Chapter 3
The cold steel of the pistol barrel pressed hard against Lyra's temple, but her pulse did not quicken by a single beat. She looked into Julian’s frantic, sweat-beaded eyes with a chilling detachment that unnerved the man far more than any scream could have.
"You're shaking, Julian," Lyra said softly, her voice carrying easily across the silent, terrified expanse of the ballroom. "For a man who spent two hours whipping a defenseless woman, you seem remarkably fragile now that the bill has finally arrived."
Julian’s finger tightened on the trigger, his knuckles whitening. "Shut your mouth! One word from me and you join Clara on that floor. Tell your father his private army has thirty seconds to stand down, or you die right here in front of God and all your wealthy friends!"
The remaining socialites cowered against the velvet drapes, too terrified to move, watching the standoff with wide, terrified eyes. They had spent their lives believing that money and political donations shielded them from consequences, but the absolute silence of the federal radios clipped to the incoming agents' shoulders told a very different story.
From the shattered doorway, a squad of heavily armored tactical agents marched in a disciplined, suffocating formation, stepping over Clara’s motionless body without a single glance downward. Their rifles were raised, laser sights painting glowing red dots across Julian’s chest, throat, and forehead.
Lyra raised her hand, not to beg for mercy, but to gently push the pistol barrel away from her head with two fingers. Julian was so paralyzed by the supernatural calm radiating from her that he lacked the will to resist her movement.
"You always were remarkably stupid, Julian," Lyra said, stepping out of his desperate embrace and smoothing the torn fabric of her silver evening gown. "You thought marrying into my father's trust gave you ownership of Vance Global. You didn't realize that every contract you signed, every offshore account you opened, and every bribe you paid was meticulously cataloged as bait."
May you like
Julian stumbled backward, his burgundy tuxedo jacket stained with Clara’s blood, his breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps. "Bait? What are you talking about? Your father has been missing in Geneva for five years! He's a bankrupt nobody!"
A heavy, measured footfall echoed from the entrance hallway. The crowd parted instantly, terrified agents and cowering millionaires alike pressing themselves against the walls to clear a path.
