Christian stepped past the smashed pedestal, not caring that the soles of his handcrafted leather shoes crushed the poisoned sugar paste. He stopped two inches from her, his imposing silhouette completely eclipsing the glare of the crystal chandeliers. The black serpentine ink curling up the side of his neck seemed to tighten with his coiled fury.
"Why did you film her, Elena?" he demanded, looking down into her terrified hazel eyes. "Why didn't you run to building security? Why take the risk of lunging at the altar yourself?"
Elena swallowed the bile rising in her throat. "Because security belongs to the Sterling estate, Mr. Vance. If I had shown the clip to the floor manager, the phone would have vanished into the furnace, and my body would have washed up in the harbor by midnight. The only way to keep you alive was to break the glass where everyone could see it."
A faint, lethal smirk touched the corner of Christian's lips—not of amusement, but of grim, appreciative acknowledgment.
"Smart," Christian said softly. He raised his hand, signaling his head of tactical security, Marcus Sterling—no relation to Victoria, but a man who had served Christian’s private security detail for twelve years. "Lock down every exit of the estate. No cars leave the gates. Scramble the drone perimeters over the north woods. And bring me Victoria Sterling alive."
"Yes, Mr. Vance," Marcus barked, his radio crackling with immediate orders as armored guards sealed the heavy oak double doors of the manor.
Christian turned back to Elena, gesturing toward his private security team. "Take Miss Moreno to the third-floor executive quarters. Guard the door with four men. If a single hair on her head is harmed, I will hold every person wearing a security badge personally responsible."
Chapter 4: The Velvet Interrogation
Two hours later, rain began to lash against the leaded glass windows of the estate's private library.
Victoria Sterling was not wearing her wedding gown anymore. She sat tied to a heavy leather armchair in the center of the library, soaked to the bone in mud and autumn rain, her manicured fingers clawing helplessly at the nylon zip-ties binding her wrists. Her veil was torn, her blonde hair matted against her pale cheeks, but the venom in her blue eyes burned with undiminished arrogance.
The heavy library door swung open.
Christian walked in, carrying a plain crystal glass of iced water. Behind him walked Elena, now wrapped in an oversized dark wool trench coat Christian had ordered his staff to bring her, her posture still cautious, observant, and quiet.
Christian set the glass on the desk, pulled a mahogany chair directly opposite Victoria, and sat down. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, his eyes devoid of any human warmth.
"The wedding was never about the shipping merger, was it, Victoria?" Christian asked, his tone deceptively conversational.
Victoria let out a shrill, mocking laugh that bounced off the book-lined walls. "You think you're untouchable, Christian! You strut through high society like an emperor just because your father clawed his way out of the docks and built a monopoly. But to the founding families of this city, you are still street trash with a customized checkbook!"
"And you thought killing me on our wedding day would transfer the Vance Trust into your name?" Christian replied calmly. "You studied the prenuptial agreement. Article 12 states that upon the groom's demise on marital grounds, sixty percent of liquid assets revert to the surviving widow, provided there is no direct heir."
"It wasn't just my idea!" Victoria spat, the desperation beginning to crack through her haughty facade. "You took over the southern harbor terminals! You bankrupted my father’s logistics firm! You squeezed three senatorial campaigns dry! Do you honestly think I acted alone? Look at your own board of directors, Christian! The vial didn't come from my boutique—it came from your own pharmaceutical laboratory on 9th Avenue!"
Elena gasped softly from behind Christian’s shoulder.
Christian didn't even blink. He slowly reached into his pocket and placed an open dossier on his knee.
"I know where the vial came from," Christian murmured. "It came from Director Arthur Vance. My beloved uncle."
Victoria froze. Her smug expression collapsed into sheer, paralyzed terror.
"You... you knew?" she stammered.
"I didn't know how he would attempt it," Christian said, standing up smoothly. "I suspected a motor failure on the drive to the cathedral, or perhaps an accidental overdose during the honeymoon toast. I did not expect my bride to personally poison the cake in front of three hundred witnesses. You were sloppy, Victoria. And the clumsy always pay first."
He looked toward Marcus standing by the doorway. "Hand her over to the federal prosecutor’s anti-corruption unit along with the pantry surveillance footage, the mobile recording, and the chemical analysis. Strip every asset tied to the Sterling accounts under the Vance commercial liens. By tomorrow morning, her family won't have enough money to buy bus fare out of the county."
"Christian, wait! Please!" Victoria screamed as two guards hoisted her out of the chair, dragging her across the Persian rug toward the private holding cells. "We can make a deal! I can give you Arthur's private bank keys! Christian!"