Chapter 8 - The Hidden Guardian
Claire whirled around, her pale face tightening with fury. "What do you mean barricaded? You had the remote override codes!"
"The hydraulic system was cut manually from inside the gatehouse," Vance said, his calm composure fracturing. "Someone severed the lines. And they’re coming up the main driveway."
Through the tall glass windows flanking the grand front doors, twin beams of piercing white headlights cut through the pouring rain. The deep, guttural roar of an engine rumbled through the foundation of the manor—not a police siren, but the heavy, unmistakable throttle of an armored utility vehicle.
Julian stepped into the foyer, a slow, grim realization dawning behind his eyes. He turned his head slightly toward Eleanor. "Mother... did you call him?"
Eleanor didn't flinch. She picked up a linen napkin, deliberately blotting her lips, before looking at Claire with a cold, triumphant pity. "I told you three days ago, Claire. I may be old, but I never leave the Sterling legacy unprotected. You thought Julian was the only one who cared about this house?"
The front doors were kicked inward with a deafening crash that shook the chandeliers. A man stepped across the threshold, drenched in rain, wearing a heavy tactical trench coat. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with silver streaking through his dark hair and eyes that were an exact, terrifying mirror of Julian’s own.
"Drop your weapons," the newcomer said, leveling an automatic shotgun directly at Vance's chest. "Or leave this house in body bags."
May you like
Claire gasped, her voice choking on the name. "Marcus..."
Julian’s breath caught in his throat. Marcus Sterling—his estranged older brother, declared dead in a maritime explosion twelve years ago.
