Chapter 6
The heavy velvet drapes in the master suite blocked out the dazzling neon glow of the city, plunging the room into a deep, velvety darkness. Clara stood frozen inside the walk-in closet, her back pressed against the cedar-paneled wall. Lily was still miraculously asleep, her chest rising and falling in steady, rhythmic waves against Clara's collarbone, entirely oblivious to the mortal danger lurking just down the hall.
The panic room entrance was cleverly disguised as a mirrored shoe rack. Clara could hear muffled, heavy footsteps echoing on the imported marble floors of the foyer. Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird, each beat sounding deafeningly loud in the confined space.
"Julian?" a smooth, cultured voice called out from the living room. It wasn't Julian's voice. It was polished, slightly nasal, and sickeningly familiar from the financial magazines. It was Marcus Vance. "Julian, I know you're up here. Security downstairs let me through. We need to talk about the acquisition audit before the markets open tomorrow."
Clara held her breath, biting down on her lower lip until she tasted the sharp tang of copper.
"You're trespassing, Marcus," Julian’s voice rang out, cold and razor-sharp, cutting through the vast expanse of the penthouse. There was no tremor in his tone, only the icy composure of a man prepared for war. "And you have a lot of nerve showing your face in my home after what you did to my fleet service records."
A soft, condescending chuckle echoed down the hallway, sending a shiver straight down Clara's spine.
"Always the dramatic architect," Marcus replied, his footsteps drawing closer to the master suite wing. "You always did take things too personally, cousin. Business is business. Elena was poking her nose into ledgers that didn't concern her. She forced our hand."
Clara’s hand instinctively flew up to cover her mouth. Our hand. The confession hung in the air like a death sentence. Julian hadn't just suspected his cousin; he had just received confirmation that Marcus was directly responsible for the crash that killed Elena.
"You killed my wife," Julian said, his voice dropping into a terrifying, lethal register that made Clara’s blood run cold. The metallic click of a firearm slide being pulled back echoed faintly through the walls.
"I protected our legacy," Marcus countered, his voice losing its smooth veneer, turning sharp and defensive. "And now, I need to clean up the loose ends. Where is the girl, Julian? Where is the nanny you hired three days ago? My sources in the agency tell me she isn't who she says she is."
May you like
Inside the dark closet, Clara felt the blood drain from her face. Her knees buckled slightly, but she caught herself against the shelf, terrified of waking Lily.
Through a narrow crack in the mirrored door, Clara saw the handle of the master suite turn.
