The wrought-iron gates of the Valerius Estate groaned as they swung open, a sound Elara had once associated with coming home. Now, sitting in the back of a black sedan with tinted windows, the sound felt like the opening of a tomb.
Beside her, Killian was a silent, predatory weight. He didn't offer empty platitudes. He simply reached over and took her hand. His palm was calloused and warm, a stark contrast to the ice running through her veins. Vespera looked down at their joined hands—his large and scarred, hers slender and pale, tipped with silver-painted nails that looked like talons.
"The sensors in your heels are active," Killian murmured, his voice cutting through the hum of the engine. "If your heart rate exceeds 140, the earpiece will pulse a sedative frequency. Don't let them see you flicker, Vespera."
"I won't," she whispered. Her new voice felt like a garment she was still breaking in—low, melodic, and dangerous.
The car pulled into the circular driveway. The estate was ablaze with light. It looked exactly as it had five years ago, right down to the manicured white roses lining the path. It was a monument to the lie Elias had told the world. As the valet opened the door, the cacophony of the gala hit her: the frantic clicking of shutters, the swell of a string quartet playing Vivaldi, and the distant, polite roar of a hundred wealthy voices.
Vespera stepped out. The liquid silver of her gown caught the camera flashes, turning her into a pillar of blinding light. For a heartbeat, the paparazzi stopped shouting. They didn't know who she was, but they knew she was power. Killian stepped out behind her, his hand sliding firmly to the small of her back. Together, they ascended the marble stairs.
Every step was a memory. Here is where I tripped on my wedding day. Here is where Elias promised he'd love me until his last breath. They reached the threshold of the Grand Ballroom. The air inside was cloying—a mixture of expensive lilies, roasted duck, and the metallic tang of old money. Vespera scanned the room. It took her less than three seconds to find him.
Elias was standing near the fireplace, beneath a portrait of his grandfather. He looked insufferably handsome, his hair slicked back, his tuxedo tailored to perfection. He was laughing, his head tilted back in that arrogant way he had when he knew he was the most important person in the room. And there, draped over his arm like a trophy, was Seraphine. She was wearing the Valerius Emeralds—heirlooms that had belonged to Elara's mother.
Vespera felt a surge of nausea so violent she nearly stumbled. Those are mine, her mind screamed. Those belonged to a woman who died thinking you were her daughter.
"Steady," Killian's breath was hot against her ear.
They began their descent. The room went through a physical transformation as they moved. Conversations died in mid-air. Men adjusted their ties; women narrowed their eyes. By the time they reached the bottom of the stairs, a circle had cleared around them.
Elias approached first, his curiosity overriding his caution. He walked with the stride of a man who owned the earth beneath his feet. But as he got closer, his pace slowed. His eyes—those dark, calculating eyes that Elara used to find so dreamy—raked over her face. He was looking for a ghost. He was looking for the girl he'd watched fall into the black abyss.
"Welcome," Elias said, his voice smooth as silk. "I'm Elias Valerius. I don't believe I've had the honor of hosting such... striking guests before."
Vespera didn't blink. She let her gaze travel slowly from his polished shoes up to his face, lingering on the thin scar on his chin she'd once kissed every morning. "The honor is entirely ours, Mr. Valerius," she said, her voice a purr of honey and glass. "I am Vespera. And this is my partner, Killian."
She felt Seraphine slide up beside him, her emerald eyes sharp with suspicion. "Vespera," Seraphine repeated, the name tasting like poison in her mouth. "What a... unique name. And what brings someone of your stature to our humble Nation Y?"
Vespera smiled, and for the first time, Elias flinched. It wasn't because he recognized her face, but because the coldness in her expression felt like a premonition.
"I'm a collector of lost things, Mrs. Valerius," Vespera replied, her eyes dropping to the emeralds on Seraphine's neck. "And I heard that in this city, people have a habit of throwing away things they don't realize are priceless."
The silence that followed was heavy enough to crack the floorboards. Elias's grip on his champagne glass tightened until his knuckles turned white. "Is that so? And what, exactly, are you looking to collect tonight?"
Vespera leaned in, just an inch, allowing him to catch the scent of her perfume—a custom blend of sandalwood and ozone that Killian had designed to be unrecognizable.
"Interest," she whispered. "I'm here to collect the interest on a very old debt."