Jean closed the bedroom door, slipped the latch, and stood with her back pressed flat against the wood.
She didn't breathe. She just listened.
Silence. No footsteps on the hardwood, no shout from the gallery, no hand rattling the brass knob behind her. Just the hollow hum of the vents and the violent hammering of her pulse against her ribs.
She dragged a trembling hand over her sternum.
Weapons. Shipments. Midnight.
Tyler hadn't just secured private wealth. He was operating an armed syndicate, moving illicit military-grade freight through commercial ports. And then his voice echoed back through the dark corridors of her mind…
"If she learns the truth… we'll have to change the plan."
The words tasted like bile. She wasn't an intended bride being pampered into surrender. She was a marked liability. The instant Tyler caught her slipping, the gilded velvet would tear away, leaving only an execution.
