Chapter 1
The asphalt of the underground parking garage was cold, damp, and smelled faintly of exhaust fumes and stale concrete. Victoria Vance adjusted the lapels of her dark grey blazer, her sleek bun resisting the faint draft sweeping beneath the concrete pillars. She carried no weapon, only a heavy black folder tucked securely beneath her left arm and the quiet certainty of a predator closing in on its target. Three steps away, the tinted glass of the idling sedan rolled down just enough to reveal a scene of panicked intimacy. Inside, Marcus Vance—her husband of eight years—was locked in a passionate embrace with Chloe Sterling, a woman whose beige strapless dress was now hopelessly wrinkled against the upholstery.
Victoria did not rush. Her stride remained measured, deliberate, and entirely devoid of theatrical panic. As her shadow fell across the passenger window, Chloe pulled back, her long blonde hair sweeping across her bare shoulders as she shot Victoria a look of venomous hatred. Leaning past Marcus’s muscular frame, Chloe hissed the warning that would soon seal their mutual undoing.
"Talk, and I destroy you," Chloe spat, her voice trembling slightly with adrenalized rage.
May you like
Victoria merely smiled, a cold and fleeting tightening of her lips that reached neither her eyes nor her soul. Before Marcus could scramble backward over the center console, Victoria reached through the lowered window, her manicured fingers twisting into the thick fabric of his dark grey button-down shirt. With a sharp, practiced jerk, she hauled him bodily out of the vehicle, disrupting the delicate ecosystem of their illicit afternoon rendezvous. Marcus stumbled onto the gritty concrete, gasping as his balance failed him.
As he fell, a sleek black vanity case slipped from his grip. It hit the floor with a dull thud, the gold zipper splitting open to scatter its contents across the dirty concrete—a collection of expensive cosmetics, foreign currency, and a heavy, unmistakable brass key. Victoria did not look down at the scattered trinkets. Her eyes remained locked on Marcus, who was scrambling to his feet with an aggressive snarl, his protective instincts overriding his common sense. But before Marcus could lunge toward his estranged wife, heavy footsteps echoed off the concrete pillars. Arthur Sterling, a formidable man in a tailored dark suit, white shirt, and black tie, closed the distance with terrifying speed, his expression a mask of stern, authoritative rage.
