Chapter 4 - Reclaiming the Crown
The heavy steel door of the basement didn't just slide open—it was cut open with a high-powered thermal lance in a shower of brilliant, white-hot sparks.
I sat in the dark corner, holding Eva tightly against my chest. Her forehead had finally stopped bleeding, but her skin was hot to the touch, a fever beginning to set in. When the steel door finally fell forward with a massive crash, the bright light of the tactical lanterns flooded our prison.
I blinked against the glare, shielding Eva’s eyes.
Through the dust, a familiar, massive figure stepped forward. It was Dante. He looked exactly as he had six years ago—large, imposing, and completely protective. He dropped to his knees in front of me, his rough, scarred hands instantly reaching out to touch my shoulders.
“Genevieve,” he whispered, his voice cracking with an emotion he rarely showed. “I’m sorry we took so long.”
“Dante,” I said, my voice steady, though a single tear slipped down my cheek. “Take Eva. She needs a doctor.”
Within seconds, two tactical medics rushed into the cellar, gently taking Eva from my arms and placing her onto a specialized stretcher. I stood up, my legs shaking slightly, but I refused to be carried. I tore the ruined, blood-stained silk from my wrists, throwing it onto the concrete floor of the cellar.
As we walked up the stone steps and entered the main hallway of the mansion, the contrast was staggering.
The glittering chandeliers were still on, but the house was filled with Valerius operatives. Arthur and Vivian were being held in the center of the living room, their hands bound with heavy zip-ties. Arthur’s mother, Camryn, who had arrived earlier that evening to witness my "lesson," was sitting on the sofa, weeping hysterically as federal agents systematically boxed up their financial documents.
Alistair was standing by the fireplace, a glass of Arthur’s expensive twenty-year-old scotch in his hand. When he saw me walk in, his cold expression softened, and he set the glass down, walking over to wrap me in a tight, protective embrace.
“You’re safe now, Eve,” he whispered into my hair. “The nightmare is over.”
I pulled back, looking at my five brothers who had mobilized an entire empire for me. “What about Arthur?”
Arthur looked up at me from the floor, his eyes wide with a mixture of terror, confusion, and a sudden, desperate urge to plead. “Genevieve... please! I didn't know! If you had just told me who your family was, I would have never... I love you! You know I love you!”
“You love my silence, Arthur,” I said, my voice carrying no anger, only a profound, freezing indifference. “You loved the idea of a wife who had no voice, no power, and no escape. You wanted a slave to build your ego, and your mother wanted an unpaid servant to manage your home.”
Vivian tried to speak, her voice trembling. “Genevieve... I... it was all a misunderstanding! The dress—I didn't mean to—”
“Caspian,” I said, not even looking at her. “Do you have the footage?”
Caspian stepped forward, tapping his screen. A high-definition hologram projected into the center of the room. It was the security footage from the VIP dressing room of the banquet hall.
The video clearly showed Vivian Vance standing in front of the mirror, holding a pair of shears. She had deliberately sliced the emerald silk of her own dress, laughed, and then hidden the shears in her bag before dragging Eva into the room to frame her.
Arthur stared at the screen, his mouth hanging open as the evidence of Vivian’s deceit was laid bare in front of everyone. He turned his head slowly toward her, his face filled with horror. “Vivian... you... you lied to me?”
“And as for the burning car,” I continued, looking down at Arthur. “Caspian, show him the medical records from the day of the crash.”
Another document appeared in the air. It was a certified hospital report from the county medical center dated six years ago. It showed that Vivian Vance had been admitted to the clinic for a routine cosmetic procedure three hours before the crash occurred, fifty miles away from the mountain pass. It also showed my own medical record under an alias—the severe smoke inhalation, the carbon monoxide levels, and the glass fragments extracted from my arms.
Arthur looked from the screen to me, his face turning completely translucent.
“It was you...” he whispered, his voice trembling as the realization of his monumental, life-long mistake finally crashed down on him. “You saved me... not her.”
“I saved a man I thought had a soul, Arthur,” I said softly. “But I was wrong. You are nothing but a monument to your mother’s vanity.”
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I turned to Benedict. “Initiate the legal proceedings. I want them stripped of everything. I want the Sterling name erased from every building, every charity, and every corporate ledger in this city.”
“It’s already done, sister,” Benedict replied with a cold, satisfied smile.
