Chapter 6 - Confronting the Architect
Ten minutes later, the grand drawing room was illuminated by roaring flames in the marble fireplace and the harsh glare of overhead chandeliers. Isabella Vance sat on the velvet settee, sipping a glass of Merlot as if she were waiting for a carriage ride. When the heavy doors swung open, revealing Dominic flanked by four armed guards and holding a split teddy bear, her polite smile didn't even flicker.
"Dominic, darling," Isabella purred, setting her glass down with a delicate clink. "What is the meaning of this theatrical display? And why is that maid's brat in the executive wing?"
Dominic didn't answer immediately. He walked across the room, stopped three feet from her, and dropped the two identical syringes onto the glass coffee table right in front of her.
"You wanted my seat, Isabella," Dominic said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "You and your brother Marcus, working with Aris to bypass my security through a slow-acting neurotoxin disguised as medical therapy. You thought a lingering illness would look natural. A tragic passing of the head of the family, leaving Marcus and you in control of the council."
Isabella’s gaze flickered down to the syringes, then up to the security tablet playing her recorded movements in an endless loop on the side monitor. The mask of serene innocence slipped, replaced by a cold, calculating sneer.
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"You arrogant bastard," Isabella hissed, standing up to her full height. "You've run this syndicate like a tyrant for twenty years. You're obsolete. The council agreed—we needed someone modern, someone willing to partner with the syndicates across the sea. You were going to die quietly in your bed anyway. Why make a fuss over a medical transition?"
"Because," Dominic said, stepping closer until she was forced to look up into his unforgiving eyes, "you underestimated who watches this house."
