On the night of the wedding, what pulled Clara back through the hedge was not courage. It was the smell of gun oil underneath the roses.

The silence in the grand ballroom was absolute. Even Elena Marquetti had stopped her complaining, recognizing the unmistakable weight of the crest on Aldo's finger. It wasn't just an assassination attempt; it was a coup.

"You wanted the merger," Adrienne murmured, leaning in close to Aldo's ear. "You wanted the Falconee family to absorb the Marquetti shipping routes while the leadership was distracted by a wedding. With me dead, you would control both empires."

"It wasn't just me," Aldo choked out, realizing his life was measured in seconds. "The council... they thought you were getting soft, Adrienne! They thought marrying a Falconee would make us weak!"

Adrienne didn't flinch. He signaled to his chief enforcer, a hulking man named Boris who stood near the double doors. "Take him down to the lower vaults. Keep him alive until morning. I want every name on that council by sunrise."

As Boris and two other guards hauled Aldo away, his muffled screams fading down the corridor, the heavy doors clicked shut.

Adrienne turned back toward the center of the room. His eyes landed once more on Clara.

"You saved my life," Adrienne said, stating it as a simple mathematical fact. "And you exposed a traitor who could have torn our families apart from the inside."

Before Clara could answer, Elena stood up from her chair, her face contorted with fury. "She's a servant, Adrienne! A peasant girl who steals glances and eavesdrops! Do not pretend she is a hero. She broke your mother's favorite antique vase three days ago, and now she stands here tracking mud across our history!"

"Mother," Adrienne said, and for the first time, a sharp edge cut through his quiet tone. "She just took a bullet meant for me. If not for her, you would be planning a funeral instead of a reception."

"She belongs in the kitchen, not the drawing-room!" Elena shrieked, slamming her cane onto the floor. "Fire her! Throw her out into the street where she belongs!"

Adrienne looked at Clara, taking in the torn uniform, the bruised cheek, and the fierce, unyielding pride burning in her eyes. He reached into his jacket, pulled out a gold fountain pen, and a small leather-bound notebook.

"What is your full name?" Adrienne asked.