Maximilian Byron's phone rang, a sharp, intrusive sound that cut through the silence of his office. He didn't know it yet, but the war had just crossed from the boardroom into blood territory.
Max stared at the screen long after it went dark.
"Hello?" he said, his voice a low vibration, even though the line had already gone dead. Then, the screen lit up again. A text.
Unknown: You promised me our son would inherit the Byron fortune. You lied.
Max's jaw tightened, the muscles ticking beneath his skin. Slowly, deliberately, he locked the phone and slipped it into his pocket. He didn't look shaken; he looked like a predator that had finally caught a scent.
"So," he murmured to the empty, glass-walled room. "You're alive, Violet."
Before the thought could take root, his second phone, his encrypted security line, vibrated. He answered on the first ring. "Speak."
