Chapter 2: The Descent of a Queen
She released him, letting his head drop back in agony.
Victoria didn't spare Eleanor a single glance. The older woman was still paralyzed, trembling violently as the reality of the violence shattered her delusions of superiority. Victoria turned her back on them both.
The zipper running down the back of her white gown was perfectly, symmetrically aligned. There was not a single wrinkle in the fabric, not a hair out of place in her sleek, low bun. She walked toward the private elevator with the slow, deliberate grace of a queen leaving a conquered battlefield.
Every step across the marble floor was a shedding of the skin she had worn for three years. She was no longer Victoria Scullion, the quiet, accommodating wife. The facade had served its purpose. It had given her time to map every one of Richard's weaknesses, to document every stolen dollar, and to watch him dig a grave so deep he would never climb out.
The polished steel doors of the private elevator parted silently. She stepped inside and pressed the button for the ground floor.
The descent took sixty seconds. In that minute, Victoria allowed herself a single, deep breath. The scent of ozone and rose perfume faded, replaced by the clean, metallic scent of the elevator cab. She looked at her reflection in the mirrored doors. There was a single, tiny fleck of Richard’s blood on her collarbone. She did not wipe it away. It felt like a badge of honor.
When the doors opened to the private subterranean garage, the cold November air rushed in to greet her.
Waiting for her was a massive, pristine white Bentley, idling quietly in the shadows. Standing beside the open rear door was Vance.
Vance was not a mere chauffeur. He was a shadow, a highly trained operative who had worked for her family’s private security apparatus for two decades. He wore a dark, impeccably tailored suit, his face carved from granite, betraying absolutely no emotion as he took in the sight of his employer's daughter.
Victoria walked toward the car, the New York skyline glittering distantly through the garage entrance, framing her in a halo of urban light.
Vance bowed his head slightly. His eyes darted to the speck of blood on her collarbone, but his expression remained stoic.
"Mrs. Scullion," Vance said, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that carried an immense weight. He paused for a fraction of a second, delivering the message that would change the trajectory of the night. "Your father has heard."
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Victoria stopped just short of the car door. A slow, chilling smile touched the corners of her mouth. For three years, Richard and Eleanor had mocked her family, assuming her father was just some distant, retired businessman who had lost his grip on her. They had no idea that Marcus Sterling was a titan, a man who moved global markets and possessed the kind of ruthless power that could erase a person from existence with a single phone call.
Victoria met Vance's eyes. "I am not Mrs. Scullion anymore, Vance. Call the office. It's time."
