Chapter 58 - The Siren's Venom
The rain hit Point Judith like sheets of lead. The waves beneath the jagged granite cliffs crashed with a thunderous roar, sending white spray sixty feet into the howling wind.
Our three-vehicle convoy cut its headlights five hundred yards from the wrought-iron gates of the Vance coastal villa. Julian’s private security detail, moving with the silent efficiency of seasoned combat veterans, breached the side perimeter in less than thirty seconds, disabling the security cameras and cutting the backup generator lines.
Inside the darkened villa, emergency lanterns cast long, flickering shadows across marble floors cluttered with half-packed designer suitcases and spilled champagne bottles.
Valerie Vance was standing in the grand living room, a fur coat slung over her shoulders, screaming into a dead satellite phone.
"Answer me, you coward!" she shrieked, slamming the receiver onto a glass coffee table, shattering it. "Victor! Pick up the damn phone! The helicopter pilot says the fog is too thick—"
The heavy double doors of the salon swung open.
Valerie spun around, reaching into her Birkin bag for a chrome-plated revolver.
Before her fingers could clear the leather, Julian moved like a phantom. A single, brutal strike to her wrist sent the gun skittering across the polished hardwood floor, clattering against the limestone hearth.
Valerie screamed, clutching her bruised wrist, backing away until she hit the edge of the grand piano.
I stepped through the doorway.
I was wearing a pristine ivory trench coat, the exact color of the gown she had ruined in the backstage makeup room two weeks ago. My boots clicked with measured, rhythmic finality against the floor.
"You look stressed, Valerie," I said quietly, the wind from the shattered balcony doors whipping my coat around my legs. "No makeup artist today?"
Valerie’s eyes flared with manic, cornered hatred. "Serena... you pathetic, arrogant bitch! You think because that old fossil came back from the dead you've won? You don't know what Daniel and I did! You don't know where the rest of the ledgers are!"
"Daniel gave up the keys an hour ago," I said, taking another step closer. "Eighty-two million dollars. The Gardenia Trust. And the signed confession naming your uncle Richard as the man who poisoned my mother."
Valerie froze. The sneer on her heavily painted lips dissolved into pure, raw terror.
"My uncle..." she stammered, her voice dropping into a frantic rasp. "No... Daniel wouldn't know that. Daniel was an idiot! He was just a dog I kept on a leash to fetch your father's codes!"
"And now the leash is wrapped around your own neck," I said.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out a small, heavy glass bottle. It was high-coverage foundation, thick, dark, and greasy—the exact same cosmetic formula she had poured down my head while her guards pinned my arms behind my back.
Valerie stared at the bottle, her breath hitching in her throat. "What are you doing? Don't touch me! Do you know who I am? I am a Vance!"
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"You're nobody, Valerie," I said softly, unscrewing the black cap with a smooth twist of my fingers. "You're a parasite who thought you could steal a dynasty by ruining a dress."
***
