Chapter 7 - The Front Doors Are Blown Open
The heavy oak front doors of the Sterling mansion didn't just open; they were blown violently off their reinforced steel hinges.
A deafening crash echoed through the vaulted marble foyer as splintered timber rained across the expensive Persian rugs.
Margaret gasped, clutching her heavy diamond necklace with trembling fingers as a cold draft swept through the grand hall.
Heavy, deliberate footsteps echoed across the marble floor, approaching the dining room with slow, terrifying momentum.
Four tactical operatives entered first, their weapons lowered but ready, securing the perimeter of the elegant dining space.
Behind them walked a tall, imposing man in a bespoke charcoal suit, his silver-streaked hair brushed back with absolute precision.
It was Alexander Vance, his eyes burning with an incandescent rage that made the temperature in the room plummet instantly.
He didn't look at Margaret, nor did he look at the soaked, miserable Julian standing near the side table.
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His dark eyes locked immediately onto Elena, checking her posture and face for any sign of lasting physical harm.
“Are you alright, sweetheart?” Alexander asked, his voice cutting through the silent room like a razor-sharp blade.
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