Chapter 4 - Smoke and Shears
The vehicle arrived at Christian’s penthouse, a glass monolith overlooking the dark river. The interior was modern, muted in charcoal and slate, stripped of needless warmth. Christian directed his housekeeper, a quiet woman named Martha, to bring Elena a change of clothes: a dark cashmere sweater and tailored trousers that swallowed her slender frame.
When Elena emerged into the expansive study, Christian was standing by a marble fireplace, a silver pair of shears resting on the mantel beside a scrap of white silk.
""What is that?"" Elena asked, stopping in her tracks.
""Found beneath the dressing room bench ten minutes before you walked down the aisle,"" Christian said, not turning around. ""High-tension monofilament wire. Tied to your corset stays and anchored to the doorframe. As you walked, the tension snapped the main seam.""
Bile rose in Elena’s throat. ""Victoria. She was the last one in the room with me.""
""And Richard bought her a penthouse in Mayfair two days ago using your family's trust account,"" Christian revealed, turning to face her with cold fury in his eyes. ""They didn't just want to betray you, Elena. They needed you discredited, publicly broken, and deemed emotionally unfit so Richard could assume full conservatorship over your estate.""
Elena dropped into a leather armchair, burying her face in her hands. She had spent two years mourning her father, blindly placing her trust in the man promised to protect her.
May you like
""Cry if you must,"" Christian said, stepping toward her. ""Then wipe your face. Because tomorrow, we take back every cent they stole from you.""
Suddenly, his phone buzzed violently against the desk. He answered, listened for three seconds, and his jaw locked. ""Lock the perimeter,"" he commanded. ""They found her.""
