Chapter 6 - The Broken Mirror
At 12:40 AM, the blizzard howling outside the mansion masked the sound of tires crunching over the gravel service drive.
Through the two-way mirror of the adjacent dressing room, Dorian and I stood in total darkness, watching the master bedroom. Dr. Mercer had arranged a lifelike silicone mannequin beneath the heavy duvet, hooked to the telemetry monitor that continued to emit its soft, rhythmic beeps. The lights were dimmed to a warm, amber glow, exactly as they were every night when I went to sleep.
The French doors leading to the private terrace clicked.
A slender, gloved hand pushed the glass inward. A cold draft swept into the room, billowing the sheer curtains like funeral shrouds. Two men in unmarked black tactical uniforms stepped inside first, their suppressed carbines pointed toward the bed. Behind them walked Julianna Vance.
Seeing her in high resolution, without the distortion of an email attachment, was surreal. She looked older, her pale face hardened by years of surviving in whatever clandestine world she had inhabited since the crash. But she still wore that arrogant, aristocratic tilt of her chin—the look of a woman who believed the world was an estate she had inherited by divine right.
""Quickly,"" Julianna whispered, her voice crisp, unhurried, and devoid of fear. ""The sedative will keep her under for four hours. Sever the telemetry line and wrap her in the transport stretcher. The helicopter is waiting at the Gary airstrip.""
One of the mercenaries moved toward the bed, reaching for the duvet.
""I wouldn't touch that fabric if I were you,"" Dorian’s voice rang out, amplified through the suite’s hidden acoustic system.
The mercenary froze. In that split second, the master suite exploded into blinding white light as tactical floodlights hidden along the crown molding flared to life. The heavy oak doors from the hallway crashed open, and four of Noah’s elite operators poured in with submachine guns trained on the intruders.
""Drop the weapons!"" Noah barked.
The two mercenaries were professionals; they knew when they were outmaneuvered. They dropped their carbines onto the rug and raised their hands.
Julianna, however, didn't flinch. She slowly turned toward the dressing room door as Dorian pushed it open, stepping into the light with me at his side.
Her pale blue eyes flicked from Dorian’s face down to my stomach, then settled on the wedding ring that was still firmly on my finger. A cold, venomous smile spread across her red lips.
""Hello, Dorian,"" Julianna said smoothly, as if we were meeting for afternoon tea at the yacht club. ""You've gained weight. Power suits you, but domesticity makes you sloppy. You used to clear your own security details.""
""You died four years ago in the Bernese Oberland, Julianna,"" Dorian said, his voice flat as a tombstone. ""I spent six months paying search and rescue teams to pull your bones out of an ice shelf.""
""My father had twenty million in unhedged debts to Russian cartels, darling,"" she replied, tilting her head. ""A fiery death in a chartered helicopter was the only way to trigger his life insurance and keep the wolves from liquidating our family name. I had to disappear until the statutes expired.""
""And now you come back to steal my child?"" I spoke up, stepping past Dorian’s shoulder, my voice cutting through the tension like a straight razor.
Julianna’s eyes narrowed as she looked at me properly for the first time. The condescension in her smile didn't waver. ""Your child? Please, little girl. You were an interim measure. A quiet, plain little painter Dorian picked to keep his bed warm while he mourned me. You don't have the bloodline, the connections, or the spine to raise an heir to eight billion dollars. Adrian made sure the pregnancy happened because the Vance trust required an heir this calendar year. You were simply the surrogate.""
""You're pathetic,"" I said, taking another step forward despite Dorian’s hand reaching out to steady me. ""You faked your death because your family went broke, and you spent four years hiding in shadows while Dorian rebuilt everything from the ashes. You think you're an empress? You're a grave robber trying to steal the life I built with my husband.""
Julianna’s face twisted in sudden, ugly fury. ""You built nothing! He was mine first!""
""He stopped being yours the day you abandoned him to save your own skin,"" I fired back.
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Julianna reached into the inner pocket of her ivory coat—a sudden, erratic movement that made Noah’s men cock their weapons. But she didn't pull out a gun. She pulled out a small, red detonator.
""Do you really think I came into this den of lions without an insurance policy, Dorian?"" she whispered, her eyes manic and wide. ""There are three shaped charges attached to the natural gas main in your basement. If I don't walk out of these gates with her in twenty minutes, this entire estate becomes our collective tomb.""
