The screams echoed even after Griffin was dragged out of the ballroom.
Alina didn’t blink.
She simply sipped her champagne and turned to the crowd, her voice silk-cut steel.
“We don’t negotiate with predators,” she said into the mic. “We expose them. We bury them.”
Gasps.
A few claps.
And then — a standing ovation.
Nicholas’s hand slid to her back, anchoring her.
“You’re not done,” he whispered against her ear.
“I haven’t even started,” she murmured back.
Back at their penthouse, the mask cracked.
Nicholas watched Alina pace. Her heels clicked like warning shots on marble. Her jaw was sharp with rage, but her eyes — they shimmered.
Not with tears.
With fury.
“He still has people,” she snapped. “On the inside. At Thorne. Camille said someone leaked our rollout plan.”
Nicholas
