Because if someone in her family is hiding behind her mother’s name…it means this is deeper, darker, and far more personal than anyone can fathom.
Sylvester studies me, his expression unreadable. “So you’re saying your mother is being framed?”
“Possibly my entire family,” I answer, my voice low, tight. “Because whoever is using her maiden name obviously doesn’t know my mother hasn’t used that name in decades. It’s a small error, but it’s substantial to me.”
Sylvester’s brows pull together. “That means someone wants the trail to lead back to the Laurents.”
“Exactly.”
The room suddenly feels colder. “Someone is using her name like bait. Like they want Dimitri to think the Laurents are funding all of this.”
A beat of silence.
And then, like a blade sliding into place, the truth settles heavily in my chest.
This war was never just between Dimitri and my family. It’s been orchestrated by someone else entirely—someone who knows both sides, someone who understands their history, their hatred, their blind spots. Someone using both of them as pawns.
My pulse spikes. “Sylvester…this isn’t just an attack. It’s a setup. Someone wants to break them. Someone wants blood between the Rusnaks and the Laurents.”
“Who wants blood between the Rusnaks and the Laurents?”
I freeze.
The voice comes from the doorway.
The door swings open, and Dimitri steps inside, broad shoulders filling the room, his presence swallowing all the air. His gaze drops to the file in my hand—then rises to my face. He doesn’t yell. He doesn’t even look surprised. He just closes the door with a quiet click, his expression unreadable.
“What,” he asks calmly, dangerously, “did you find?”
Sylvester takes one step back, sensing the storm brewing, then slips out of the room without a word, shutting the door behind him.
It’s just the two of us now.
I swallow and walk toward him. I place the file in his hand—my fingers trembling even though I try to hide it. His eyes meet mine, cold and sharp, and I feel the weight of everything I’ve just uncovered pressing down on my chest.
“I found payment slips,” I say quietly. “Transfers connected to an account under my mother’s maiden name.”
His jaw ticks.
I push on. “She hasn’t used that name in decades. And she has nothing to do with any financial operations in my family. Whoever did this—they’re using her name to frame theLaurents. To make it look like my family is behind the attacks on you.”
His eyes darken as he flips through the documents, taking in every line, every signature. But it’s the way he lifts his head slowly that makes my breath hitch.
“Vivian….”
My name sounds like a warning. Like a storm rolling over the horizon.
“I think someone wants the Rusnaks and Laurents at war,” I whisper. “Someone wants you and me on opposite sides.”
He steps closer, the file lowering to his side.
I can feel the tension radiating off him, thick enough to choke on.
“And I think,” I add, “we’ve both been played.”
My voice trembles, just a little. I hope he believes me.
He has no reason to—none except blind trust.
