Persis went still."I know you've been managing the initial portfolio," Perseia continued, her voice measured. "The one transferred to your care after the restructuring. I’ve watched how you’ve handled it.”“You haven't just maintained it; you've rebuilt parts of it from the ground up, quietly. It’s deeply irritating because you deserve credit you never take.""Perseia—""I'm not finished." She held up one finger. "That portfolio was always meant to be the foundation, not the whole. You’ve known for a while; you just weren't ready to stop thinking of yourself as the person who maintains things and start thinking of yourself as the person who owns them."Persis opened her mouth, then closed it."You're not that junior associate anymore," Perseia said, glancing toward the corridor. "Whatever this life is settling into… you need the full picture. Your name needs to be on the right things.""The previous portfolio," Persis said carefully. "You want me to focus on that first. Before anythi

“A previous arrangement,” Perseia said carefully. “Not our favorite chapter. The point is, Tedmond was still in it. And he used to appear at certain functions looking…”She paused, searching for the precise word.“…maligned. That’s the only word. He would stand in a room full of people, dressed impeccably, and somehow manage to look like a man who had been personally wronged by the concept of the evening.”“Like he was being held there against his will by invisible obligations he was too principled to abandon,” Millicent added.Millicent was watching her with quiet attention.“And Persis…” Perseia turned to look at her sister, a grin breaking through properly now… warm, irreverent, and entirely fond. “…Persis, who has never in her life approached anything recklessly, who measures every decision like she’s submitting it to a tribunal.”“Persis looked at this enormous, brooding, thoroughly miserable man across a room and something in her simply…” she made a small, helpless gesture, “…d

"Young master," Marek said, his voice a jagged edge of grief and raw, unfiltered panic. "They have her. They took Persis. A gray van, armored, probably Crossroad Men. I’m… I’m losing sight of them."Marek stood in the center of the asphalt, his gun still leveled at the empty space where the van had been. He expected a roar of fury. He expected the sound of glass shattering or a scream of agony to rip through the speaker. Instead, there was a silence so profound it felt like a physical weight."Tedmond?" Marek pressed, his heart hammering against his ribs. "Did you hear me? They have Persis."On the other end of the line, Tedmond exhaled. It was a slow, terrifyingly steady sound. When he spoke, his voice wasn't filled with the rage Marek anticipated. It was relaxed, chillingly so. It was the tone of a man who had already moved past emotion and into the cold, surgical realm of total war."I heard you, Marek," Tedmond said quietly. "Relax. Stop chasing the van. If it’s armored and

Her wrists were cinched tight with heavy-duty zip ties to the arms of a cold, iron chair."Welcome back, Counselor," a voice purred. "I was beginning to think I’d overshot the dosage. It would have been a shame to photograph you while you were drooping. The lighting in here is far too expensive for a slouch."Persis blinked rapidly, her teeth chattering as the cold air hit her soaked skin. As her vision cleared, the first thing she saw was the pregnant woman from the store.Except that the maternity coat was gone. She was now dressed in a sleek tactical turtleneck, her frame lean and muscular. She wasn't holding a gun anymore; she was holding a professional-grade Leica camera, the lens pointed directly at Persis’s face."You," Persis managed to wheeze.She looked around the room, her heart sinking into a cold, hollow pit. It wasn’t a dungeon or a basement; it was a meticulously curated studio. The walls were a stark, gallery white, and dozens of high-intensity softbox lights surro

Back in the studio, Persis lunged. Her fingers scraped the polished floor as the glass mezzanine vibrated under her weight. The remote was a small, black plastic rectangle, but in this moment, it was the detonator for Millicent’s life.The red LED blinked faster. A heartbeat. A countdown."Don't!" Persis screamed, her hand finally closing over the device.But the woman wasn't finished. Despite her shattered ribs and the blood soaking her turtleneck, she was a professional. She didn't reach for the remote; she reached for the heavy iron chair Persis had just vacated. With a primal roar, she kicked the base, sending the metal skittering across the glass toward Persis’s head.Persis rolled. The iron leg whistled past her ear and smashed into a stack of softbox lights. An explosion of glass and electricity showered her in sparks, the smell of ozone filling her lungs.She scrambled to her feet, the remote clutched to her chest. She looked at the screen:SIGNAL STRENGTH: 98%... 99%