Chapter 932
He glanced at Victoria, who was holding her pink dress up like a shield, eyes wide.
“Especially the Hayes heir,” Liam added.
“Me?” Victoria squeaked. “Is this like the warehouse again?”
“Worse,” Liam said. “Your father controls the shipping lanes. If they take you, they take the ports.”
“I can take care of myself,” Skye said, tightening the robe. “Alistair will be there.”
𝗣𝘰𝗽𝘂l𝗮𝗋 𝘀𝗍𝗼𝗿iеs 𝘰𝗻 𝘨𝗮𝘭𝘯o𝘃е𝗅s.с𝘰𝘮
“Alistair is compromised,” Liam snapped. “He’s too emotional right now. He’ll make mistakes trying to be a hero.” He gripped Skye’s shoulders, his hands hard and desperate. “Skye, listen to me. Don’t go. Let me take you to the safe house.”
“No,” Skye said, holding his gaze. “If I hide, they win. If they want a war, I’ll give them one. In a red dress.”
Liam stared at her. He saw the resolve in her jaw, the fire in her eyes. He realized, with a slow and sinking certainty, that he couldn’t order her around anymore.
He released her. He stepped back and smoothed his jacket, the mask of the cold CEO sliding back into place.
“Fine,” he said. “But you stay in my line of sight. If you disappear for even a second, I will burn this city down to find you.” He turned to Victoria. “And you — don’t act like a fool. Stick to Skye. You know the drill from last time.”
“Loud and clear,” Victoria whispered, terrified but nodding.
Liam turned on his heel and marched out, his cane striking the floor in a sharp, rhythmic cadence.
Skye looked back at the mirror. At the scar. At the red dress.
“Ethan Vance,” she whispered.
If Ethan was the danger, and Julian was the protector — then who was Liam?
The ballroom of the Sea City International Hotel was a cavern of gold leaf and crystal — the kind of opulence that felt heavy, like eating too much rich cake.
Skye walked in on Alistair’s arm. The red dress fit her like a second skin, a slash of blood against the sea of black tuxedos.
“You’re tense,” Skye murmured, feeling the rigidity of his bicep.
“Liam has snipers on the balcony,” Alistair muttered, scanning the upper levels. “And I counted six of Silas’s former associates near the bar. This isn’t a party. It’s a powder keg.”
Victoria bounced up to them, looking like a strawberry cupcake. “Skye! Alistair! Daddy is giving the speech soon. Isn’t this exciting?” She seemed perfectly oblivious — or perhaps she was simply better at hiding her fear than they gave her credit for.
Julian was there too. He sat in his wheelchair in a shadowed alcove, a glass of water untouched on the table in front of him. He looked worse than yesterday, his skin a dull grey, but he had refused to stay home. When Skye caught his eye, he didn’t smile. He tapped his watch.
Time is running out.
The lights dimmed. A spotlight hit the center stage.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer boomed, “please welcome the new CEO of Graves Industries.”
Skye frowned. “New CEO? I thought Silas was—”