“She’ll be found,” Vincent said.
“And if I can’t be found?” I leaned forward before I could stop myself, movement abrupt enough that Uncle Zeke’s hand hovered near my shoulder, ready to steady.
Nikolai’s gaze slid to me with mild interest, as if I’d offered an alternate clause worth adding. Vincent didn’t move. Of course he didn’t. God forbid he acted human.
Damius did, though, his eyes lifting, slow and predatory, like he’d been waiting for me to remember I had teeth.
My father turned toward me. “Madeline?—”
“I’m asking,” I refused to look away from the Crows. “Because you’ve presented it like there are only two outcomes. Surrender everything tied to my name or have it frozen. Either way, the Thorne dynasty in Villain collapses.”
Fear made me honest.
“If the assets are frozen, you don’t get them. If I don’t marry him, you don’t get them. Thorne standing is ruined either way, so why would we sign away what we can at least keep out of your hands?”
The words landed hard. Uncle Cole made a low sound, satisfied someone had finally said it out loud.
Uncle Zeke stayed fixed on the Crows. “She’s right.”
Nikolai folded his hands, settling in as if for a lecture. “Frozen assets can be unfrozen.”
“And absorbed assets can’t be taken back. This isn’t negotiation. It’s theft dressed in Codex language.” I shot back before my father could speak. My pulse hammered against my throat.
“So what if we choose frozen? What if we refuse to hand you a wedding that redirects everything?”
Nikolai’s eyes slid to Vincent again. Vincent finally looked at me fully. Not bored now.
Cold.
“You think holding your own throat stops me from cutting it.”
My stomach dropped.
He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to.
“Villain isn’t a neutral table,” he said. “It’s mine.”
Uncle Zeke stiffened beside me. My father’s hand clenched on the table edge.
Vincent’s gaze stayed locked on my face, relentless.
“My cousins control the regions you still pretend are independent. Ports. Transit lines. Contracts. Security access. Court approvals. Pick anything that matters. We. Run. It. So, you can run as far as you want. Your name won’t outrun our reach.”
My spine went rigid.
“How long do you think your dynasty survives if I decide Thorne becomes an example?” Vincent asked, tone almost conversational. “Days. Weeks. A month if I’m bored.”
My lungs refused to fill properly.
He leaned back slightly, as if the threat was finished and he was simply explaining the math.
“Refuse the wedding. I don’t just freeze your assets. I burn your standing. I make sure no table in any region will host a Thorne again without tasting consequence.”
“And if you waste my time,” he added, eyes unwavering, “the consequences don’t stop at balance sheets.”
The implication slid under my skin.
This wasn’t a negotiation between dynasties. This was a monster explaining how easy it would be to crush everything I loved.
