Chapter 2 - The Mask of Perfection
"Get her up," Beatrice ordered coldly, her voice cutting through the ringing in my ears like a rusty blade. She stepped closer, stepping over the pool of blood with practiced precision. "Vance, grab her. She has forty-five minutes to look like a human being before the Sterling Group executives walk through that door."
Vance reached down, grabbing my upper arm with enough force to leave deep bruises beneath my sweater. He hoisted me to my feet. The world tilted dangerously. Warm blood trickled down my cheek, dripping off my chin and staining the lace collar of my shirt.
"Look at me, Sarah," Vance growled, his face inches from mine. His breath reeked of bourbon. "You are going to put on foundation. You are going to fix your hair. You are going to wear the green silk dress I bought you, and you are going to smile at CEO Harrison. If you say one word—if you so much as glance at anyone the wrong way—I swear to God, you won't live to see tomorrow morning."
Arthur cleared his throat from the doorway, taking another casual sip of his whiskey. "Don't overdo it, Vance. We just need her presentable enough to sign the trust transfer papers. Once the Sterling deal closes tonight and her family's shares are legally merged into the Sterling-Vance holding firm, she can have an 'accident' down the cellar stairs for all I care."
My stomach dropped into a freezing abyss.
The trust transfer. That was what this entire six-year nightmare had been about. My late grandfather had left me a controlling fifteen-percent stake in Sterling Logistics—a massive commercial shipping empire based out of the Boston harbors. For years, the Vance family had been slowly leeching money from my personal accounts, keeping me isolated, bruised, and financially crippled. Tonight was the final trap. They needed my signature to liquidate the trust and bail out Vance Senior's failing shell companies.
"You hear that, sweetheart?" Vance sneered, turning on the cold water tap and shoving my face down toward the running water to rinse the blood away. The icy water shocked my skin, burning like liquid nitrogen against the fresh cuts. "You're going to be a very helpful little wife tonight."
I didn't fight back. I didn't scream. I allowed my body to go limp in his grip, letting them believe their reign of terror had broken me completely.
"I'll... I'll get dressed," I choked out, wiping the water and blood from my eyes with the back of my hand.
Beatrice sneered in disgust. "Make it quick. The catering staff is setting up the dining hall. Arthur, come with me. We need to check the wine pairings."
They turned and walked out of the master suite, their expensive shoes clicking against the hardwood floor as if nothing extraordinary had happened. Vance dragged me out of the bathroom and threw me into the walk-in closet, slamming the door shut behind me. The lock clicked into place from the outside.
"Thirty minutes, Sarah," Vance called through the heavy wood. "Don't try anything stupid. The house security system is fully armed. Every door and window is monitored."
Inside the dark closet, surrounded by rows of expensive designer clothes I was forced to wear like a prop, I slumped against the wall.
I reached into my boot.
Deep inside the leather lining of my left boot was a tiny, secondary backup tool Marcus had insisted I carry—a slim, titanium lockpick concealed inside a keycap.
I checked my watch. 5:20 PM.
May you like
Marcus had received the two clicks at 5:12 PM. A two-click alert meant my location was live-tracked by his tactical unit, but without the third click, they were forced to follow protocol—evaluating the threat level, pinging my cell phone, and deploying a reconnaissance vehicle before launching an forced entry.
They were coming, but they were driving dark. I needed to survive until they breached the perimeter. And more than that, I needed to ensure the Vance family didn't realize the trap was closing around them until the steel doors slammed shut.
