The smile vanished from my face when Sebastian suddenly stared out the front window like he'd seen a ghost. Outside, Manhattan looked completely normal—yellow cabs splashing through rain puddles, people rushing by with umbrellas, the city moving as if nothing had changed. But the look in his eyes made my stomach twist.

The magnificent crystal chandelier lay shattered across the marble floor, its glass droplets twinkling in the flashing orange flames consuming the velvet curtains. Bullet holes pocked the ancient wood-paneled walls, and smoke hung thick in the air.

Sebastian was crouched behind a overturned marble pillar near the main staircase, his suit torn, blood trickling from a cut above his left temple. He was firing methodically at four dark-suited mercenaries who were slowly advancing across the hall.

"Sebastian!" I shouted from the balcony above.

Sebastian’s head snapped up. His eyes widened in absolute horror as he saw me standing on the upper landing, holding a steel iron bar.

"Olivia?! What are you doing here?! I told you to stay in the bunker!" he roared over the deafening noise of gunfire.

"Marcus was a traitor!" I yelled back, ducking as a stray bullet shattered a vase near my head. "I compromised him, but Vincent’s men are coming down the east wing!"

Before Sebastian could respond, a cold, mocking laugh echoed from the shadow of the grand entrance doors.

A tall, thin man in a bespoke charcoal coat stepped into the room, flanked by six heavily armed mercenaries carrying assault rifles. He had sharp, hawkish features, slicked-back gray hair, and eyes as dead as a winter pond.

Vincent Vance.

"Fascinating," Vincent drawled, stepping over the debris on the floor, waving a hand to order his men to cease fire. "The florist has claws. I wondered what kind of woman could distract my nephew from his duties."

Sebastian stepped out from behind the pillar, raising his weapon straight at his uncle’s chest. "It ends here, Vincent. Order your men to stand down, or I put a bullet between your eyes."

Vincent didn't look bothered at all. He casually pulled a silver pocket watch from his vest, checking the time.

"You always were too dramatic, Sebastian," Vincent said softly. "Look around you. Your estate is burning. Your loyal men are dead or captured. And my secondary team has already secured the lower level."

My stomach dropped into a bottomless pit.

Two mercenaries stepped out from the library corridor, holding a small, struggling figure between them.

Chloe.

"Let me go! Daddy! Miss Olivia!" Chloe screamed, kicking furiously against the mercenary holding her arm.

"No!" Sebastian roared, his voice breaking in sheer agony as he took a step forward.

"Ah-ah-ah," Vincent warned, raising a slim silver pistol and pointing it directly at Chloe’s temple. "One move, Sebastian, and the Vance bloodline ends right here on this marble floor."

Sebastian froze. The gun in his hand slowly lowered, his entire body trembling with a mixture of apocalyptic rage and helpless terror. I stood on the balcony above, my hands gripping the wrought-iron railing so tightly my knuckles turned white.

"What do you want, Vincent?" Sebastian choked out, his voice barely a whisper. "Take the shares. Take the money. Take the entire empire. Just let them go."

Vincent smiled—a cold, sickening expression. "Of course I will take the shares. But a man with your drive, Sebastian... if I leave you alive, you will spend the rest of your days hunting me down. So here is how this works."

Vincent snapped his fingers. A mercenary handed him a thick leather folder.

"You will sign the transfer of all international holdings, legal assets, and voting rights to my name," Vincent commanded. "Then, you will step into the study, swallow the contents of this glass, and write a lovely suicide note explaining how the guilt of your secret daughter drove you to end your life."

"And Chloe? And Olivia?" Sebastian demanded, tears of pure fury burning in his eyes.

"Once you are dead, the child will be sent to a private boarding school in Switzerland under a fake name, never to return to America," Vincent lied smoothly. "And the florist... well, florists are so easily forgotten."

I knew Vincent was lying. The moment Sebastian signed those papers, Vincent would kill all three of us and burn the estate to the ground to erase the evidence.

My eyes swept over the foyer above. Directly above Vincent and his men hung the massive wooden support beam holding up the decorative iron crest of the Vance family—a heavy, five-hundred-pound iron shield adorned with steel broadswords.

The explosion earlier had cracked the eastern wall beam support. It was hanging by a single steel cable attached to the winch mechanism right beside where I stood on the balcony.

I caught Sebastian’s eye from above.

I didn't utter a word. I simply looked at the heavy iron crest, then looked at the manual emergency release handle on the wall beside me.

Sebastian’s intelligence was terrifyingly fast. He saw where my gaze went, read my intent instantly, and subtle tension locked into his calves.

"I'll sign," Sebastian declared loudly, stepping toward the table in the foyer, drawing Vincent’s absolute attention toward him. "I'll sign everything, Vincent. Just bring the papers here."

Vincent sneered, taking two steps forward toward the table, positioning himself and three of his main enforcers directly beneath the hanging iron crest.

"Wisdom at last, nephew," Vincent smirked, holding out a fountain pen.