For a brief, wonderful moment, pure panic overtook her features. Then, like the performer she'd always been, she recovered. Forced a smile. Waved off questions with practiced grace.
But I'd seen it. That flash of genuine fear. That instant recognition that her carefully constructed life was truly falling apart.
It should have felt sweeter.
My phone buzzed with a text from Alexander: *The queen takes another piece from the board. Impressive moves, little phoenix.*
How did he always know? Every strike against Rose and Stefan, every carefully orchestrated attack, somehow Alexander Pierce tracked them all, commenting with his odd mix of admiration and concern.
I pushed away the question, focusing instead on the financial terminals tracking Rodriguez Shipping's continued decline. The stock
