Chapter 7 - The Unraveling of the Queen
Victoria was in the middle of laughing at a witty remark made by the city's chief of police when the grand double doors of the drawing-room suddenly swung open with a resounding, thunderous crash.
The heavy oak doors slammed against the interior walls, silencing the entire room instantly. The string quartet stopped playing mid-note. Heads turned in unison toward the entryway, expecting an emergency, a fire, or perhaps an uninvited drifter.
Instead, what they saw froze the blood in their veins.
Standing in the doorway was a towering, heavily built man dressed in tactical gear, his face partially obscured by shadows, carrying an air of absolute, terrifying authority. Behind him, flanked by the two private security guards who had tried to block his path—both of whom were now zip-tied at the wrists and unconscious on the porch outside—stood a figure that made Victoria’s champagne flute slip from her fingers and shatter into a thousand glittering pieces on the marble floor.
It was Beatrice Vance.
She was wrapped in a warm military blanket, leaning slightly on her son’s shoulder, but her eyes were sharp, clear, and burning with righteous indignation.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” Alex’s deep, resonant voice cut through the stunned silence like a razor blade. “I apologize for interrupting the festivities. But I figured it was time for a family reunion.”
Victoria’s face drained of every drop of color. Her carefully constructed facade of unshakeable confidence cracked right down the middle, revealing a shivering, panicked animal beneath the designer silk.
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“Julian… where is Julian?” Victoria stammered, her voice pitching up in sheer hysteria as she backed away from the doorway, her manicured hands trembling violently. “How… how did you get here? You’re supposed to be in Europe! You’re supposed to be dead!”
“Surprise, Victoria,” Alex said, taking a slow, deliberate step into the opulent drawing-room, his heavy combat boots echoing ominously across the polished marble. “And as for Julian? I already called him. His private jet touched down at the private airstrip ten minutes ago. He’ll be walking through those doors in exactly three minutes.”
