The Heir's Midnight Deal

CHAPTER 7: Signed in Red

Seren spent the twelve hours doing what she did with every decision that threatened to alter her life again by building a dossier.

She opened a fresh document and began to map the status of her situation. She wrote down everything she knew about Callan Voss, everything she had dug up in twelve hours of frantic researching. A few things that didn't add up, there were gaps in his history and then there was the the sheer, impossible silence of his life.

She ran his name through the campus registry, through Meridian City’s public business records, and through the social archives of every gala and board meeting the Voss family had attended in the last five years.

He wasn't in any of it and it made absolutely no sense to her. Two years of total ghosting! No photos. No tags. No mentions whatsoever anywhere.

That was either the result of deep discipline or high-level coaching. She suspected it was quite the exhilirating combination of both.

She opened a second column for Dorian Chase. He was the polar opposite of Callan, he was everywhere, all at once. Press releases, LinkedIn profiles, industry panels, charity boards. He was a twenty-two-year-old who curated his public image and made sure to leave his mark everywhere. Every photo was the right photo. Every quote was calculated to the syllable.

Seren took a sip of her third coffee, her gaze narrowing. Men who were that careful about how they looked were almost always terrified of what was rotting underneath.

She had moved from her desk to the floor because she always thought better on the floor. Suddenly, her phone buzzed against the hardwood. She glanced at the screen and didn't recognize the number instantly, but the text made her blood go cold.

Your stepfather filed a motion in the Meridian Family Court last week to have your mother's estate reopened. Hearing is in thirty days. You are named in the petition. Thought you should know. — A friend.

Her hands stayed perfectly steady, but her chest tightened, a sharp, dull ache pressing against a bruise she’d forgotten was there.

Thirty days?

She looked at her laptop screen, at the two columns—Callan and Dorian—and at the single, stark word she had typed at the top of Callan’s column an hour ago and hadn't yet deleted: Honest.

She closed the laptop, picked up her phone nervously, and sent one message.

To Callan: I'm in. Bring the paperwork tonight. And I have something to show you.

They signed at eight-thirty p.m. in the Voss estate’s smaller sitting room, a space that was, quite unfairly, larger than her entire dormitory floor. The agreement was seven pages of dense, binding legalese. Her law professor, a dry sharp woman named Dr. Holt who had read through the entire document in forty minutes, had made three minor annotations and given her blessing.

Callan read every line before he put pen to paper and so did Seren. They both noticed that they both had the shared refusal to leave a trap unchecked.

When it was finished, she slid the signed document across the mahogany table and placed her phone beside it, the screen still glowing with the notification about her stepfather.

Callan read it calmly as she looked at his face for any hint of surprise or shock...she got neither.

"Thirty days is outrageous," he said, his voice low and she simply sighed. "Gerald Dane is trying to pull you into a court proceeding in the city where you are currently hiding, under a name that isn't yours." He looked up, his grey eyes piercing. "That's not an accident. Someone tipped him off."

"Dorian called me at midnight and the court filing was submitted last week. He knew I was here before I even sat down to dinner with you." She held his gaze, refusing to blink. "Which means he had eyes on this campus before you ever knocked on my door."

Callan went quiet, his mind clearly racing through the implications. He stood up, and walked around the room slowly. "He used Vivienne to compromise my succession. He used your stepfather to compromise you, which means he wanted both dominoes to fall on the same night."

"And instead..." she trailed off.

"And instead, you're sitting here with a signed agreement, and he’s currently watching two people he was supposed to isolate decide to face him together." He stopped pacing and leaned over the table, his presence suddenly looming over her.

In the soft lamplight, with the agreement between them and the dark, glittering city spread out behind the windows, she allowed herself one honest second of assessment.

Callan wasn't what she had expected when she opened the door to room 209. She had braced herself for a spoiled heir playing at humility. She had found something much quieter, much sharper, and infinitely more dangerous.

"We need to file a counter-motion on the estate case before Gerald can get the hearing on record," she said, her brain snapping back . "And I want to talk to whoever runs your intelligence team. Tonight, if possible."

"Tonight is more than possible," Callan said. He stood straight, and for the first time, the corner of his mouth twitched into a subtle, "Welcome to the war, Seren."

She stood up, gathering her things quietly. "I was already in the war, Callan," she said, looking him dead in the eye. "I just have better resources now."