Chapter 257
Chapter 257:
“You think this is about money?” I let out a laugh with no humor in it—dry, hollow. “You think you can buy your way back into my life p>
“I’m trying to save you!” Liam insisted, his voice rising, hysteria edging into his tone. “This industry… Vance… they will eat you alive. Let me help you. Please p>
“Your money is blood money, Liam,” I said quietly. “Every cent of it is stained with the years you watched me drown and did nothing. It’s stained with Seraphina’s lies that you funded p>
I stood. The chair scraped loudly against the floor. “I don’t want your help. I don’t want your money. And I certainly don’t want you p>
“Skye…” He stood too, reaching for me, but stopping short of touching me again. He stared at his empty hands, then back at me. “I have nothing left if I don’t have you p>
“Then you have nothing,” I said.
I turned and walked out. I didn’t look back. I knew if I did, I’d see a man breaking, and I couldn’t afford to feel pity. Pity was a luxury for people who weren’t at war.
Outside, the air was crisp, biting. A black limousine pulled up to the curb with aggressive precision, tires screeching slightly. The back window rolled down.
Julian Vance sat inside. He wore sunglasses even though it was overcast. His face was pale, the shadow of his illness still lingering, but his jaw was set in a hard line.
“Get in,” Julian commanded. He didn’t ask. He didn’t open the door for me.
I hesitated. I looked down the street where normal people walked, living normal lives. I could walk away. I could take my chances alone.
But I had enemies who wanted me dead. I had a company publicly bleeding out while my real assets stayed safely hidden. And I had a target—Seraphina—shielded by Thorne security. The only way to get close enough to rip that locket from her neck was to stand on the same stage she coveted.
I opened the door and slid into the cool, leather-scented darkness of the car.
The lock clicked shut instantly. It sounded like a prison cell closing.
The car sped off, merging into traffic. Julian didn’t look at me. He reached into the seat pocket and tossed a thick document onto my lap. It was heavy.
I looked at the header.
Elite Artist Incubation Project.
I flipped through the pages, my eyes scanning the clauses. Total obedience. Surrender of personal communication devices. Twenty-four/seven surveillance. Dietary control. Psychological conditioning.
𝖬𝗼𝗿𝘦 𝗇𝗈𝘷e𝗅𝘀 o𝗻 𝗯е.𝖼𝗈m
“This isn’t a contract,” I said, my voice tight. “This is a slavery agreement. You want to control what I eat? When I sleep p>
“You want to be a weapon, Skye,” Julian said, finally turning to look at me. He took off his sunglasses. His eyes were dark, rimmed with red, but sharp as glass shards. “Weapons don’t get to choose their targets. They don’t get to sleep in on Sundays p>
“I signed a talent agreement,” I argued. “Not this p>
“The talent agreement was for the public,” Julian said. “This… this is the price of acceleration. You want to debut in a month. You want to be powerful enough to stand on a stage and destroy Seraphina Miller without saying a word? Then you need the Vance machine p>
He leaned closer. “And don’t forget, your cousin Ethan is watching. He needs to see you have the discipline to lead, not just the anger to destroy. If you fail here, I can’t justify using my resources to protect him from the fallout of your war. He’ll be exposed p>
I glared at him. He wasn’t threatening Ethan directly—he was too loyal to his family for that—but he was threatening to withdraw the shield he’d placed around us. Pragmatic. Ruthless. Julian Vance wasn’t a savior. He was just a different kind of monster.
But right now, he was my monster.
“Give me a pen,” I said.
He handed me a heavy gold fountain pen.
I didn’t hesitate. I signed my name at the bottom of the page. The nib scratched against the paper, a harsh, tearing sound in the silent cabin. I pressed down hard, the ink bleeding slightly into the fibers.