The sleek, silver wall clock in the East Wing ticked toward 11:00 PM. From his window, Xavier watched the red taillights of Seraphina's car disappear down the long driveway. She had an emergency board meeting—a "midnight execution," as she called it—to deal with the fallout of Isabella's little stunt at brunch.
Xavier didn't hesitate. He stripped off his suit jacket and pulled on a dark hoodie. If he was going to be a prisoner in this golden cage, he was at least going to know what else was locked inside with him.
The mansion was eerily silent. Even the security guards seemed to be concentrated on the perimeter, leaving the interior halls to the shadows. Xavier moved toward the North Corridor, his heart thumping against his ribs like a trapped bird.
When he reached the heavy, dark wood door, the red light of the keypad stared back at him like a cyclops eye.
"Think, Xavier," he whispered. "What would a woman like her use for a code?"
He tried her birthday. Access Denied. He tried the date of the Vane Empire's founding. Access Denied.
He remembered the way she had looked at him in the elevator—the flash of something that wasn't just cold business. He remembered the silk card she had sent him. 365 days. He punched in 0-3-6-5.
The light turned green. The electronic lock hissed as it disengaged.
Xavier pushed the door open. He expected a dungeon, or perhaps a room filled with illegal documents. Instead, he found a staircase leading down into a hallway lined with soft, warm lights and expensive medical equipment.
At the end of the hall was a glass partition. Behind the glass was a room that looked like a high-end hospital suite. And in the center of that room, lying in a bed surrounded by monitors, was a man. He looked like an older version of Seraphina—the same sharp jaw, the same regal brow, but his skin was as pale as parchment and his eyes were closed.
"Grandfather?" Xavier breathed.
"He's been in a coma for three years," a cold, trembling voice said behind him.
Xavier spun around. Seraphina stood at the top of the stairs, silhouetted by the moonlight from the hallway. She wasn't at a board meeting. She was standing there with a silenced pistol in her hand, her face a mask of pure, murderous grief.
"I told you never to come here, Xavier," she whispered, the gun steady in her hand. "The board thinks he's dead. If they knew he was alive, they would take the company from me in an hour. And now that you know... I can't let you leave this house."
Xavier didn't move. He looked at the man in the bed, then back at the woman holding the gun. He realized then that the "Ice Queen" wasn't protecting a fortune. She was protecting the only family she had left.
"I'm not going to tell them, Seraphina," Xavier said, stepping toward her despite the weapon. "I'm not your enemy. I'm the only person in this world who actually knows who you are."
The gun wavered. For the first time, Seraphina looked small. "You were supposed to be a tool, Xavier. Why can't you just be a tool?"