He can feel when danger shifts; his body is a barometer for violence.
Kiro whispers through the line, “Harper, you’re almost hot. Thirty seconds until the monitoring script hits the spike.”
“Perfect,” I say, breath steady. “I only need twenty.”
And then—
“Harper.”
Damian’s voice is a razor wrapped in velvet.
I turn.
Inessa stands in the doorway.
She’s alone, of course, because she prefers to enter battles like a queen extending mercy to lesser creatures. Her eyes gleam with too much light, and her smile glitters like a blade dipped in sugar.
“What an intimate little reunion,” she purrs, voice soft as silk slipping off shoulders. “The bride, the Blade, and their two loyal dogs.” She glides into the room, silver lace shimmering. “I should have known you’d come. You always were sentimental creatures.”
My heartbeat stays the same, because she is nothing to fear.
“Show’s over, Inessa.”
“Is it?” She tilts her head. “Because I’m the one holding the winning hand. And you… you’re the thing that ruined him.”
Damian shifts toward her, his expression full of malice, but I lift a hand.
No. Now she’ll know the price of the bullshit she’s put everyone through.
“Inessa,” I say, voice eerily calm. “The entire auction has been streaming live to global agencies for the last—” I check the screen, “—six minutes.”
Her composure fractures, smile corroding off her face like rust washed away by acid.
Her fingers twitch by her side and—
She lunges for the console.
Damian catches her wrist mid-strike, his grip bruising. She twists, too graceful to be human, nails catching his mask. Hepins her easily, but she slips free like smoke, bolting for the side exit.
“Damian, go!” I shout.
Iosif blocks the main door as Damian charges after her, forcing her into the hall that leads straight back to the ballroom.
Kiro’s voice explodes over comms. “She’s running toward the crowd—she’s trying to use civilians as cover. Agents incoming from east corridor!”
I grab the drives from the desk, secure them at my belt, and sprint.
The hallway explodes into motion. The pounding of feet, the shriek of alarms that are triggered by my broadcast as the orchestra collapses into discordant noise. Guests scatter like startled birds as Inessa shoves through them, mask slipping sideways, hair wild.
The queen has abandoned her throne and now claws at the floorboards to keep from falling.
I hit the ballroom just as she does.
She tries to flee through the balcony but agents flood the entrance, weapons drawn, badges flashing, Interpol and Europol alike.
She freezes, the shaky smile on her face as fake as her grip over Anton’s empire. I step into the center of the ballroom, mask half torn, breathing hard, Damian appearing at my side.
“Inessa Markova,” I say, my voice cutting through the room. “This isover. The world is watching. And this—” I gesture to the screens flickering to life above us, showing her auction logs, her encrypted messages, her forged signatures, “—is your empire.”
