people's cars.

The camera caught her hand accepting the box from Delacroix, and then—

The moment that would change everything.

A flash of her face as she adjusted her mask, probably thinking she was safe from observation.

Lydia Blackwood.

Dominic's own mother.