The Billionaire’s Vow

CHAPTER FIVE: THE CORONATION

Natalie stood before the floor-to-ceiling windows of Bishop Holdings, watching dawn bleed across Manhattan. The city stretched beneath her like a conquered kingdom, still unaware it had changed hands overnight.

Behind her, Liam tightened the tourniquet around his bleeding forearm—a gift from Vivian’s bodyguard.

“She’ll be here in twenty minutes,” he gritted out, dabbing at the wound with a monogrammed handkerchief.

“You sure about this?”

Natalie didn’t turn. On the glass, her reflection wore Vivian’s signature crimson lipstick for the first time.

“I’ve never been more certain.”

⸻

Vivian arrived precisely at 7:00 AM, her Balenciaga trench flaring like a matador’s cape.

Natalie played the security footage—Vivian’s private meeting with Daniel yesterday, offering him 15% of Bishop Holdings to “remove” Liam.

Liam slid a folder across the table—photos of Vivian’s secret Swiss accounts, the ones funding her brother’s (Natalie’s uncle) political coup in Jakarta.

Natalie pressed a button. The screens switched to live footage of federal agents raiding her uncle’s compound.

“You taught me to always have a backup plan,” Natalie murmured.

Vivian’s laugh was all teeth. “I taught you to win.” She raised her espresso in salute. “Congratulations, daughter. You’ve graduated.”

Vivian’s pride warred with her fury—she wanted Natalie to beat her, but not like this.

Liam realized he had always been a pawn between two queens.

Natalie’s hollow victory felt like a knife between the ribs.

⸻

The prenup signing was held in the same courthouse where Natalie’s divorce was finalized.

Liam’s pen hovered over Clause 7: “In event of infidelity, the wronged party receives 51% control of Sterling-Bishop merged assets.”

Natalie added a handwritten addendum: “This includes emotional infidelity. Defined as: thinking about another woman during sex.”

Liam countered by sliding his grandmother’s emerald ring onto her finger. “Try not to lose this one.”

Photographers clamored as they exited. Liam leaned in—then whispered “Warehouse 42. Midnight” against her cheek instead.

⸻

Warehouse 42 smelled of salt and diesel. The bound man in the chair groaned through his gag.

Daniel.

“You promised no casualties,” Liam said, testing the ropes.

Natalie lit a cigarette with Vivian’s old monogrammed lighter. “I promised no unnecessary ones.”

She crouched before her ex-husband. “You have one chance. Tell me who really drove the car that killed my mother’s driver.”

Daniel’s eyes darted to Liam.

Natalie assumed Vivian faked her death—but what if someone else staged the crash?

Liam wouldn’t meet her eyes.

Daniel bargained, “I’ll talk—if you admit you loved me once.”

⸻

Natalie emerged from the warehouse at 2:47 AM to find her Tesla’s windshield shattered.

On the hood lay Sophie’s diamond tennis bracelet—still clamped around a severed wrist.

Her phone buzzed with an encrypted video:

A shadowed figure (Vivian’s posture, but younger) dumping a body into the East River. Date stamp: The night of Natalie’s wedding to Daniel.

Some games didn’t end when the players changed sides.