Chapter 9
924 Words
The tension in the dining room didn’t snap; it just stretched, thinning out until it was a fine, invisible wire. Silas pushed back his chair, the sound of wood on marble echoing like a gavel.
"I think Roxanne has had enough for one night," Silas announced. It wasn't a suggestion. He stood and offered her his hand, his expression softening into that practiced, protective mask. "The drive was long, and the negotiation for our 'consultant's' contract was even longer."
Elena stood up, her face a picture of maternal warmth. She rounded the table and pulled Roxanne into one last, rib-crushing hug. "Get some rest, dear. Tomorrow, we start looking at venue dates. I’m thinking the Grand Ballroom at the Heights. It’s the only place big enough for a Vane engagement party, and we should aim for early next month before the winter chill sets in."
Roxanne forced a smile, her cheek pressed against Elena’s soft shoulder. "Next month? That’s... fast."
"In this family, when we find what we want, we don't wait," Marcus rumbled, standing up with the help of his cane. He gave Roxanne a nod—a silent acknowledgment that she had survived the first round.
As Silas led her away, Roxanne caught Killian’s eye. He wasn't looking at her with disgust; it was more of a grim, professional evaluation. He looked like a man who had seen a hundred soldiers go into battle and was wondering if she was the one who wouldn't come back. At his side, Cassian gave her a quick, two-finger salute and a wink, mouthing the words: Good luck.
They climbed the grand staircase in a silence that felt heavy and expectant. Silas didn't speak until they reached the end of a long, dimly lit gallery in the East Wing. He pushed open a set of heavy double doors and ushered her inside.
It wasn't a bedroom. It was a kingdom.
The suite was a sprawling open space of dark velvets and floor-to-ceiling glass that overlooked the shimmering, jagged teeth of the city skyline. A fire was already crackling in a hearth of black stone, and her battered leather satchel looked hilariously out of place sitting on a designer chaise lounge.
The moment the doors clicked shut, the air changed. The "loving fiancé" vanished, replaced by the strategist who had cornered her in her father's house.
"The engagement party is a month away," Roxanne said, tossing her jacket onto the bed. "Your mother moves fast. I thought I’d have more time to dig before I had to play 'Princess' for the whole city."
"In this world, the party is the cover," Silas said, walking to a side table and pouring two glasses of water. He handed her one. "The more people see us together, the more they talk. The more they talk, the more the traitor feels the need to move. Paranoia is our best tool right now."
Roxanne took a sip, the cold water centering her. "And the room, Silas? You didn't mention the 'one-bedroom' policy."
Silas didn't look bothered. He leaned against the mantle, the firelight dancing in his grey eyes. "There are three rooms in this suite, Roxanne. A sitting room, a dressing room, and this. But the staff—and my parents—need to see us entering and leaving through these doors. This house is a sieve for information. If we sleep in separate wings, the traitor knows the engagement is a sham by breakfast."
"Fine," she sighed, rubbing her temples. "But if you snore, the contract is null and void."
Silas actually let out a short, genuine huff of laughter. "I don't snore. But I do expect results. Killian has moved the encrypted North Side logs to the server in that desk. Cassian set up a secure line that doesn't ping the main house Wi-Fi. It’s all there. Every shipment, every kickback, every name."
Roxanne walked over to the desk. Her laptop was already plugged in, the screen glowing with a login prompt Cassian must have set up. She sat down, her fingers hovering over the keys. This was her element. The silk and the marble were a distraction; the data was the truth.
"I need a list of everyone who had access to the docks on the fourteenth," she said, her voice shifting into the clinical, sharp tone of a PI. "And I want the personal bank records for your mid-level captains. People don't betray a Don for fun, Silas. They do it for a payday."
Silas watched her for a moment, his expression unreadable. He looked like he wanted to say something, but he stopped himself. "Killian will have the physical files on your desk by morning. For now, try to get some sleep. You look like you're ready to collapse."
"I'll sleep when I find your rat," she muttered, her eyes already scanning the first lines of code.
Silas stood there for a beat longer, watching the way her brow furrowed in concentration. Then, without a word, he moved toward the sitting room, leaving her alone with the ghosts of his organization.
As the clock on the mantle ticked toward midnight, Roxanne felt the walls of the mansion closing in. She was a King in a Vane house, a hunter in a den of lions. And somewhere in these files was the thread that would lead her to the truth—and hopefully, back to her sister.
- Writer
