Chapter 16
The private jet soared above the endless,
dark expanse of the Atlantic Ocean,
the luxurious cabin silent except for the low hum of the massive engines.
I sat in a plush leather armchair,
a crystal glass of vintage wine resting on the mahogany table beside me,
my eyes fixed on the digital dossiers projected onto the wall screen.
Victor Sterling was a man of immense wealth,
a creature of high society who hid his illicit dealings behind philanthropic galas,
and multi-million dollar art auctions.
He was arrogant,
he was careless,
and he underestimated the sheer brutality of a woman protecting her bloodline.
Gabriel sat across the aisle,
dismantling and cleaning a sniper rifle with methodical precision,
the rhythmic clack of metal a soothing background noise.
"Our operatives in London have secured the safe house,"
he reported,
not looking up from the weapon,
his hands moving purely by muscle memory.
"They have also confirmed Victor's attendance at the masquerade ball tomorrow night,
held at the National Gallery."
"Perfect,"
I murmured,
taking a slow sip of the rich,
red wine,
my mind already visualizing the opulent halls of the museum.
"He believes he is untouchable in a crowd of his peers,"
I noted,
"he thinks his wealth acts as an impenetrable shield."
I stood up,
pacing the length of the luxurious cabin,
my bare feet sinking into the thick,
plush carpet.
"We will not use a sniper,"
I decided,
turning to face Gabriel,
my eyes gleaming with a dark,
malicious intent.
"A bullet is too quick,
too merciful,
for a man who dared to target my home."
I walked over to the closet,
pulling out a heavy garment bag,
unzipping it to reveal a breathtaking,
crimson evening gown,
the silk fabric shimmering like freshly spilled blood.
"I will attend the masquerade,"
I announced,
"I will stand right next to him,
I will let him see my face,
and I will destroy him with a whisper."
Gabriel paused his cleaning,
looking at me with a mixture of concern and deep admiration,
knowing that when I chose to engage personally,
the devastation was absolute.
"I will have a strike team on standby,"
he insisted,
"and I will be in the security room,
monitoring the camera feeds."
"Ensure the perimeter is locked tight,"
I commanded,
"I want all his bodyguards isolated,
bribed,
or quietly removed before I make my approach."
I walked to the window,
looking out at the starry night sky,
feeling the immense power of the Blackwood legacy flowing through my veins,
a dark magic that demanded a sacrifice.
Victor thought he was playing a game of chess,
moving his mercenaries like disposable pawns,
while hiding safely behind his king.
He did not realize that I was playing an entirely different game,
a game of total annihilation,
where I would simply burn the entire board to the ground.
I closed the window blind,
plunging the cabin back into a dim,
intimate lighting,
and returned to my seat to review the final phases of my financial trap.
By the time the masquerade ball concluded,
Victor would not only face my physical wrath,
he would find his bank accounts drained,
his holding companies seized,
and his entire legacy wiped from the face of the earth.
I smiled,
a cold,
beautiful expression,
May you like
ready to paint London red,
and claim another crown.
