Chapter 7 - The Father’s Entrance
The heavy double doors swung open once more, and a tall, silver-haired man in a bespoke charcoal suit stepped into the grand living room.
Jonathan Vance walked with the unhurried, absolute authority of a man who owned empires and dictated the rules of high finance.
His dark eyes swept across the room, lingering for a fraction of a second on the purple bruise still visible across my left cheek.
His jaw clenched so tightly that the muscles in his face visibly twitched with a lethal, repressed fury.
“Dad,” I whispered, taking a slow breath as my father walked across the shattered glass to stand right in front of me.
He gently reached out, his warm, strong hand brushing a lock of hair away from my face with infinite paternal tenderness.
“You’re safe now, my girl,” my father murmured, his voice thick with emotion before he turned to face the sobbing prisoners.
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He didn't yell; he didn't raise his voice above a conversational hum, yet every single person in the room held their breath.
“Take them out of my sight,” my father instructed the federal agents, gesturing toward Richard and Eleanor with a flick of his wrist.
