Richard Thornton stared at the gun in Vivienne Kane's gloved hand and understood, with sudden clarity, that he was going to die in this abandoned warehouse."Mrs. Kane," he said, his voice shaking despite his attempt at control. "There's been a misunderstanding. I'm here to meet Theodore. To collect payment for information I provided—""There's no misunderstanding, Richard." Vivienne's voice was venomous, each word precisely articulated with her French accent. "You were supposed to destroy Adrian completely. Instead, you hesitated.""I did everything you asked!" Richard's hands shot up in a defensive gesture. "The assassination attempt—I hired the mercenaries! The leaked information—I provided everything to the media! I did exactly what you paid me to do!"Vivienne took a step closer, the gun now unmistakably pointed at his chest. "You failed. Twenty armed men couldn't kill one unarmed heir. The forged evidence was supposed to destroy his credibility permanently, but instead it's crea

Adrian stood at the floor-to-ceiling windows of his penthouse, watching the sunrise paint Manhattan in shades of amber and rose. The ankle monitor on his leg felt heavier with each passing hour, a physical reminder of his confinement.Behind him, Sophia paced the length of the room, her heels clicking against marble with metronomic precision. She'd been there all night, both of them weighing the impossible choice Catherine Bordeaux had presented.Go to Paris and walk into an obvious trap.Or refuse and watch everything burn."It's textbook coercion," Sophia said, her voice tight with frustration. "She gives you an ultimatum with no good options, forces you to choose between bad and worse.""What exactly is this evidence she's threatening to release?" Adrian asked without turning from the window.Sophia pulled up files on her tablet, the research she'd compiled over the past six hours. "Documents proving Vincent Kane committed war crimes during his early career. Specifically, his invol

James Martinez had been a professional actor for fifteen years before Ryker hired him to become Adrian Kane's body double. He'd done Shakespeare in off-Broadway theaters, commercials for toothpaste and insurance, even a three-episode arc on a crime procedural that nobody watched.Nothing in his career had prepared him for three armed men holding guns to his head while livestreaming to two million viewers."We know you're Adrian Kane!" The leader—a man with a thick Brooklyn accent and a ski mask that didn't quite hide his neck tattoos—shoved his phone closer to James's face. "Come clean about the fraud or we execute you on camera!"James kept his hands raised, his heart hammering so hard he was certain the microphone would pick it up. The training Ryker had drilled into him played on repeat in his mind: Maintain the illusion. Buy time. Don't break character unless absolutely necessary."I don't know what you're talking about." James used Adrian's measured tone, the slight coldness that

Lucas Thorne's scream echoed through the hospital room, raw and desperate."She's trying to kill me! Catherine paid the driver! She wants me dead so Genevieve can remarry!"Dr. Mueller rushed forward with sedatives, but Adrian held up his hand. "Wait. Let him talk."Lucas's eyes were wild, darting between Genevieve and Adrian, trying to process where he was, who was present, whether he was safe or still in danger. His hands gripped the bed rails with white-knuckled intensity."Lucas." Genevieve moved closer, her voice gentle despite the tears streaming down her face. "It's me. You're safe. You're in the hospital. Catherine can't hurt you anymore."Lucas's gaze focused on his wife, recognition flooding through him. "Genevieve? You're—they told me you thought I was dead. That Catherine convinced you—""She did. She showed me a death certificate. Had a funeral. I mourned you for six months." Genevieve took his hand, holding it like a lifeline. "But you're alive. You're here. And we're ge

The photograph lay on Sophia's desk like an accusation.Adrian stared at it under the harsh light of the apartment's study—his wedding photo with Isabella's face burned away, leaving only a charred hole where her features should have been. The elegant script across the bottom mocked them: She was just the beginning. You're next."French intelligence has been analyzing it for six hours," Sophia said, setting down her phone after another update call. "The package originated from Eastern Europe. Specifically, a courier service in Prague that specializes in untraceable deliveries.""Prague." Adrian's mind cataloged implications. "That's a common routing point for Russian intelligence operations that want to obscure their origin.""Exactly what French intelligence said." Sophia pulled up digital scans of the photograph, zooming in on the handwriting. "But here's what's really disturbing. They compared this script to known samples. It matches handwriting from Vincent Kane's personal corresp