Chapter 467
Chapter 467:
“They are late,” Beatrice said, her voice tight. She checked her phone constantly. “Traffic is bad p>
“Traffic isn’t bad!” Sienna shrieked. “The parking lot is empty p>
She grabbed a passing waiter. “How many cars are outside p>
The waiter looked terrified. “Seven, ma’am p>
Seven cars. They had invited five hundred people.
At the Thorne Estate, the scene was chaos of the best kind.
A line of limousines stretched down the private drive, creating a gridlock of wealth. Paparazzi climbed the trees outside the gates just to get a shot.
Security was tighter than the Pentagon. Felix Carter had personally overseen the perimeter. Every guest was scanned, every invitation verified against a biometric database. Tall, imposing guards in dark suits lined the walls, earpieces buzzing with constant updates.
“Zone A secure,” a guard murmured into his collar. “Delivery truck for the florists just cleared inspection at the south gate. Proceeding to the service entrance p>
No one noticed that the “florist truck” driver had a slight tremor in his hands, or that the manifest had been digitally altered in the system just ten minutes prior.
Skye arrived in a vintage silver Rolls-Royce. She stepped out, the flashbulbs erupting like a supernova.
She was wearing the black dress.
It was liquid darkness. It clung to her body, the micro-obsidian shards woven into the silk catching the light with every movement. The plunging V-neckline showcased her elegance, and the backless design revealed her smooth skin. It was regal, dangerous, and utterly breathtaking. There was no place to hide a weapon, or even a microphone battery pack. She was unadorned—vulnerable yet invincible in her confidence.
Alistair met her at the bottom of the steps. He looked like a king in a tuxedo that fit him like a glove.
“You look…” Alistair paused, searching for the word. “Lethal p>
“That was the goal,” Skye said, smiling.
They walked in together. The ballroom was packed. Every major CEO, every senator, every celebrity in the city was here. They had chosen. They had followed the power.
Near the entrance, Victoria Hayes—Alistair’s “ex-fiancée” and a spy for the Kensingtons—tried to push past security.
о𝗿𝗶𝘨iո𝘢𝘭 𝘃𝖾r𝘴𝘪𝗼n 𝘰ո 𝘣е.𝖼𝘰𝘮
“Do you know who I am?” Victoria demanded, flashing her invite. “I am a Hayes p>
The bouncer, a man the size of a vending machine, looked at his clipboard.
“Zone C,” he grunted. “The back. Near the kitchen p>
Victoria’s jaw dropped. “The kitchen? I am VIP p>
“Not on this list,” the bouncer said, ushering her aside to let a movie star pass.
Inside, Dominic Thorne stood on a balcony overlooking the crowd. He nursed a scotch, his eyes scanning the room. He saw the turnout. He saw the adoration directed at Skye and Alistair.
But he didn’t feel fear. He felt the warm, comforting weight of the ten billion dollars in his account.
“Laugh while you can,” Dominic muttered, raising his glass to Skye from afar. “Tomorrow, I buy this house out from under you p>
Back at Kensington Manor, Sienna was hyperventilating.
“Everyone went to her party!” she screamed. “Everyone p>
She pulled out her phone. She opened Instagram. She saw the livestreams from the Thorne Estate. She saw the celebrities. She saw the black dress.
“She’s wearing black to an engagement party?” Sienna scoffed, trying to find a flaw. “It’s bad luck! It’s mourning clothes p>
“We have to do something,” Beatrice said, pacing. “We look like fools p>
Sienna’s eyes lit up with a murderous idea.