Chapter 9
The walk from the freezing basement to Vincent’s private study was a death march. The warm golden light of the upper floors offered no comfort to Rosalind as the towering enforcers dragged her down the heavily carpeted corridors. The festive decorations of Christmas Eve seemed to mock her absolute ruin.
They reached the study, a massive room lined with floor-to-ceiling mahogany bookshelves and filled with the scent of leather and expensive scotch. The guards shoved Rosalind roughly into a heavy leather armchair in the center of the room. She scrambled backward, clutching the torn fabric of her burgundy evening gown, her diamond earrings swinging violently.
Vincent walked into the room, his presence instantly dominating the space. He did not sit behind his massive desk. Instead, he stood directly in front of her, his hands clasped behind his back, looking down at her with an expression of absolute, terrifying emptiness.
"How long did you assume it would take for your father's men to breach my gates, Rosalind?" Vincent asked, his deep voice slicing through her panicked breathing.
"They are coming!" Rosalind shrieked, her fair skin splotchy with rage and terror. "They have heavy artillery, Vincent! They are going to burn this estate to the ground and take me back! You are making a catastrophic mistake!"
Vincent reached into the inner pocket of his dark suit jacket. He withdrew a sleek, black mobile phone and placed it gently on the edge of the mahogany desk.
"Would you like to call them and ask for an estimated time of arrival?" Vincent asked, a cold, ruthless smirk touching his sharp jawline.
Rosalind stared at the phone, her heart hammering against her ribs. She lunged forward, snatching the device from the desk with trembling hands. She quickly dialed her father's head of security, praying for the sound of approaching sirens.
The line rang once, twice, and then clicked open.
"Extract me immediately!" Rosalind screamed into the phone. "He knows! Breach the gates now!"
A heavy, static-laced silence answered her. Then, a low, unfamiliar voice spoke through the speaker.
"The gates are secure, Miss Voss. Your detail has been permanently relieved of duty."
The phone slipped from Rosalind's numb fingers, clattering onto the thick Persian rug. The reality of her situation finally crashed down upon her. Her father's men hadn't breached the perimeter; they had been systematically slaughtered by the Hale syndicate while she was busy gloating in the dining room.
"Did you honestly believe a handful of political mercenaries could survive a firefight with my personal guard?" Vincent asked softly, stepping closer to her chair.
"My father will destroy you!" Rosalind sobbed, completely abandoning any pretense of aristocratic grace. "He is a senator! He will send the federal marshals to your door! He will bring the entire government down on your head!"
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"Do you think a corrupt politician cares more about a ruined daughter than he cares about his own survival?" Vincent asked, his dark eyes narrowing into lethal slits. "I sent a courier to his office twenty minutes ago, containing the financial ledgers detailing your embezzlement of his campaign funds to pay off your own gambling debts. He is currently burning documents, not organizing a rescue mission."
Rosalind froze, the blood completely draining from her face. She was utterly, entirely alone.
