Chapter 9: The Coronation
The world knew her name now.
Katelyn Bailey—designer, doctor, hacker, shadow queen—stood atop the Laurent Tower’s penthouse, the city sprawled beneath her like a conquered kingdom. The Syndicate was in ruins, its members scrambling like rats, but the war wasn’t over.
Not yet.
Vincent stepped beside her, his dark gaze scanning the skyline. “They’ll regroup. The ones we didn’t catch.”
Katelyn smirked. “Let them. I want them to see what comes next.”
Behind them, Neil cleared his throat, holding up a tablet. “Uh, you two might want to see this.”
The screen displayed a live news feed—“BAILEY-LAURENT MERGER: WHISPERED ENGAGEMENT ROCKS ELITE.”
Katelyn’s brows shot up. Vincent hadn’t proposed.
Then she noticed the fine print—Sources claim Laurent offered marriage to secure Bailey’s empire.
Vincent’s expression darkened. “I don’t leak.”
Which meant someone was manipulating them. Again.
The Puppet Master
Lise hacked into the feed within minutes, tracing the rumor to an offshore server. “It’s a ghost account. But the encryption’s familiar.”
Too familiar.
Katelyn’s fingers flew over the keys, unraveling layers of code until a single name flashed on-screen:
“Greyson Voss.”
Vincent stiffened. “Elias’s son.”
A son no one knew existed. A son with a vendetta.
Neil whistled low. “So the Syndicate’s not dead. It just got a new head.”
Katelyn leaned back, a slow, dangerous smile curling her lips. “Good. I hate unfinished business.”
The Wedding Ploy
Vincent’s hand closed around hers. “We use the rumor. Announce the engagement publicly—draw him out.”
Katelyn met his gaze. “And when he comes?”
Vincent’s thumb brushed her knuckles, his voice a dark promise. “We bury him.”
Neil, watching them, shook his head. “You’re both insane.”
Lise snorted. “And you’re just now realizing that?”
The Trap is Set
One week later, the world watched as Katelyn Bailey walked down the aisle in a gown worth more than most countries’ GDP. The ceremony was broadcast globally, every camera angle perfect, every guest vetted.
Except one.
As Vincent slid the ring onto her finger, he murmured, “Three o’clock. Balcony.”
Katelyn didn’t look. She didn’t have to.
Greyson Voss stood among the crowd, his father’s serpent pin glinting on his lapel.
Vincent kissed her—hard—before whispering against her lips:
“Checkmate.”