Chapter 2 - The Sterling Reckoning
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The front double doors of the Vance estate didn't just open; they swung wide as ten heavily armed, suited security operatives stepped inside, forming a flawless perimeter around the ballroom.
Behind them came my five brothers.
Leading the group was Noah, six-foot-four of pure authority, his tailored dark suit framing a face carved out of granite. Beside him was Leo, whose shipping fleets controlled half the Pacific ports; Julian, whose legal brilliance had dismantled corrupt corporations; Marcus, whose financial algorithms could bankrupt banks overnight; and Caleb, whose quiet eyes scanned the room like a sniper finding a target.
The fifty wealthy guests shrank back against the gold-trimmed walls.
“Flora,” Noah said, his voice terrifyingly calm as his eyes swept over my bruised arms and the torn fabric of my dress.
He didn't ask questions. He didn't need to. The leather riding crop still clutched in Isaac’s hand told the entire story.
“Who the hell do you think you are?” Isaac demanded, trying to puff out his chest despite the sweat glistening on his forehead. “This is private property! Security, throw these men out!”
None of the Vance security guards moved. They stood frozen, recognizing the crest on Noah’s operatives’ tactical lapels.
Noah walked forward slowly. Every step he took echoed like thunder against the marble floors.
“Isaac Vance,” Noah said, stopping two feet in front of my husband. “Four years ago, you stood in my office and swore you would protect my sister with your life.”
“She’s my wife!” Isaac snapped, glaring at me. “She disrupted my family’s event! She spilled wine on Clover! I was merely enforcing discipline in my own household!”
Leo let out a cold, sharp laugh. “Enforcing discipline? On a Sterling?”
Wendy Vance stepped in front of her son, her diamond necklace flashing. “Listen to me, you ruffians! You have no idea who we are! Arthur Vance owns Vance Construction! We build this city’s infrastructure! If you touch my son, we will destroy you!”
Julian drew a slim leather folder from his jacket and casually opened it.
“Vance Construction,” Julian murmured, flipping a page. “A billion-dollar company built on thirty-seven illegal land-grab contracts, four structural safety bribes, and six offshore tax accounts in the Cayman Islands.”
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Arthur Vance’s face turned ashen white. “What... what did you say?”
Julian offered a cold, predatory smile. “I filed four federal injunctions ten minutes ago, Arthur. By midnight, your corporate accounts will be frozen solid.”
