Chapter 8
Celia flinched violently at the threat. She dropped her hands, her fair skin streaked with ruined makeup, her eyes wide with primal terror. She knew the stories of what Adrian Hartwell did to traitors within his syndicate.
"You can't do this!" Celia choked out, the venom returning as self-preservation took over. "My father is Victor Arden! He will burn your empire to the ground if you humiliate me like this!"
"Is your father a man who fights battles for foolish, cruel daughters?" Adrian asked quietly.
"He will kill you!" Celia pleaded, reaching out to grasp the edge of the dining table. "I am going to be your wife, Adrian! We signed the contracts! You cannot back out now without causing a massive war!"
Adrian looked down at the trembling woman. He felt absolutely nothing for her. The political affection he had feigned for the sake of the syndicate merger evaporated instantly, leaving behind a cold, calculating void that craved only survival and absolute retribution.
"Do you expect me to harbor a child abuser under my roof to appease a politician?" Adrian asked.
He didn't wait for her to answer. He reached into his tailored jacket and retrieved a sleek, encrypted smartphone. He dialed a single digit and pressed the phone to his ear. The small artistic tattoo above his collar shifted seamlessly with the movement.
"Marcus," Adrian said into the receiver, his eyes locked on his former fiancée. "Will you come to the dining room and escort Miss Arden to the holding cells beneath the east wing immediately?"
He lowered the phone and looked at the broken socialite one last time.
"Have you finally realized the price of your ambition, Celia?" Adrian asked softly, as the heavy mahogany doors of the dining room burst open.
Marcus and another massive security guard in dark suits entered the room. They marched forward without a word, hauling Celia roughly to her feet. She shrieked, thrashing wildly against their iron grip, but they were unyielding.
"You will regret this, Adrian!" she screamed as they dragged her backward toward the doors. "You will all burn for this!"
"Will you convey my deepest regards to your father when I send him the pieces of his syndicate?" Adrian asked quietly, watching the doors slam shut.
The profound, ringing silence of the grand dining room settled heavily over the remaining three figures. The cascading crystal chandeliers continued to cast their warm golden light over the abandoned porcelain plates and half-empty wine glasses. The opulent space, designed for celebration, now felt entirely different—it was the quiet eye of a hurricane.
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Adrian stood silently for a moment, his broad shoulders rising and falling with a slow, controlled breath. The betrayal was absolute, the upcoming syndicate war with Celia’s father inevitable, but the immediate, toxic sickness within his home had been surgically removed. Now, he had to secure his son and the woman who had suffered to protect him.
He turned his body, pivoting seamlessly on the polished marble floors, and focused his entire attention back on Nora and Leo.
