The city never truly slept, but tonight, it felt like it was holding its breath—waiting.
Vivienne sat in the backseat of the black SUV as it sped through narrow backstreets, the engine a low growl against the silence between her and Rhys. Mira drove with surgical precision, weaving through traffic, every twist of the wheel calculated, smooth. No words were exchanged. They didn't need any. The message they'd received was enough.
Jared had been taken.
And Vivienne wasn't going to let the Rothsfords win again—not with another person she cared about.
"He helped me rebuild when I had nothing," Vivienne murmured finally, her voice low, brittle. "He gave me a second chance. If they hurt him…"
"They won't," Mira said without turning. "We won't let them."
Vivienne stared out the window, watching the shadows race past. Her mind wasn't just on Jared. It was also on her mother—Margot. Her murder, buried beneath decades of manipulation, had been part of a larger scheme. One that started long before Vivienne had ever stepped into the Rothsford mansion.
"Where would they take him?" Rhys asked. "Arthur wouldn't risk something public."
Vivienne's eyes sharpened. "He'll hide him somewhere secure. Private. Maybe one of the old industrial properties the Rothsfords used to clean dirty money. They used to have a textile plant just outside the city."
Mira nodded. "I know the place. It's been offline for years. Good cover. I'll pull the schematics."
Rhys reached under his seat and pulled out a steel case. Inside were tranquilizer darts, lockpicks, comms, and two compact handguns.
Vivienne hesitated.
"You said we weren't running anymore," Rhys said. "You sure you're ready to fight?"
She looked at the gun in his hand.
"I was born for this."
Old Rothsford Textile Plant – 2:32 A.M.
The plant stood like a carcass in the night, rusted walls and shattered windows half-hidden by overgrown vines. But inside, faint lights glowed—security systems still live. Guard shifts moving in tight patterns. Mira had hacked the surveillance feed, and Vivienne watched as the thermal signatures shifted.
Four guards. One with a long rifle. The others with close-combat gear. And Jared—tied to a chair in the center of the old breakroom, bloodied but alive.
"Entry through the back loading dock," Mira whispered. "Thirty seconds between guard rotations."
Vivienne nodded. "I'll go for Jared. Rhys—cover the exit. Mira, loop the cameras."
They moved like ghosts—silent, swift, precise.
Vivienne's feet barely made a sound on the cracked concrete as she slipped into the building. The stench of mildew and rust mixed with the acrid tang of oil. She slid through the shadows, ducking under fallen beams, slipping behind stacks of forgotten crates.
There—just ahead.
Jared.
His face was bruised, one eye swollen shut, his lip cut. But he was conscious. Alive. And when he saw her, a weak smile tugged at his mouth.
"Took you long enough," he rasped.
She crouched beside him, quickly cutting through the rope binding his hands. "I thought you liked making dramatic entrances."
He chuckled, then winced. "Tell me you brought something sharp."
"I brought justice."
She helped him to his feet just as the whine of a nearby radio static burst through the silence.
"Perimeter breach—east side. Moving to intercept."
"Go!" Mira's voice barked through the earpiece. "You've got ninety seconds before they realize it's a loop."
Vivienne flung Jared's arm over her shoulder and half-carried, half-dragged him through the maze of abandoned machinery.
Suddenly—
Crack!
A bullet slammed into a beam beside her head.
"DOWN!" Rhys shouted, emerging from the shadows and returning fire. A guard collapsed, and another ducked behind a crate.
Vivienne dropped into a crouch and pulled Jared behind a fallen cabinet.
"I've got him!" Rhys called. "Get to the car!"
"No," Vivienne said, standing, her hands trembling—not from fear, but fury. "I want him to know."
She stormed through the corridor, her footsteps echoing.
"Vivienne!" Rhys called. "What are you—?"
But she was already moving.
She grabbed one of the guard's radios off the floor and clicked it on. "Arthur Rothsford," she said coldly into the receiver. "You took Jared. You think I'm afraid of you? You think your threats will stop me?"
Static crackled. Then a voice—his voice.
"I should've had you buried with your mother," Arthur growled.
Vivienne smiled darkly. "Funny. I was just thinking the same thing about you."
She crushed the radio under her boot.
Back at the Safehouse – Dawn
Jared slept on the couch, bruises patched, wounds cleaned. Mira sat at the window, scanning local police frequencies. Rhys watched the feeds from drones they'd deployed across Rothsford properties.
Vivienne stood by the fireplace, a document in her hand.
A birth certificate.
Her real one.
It wasn't Ivy's name listed under "mother." It was Margot Delacroix. Her blood was Rothsford, but her heart—her legacy—was Margot's.
She wasn't a pawn anymore.
She was the queen.
And Arthur Rothsford had made one fatal mistake: he'd forgotten what happened when you backed a queen into a corner.
Vivienne turned to Mira and Rhys. "We take everything now. Their investors. Their secrets. Their power. He took my family. I'm taking his empire."
Rhys smirked. "What's the next move?"
She held up the Rothsford Holdings shareholder registry. "We're going to his heart. The annual board meeting is in four days. I still own 12% through a shell account my mother opened before she died."
Mira's eyes widened. "Wait—you're saying you're going to walk into the lion's den?"
Vivienne smiled.
"No. I'm going to burn it down."