Chapter 8 - The Gala of Ruin
The Global Economic Summit in Geneva was hosted at a heavily fortified chateau overlooking Lake Geneva. The guest list included heads of state, tech billionaires, and global banking magnates.
Using forged credentials provided by my father’s underground contacts, I slipped past the outer security perimeter. I wore a backless black silk gown, the emerald brooch resting heavily at my throat. I blended in perfectly with the sea of aristocrats and elite socialites.
I spotted him near the grand staircase. Arthur Sterling. He looked older, distinguished, sipping champagne and laughing with a French diplomat. He looked like a man who had won the world.
I grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and walked directly toward him.
“Arthur,” I said, my voice cutting through the classical music playing in the background.
Arthur turned. His smile froze. His champagne flute slipped from his fingers, shattering on the marble floor. The color drained from his face as if he had just seen a ghost. And in a way, he had.
“Evelyn,” he breathed, his eyes darting frantically around the room. “How... how are you here?”
“Did you really think a few mercenaries could wipe out the Vanguard bloodline?” I asked softly, taking a step closer. “Julian is dead. Chloe is dead. And I know everything, Arthur.”
Arthur’s survival instincts kicked in. He grabbed my arm, his grip bruising, and dragged me away from the crowd into a private, soundproofed VIP antechamber. He locked the heavy oak doors behind us.
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“You stupid girl,” Arthur hissed, his distinguished facade dropping entirely, revealing the monster underneath. “You should have stayed dead. You have no idea what you’ve just walked into.”
“I walked into a room with the man who murdered my mother,” I said, staring him dead in the eye, ensuring the brooch had a clear view of his face.
