Page 4

I stand in front of my mirror, adjusting the delicate straps of my dress, smoothing out imaginary creases on the soft fabric. The excitement that had been bubbling inside me all day is still there, but it’s dulled by the lingering weight of frustration from earlier.

My father barely acknowledged me, my business idea brushed aside like an afterthought, and Sophia—well, she’s always been too busy with real family matters to care about what I do.

Tonight, none of that matters.

Tonight, I get to escape, even if just for a few hours. Elise’s birthday party is being held at one of the city’s most exclusive rooftop lounges, the kind of place where people drink too much champagne and dance without worrying about the world beyond the velvet ropes. It’s exactly the kind of night I need, to forget, even briefly, the suffocating walls of this house and the weight of a family that only acknowledges me when it’s convenient.

Slipping on my heels, I take one last look at myself in the mirror. The reflection staring back at me is polished and effortless—loose waves cascading over my shoulders, a soft glow to my skin, the deep blue of my dress making my eyes pop. It’s the version of me that people outside this house see. The version that is confident, free, untouched by the burdens of being a Spade.

I grab my clutch and head downstairs, my heels clicking softly against the marble floors. But before I can reach the front door, a familiar voice stops me in my tracks.

“Where are you going?”

I turn to find Sophia standing at the base of the staircase, arms crossed, her gaze assessing. She’s always been beautiful in that cold, untouchable way—perfectly put together, always in control. But tonight, there’s something different in her expression. A hesitation I don’t quite recognize.

“I have a party to go to,” I say, keeping my tone even.

Sophia’s eyes flick over my outfit, the corners of her mouth tightening ever so slightly. “You didn’t think to mention this?”

I let out a quiet laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “Would it have made a difference?”

Her silence is answer enough.

I exhale sharply, the frustration that’s been simmering inside me threatening to spill over. “You barely pay attention to me. None of you do. I could spend weeks working on something and no one would notice. But the second I want to have fun, suddenly I have to answer to you?”

Sophia’s expression remains unreadable, but I see the slight shift in her stance, like she wasn’t expecting me to snap.

“Julie,” she says, her tone measured, like she’s trying to keep me calm, “it’s not about control. Things are… tense right now. It’s not safe for you to just go wherever you want.”

I scoff. “Right. Now it’s not safe? I’ve been in this house for months, invisible, and you didn’t care. But the moment I try to live my life, I’m suddenly a security risk?”

Sophia watches me for a long moment, like she’s considering what to say next. Then, instead of arguing, she steps forward and lifts a hand to my hair, tucking a loose strand behind my ear. The gesture is oddly gentle, but it makes my stomach twist.

“I belong here, Julie,” she murmurs, her voice quieter now. “But you….” She pauses, as if choosing her words carefully, before giving me a knowing look. “Your time will come.”

My throat tightens. I know exactly what she means.

The Spade family is built on power, on strategy. Every move is calculated, every relationship a carefully placed piece in a greater game. And I—whether I like it or not—will not be an exception.

She steps back, straightening the sleeve of my dress, as if that’s the end of the conversation. “You can go,” she says simply. “You’ll have security with you.”

I don’t argue. It wouldn’t change anything.

I swallow back the lump rising in my throat and turn away, stepping through the front door before she can see the emotions swirling behind my eyes.

Outside, the car is already waiting, sleek and dark under the glow of the estate’s lights. The driver stands beside it, along with one of the family’s security men—just as Sophia ordered.

I force a smile, even though my chest feels tight. Tonight was supposed to be an escape, but Sophia’s words cling to me, a quiet reminder of the future waiting in the shadows.

As I slide into the car, I press a hand to my temple, inhaling deeply. Just for tonight, I tell myself, I won’t think about it.

Just for tonight, I’ll pretend I’m still in control of my own life.

The city stretches out in glittering lights as the car pulls into the circular driveway of the mansion. Even through the tinted windows, I can tell this place is on another level—grander, more ostentatious than even my family’s estate. The Spade house is impressive, but it carries the weight of business and responsibility in its walls. This? This is the kind of luxury that serves no purpose other than indulgence.

The sprawling white mansion is illuminated by golden sconces, its massive columns standing like sentinels against the night sky. A fountain at the center of the driveway shoots water into the air, catching the glow of carefully placed lighting, turning each droplet into something impossibly elegant. Expensive cars line the sides of the driveway, a parade of wealth on display. The laughter and music spilling from inside hint at a party already in full swing.

The driver pulls up to the entrance, and one of the security guards steps forward to open my door. I hesitate for just a second, my sister’s words lingering in my head. “Your time will come.” I push the thought away, stepping out gracefully, tilting my chin up slightly. Not tonight. Tonight, I am just Julie, not a Spade, not a pawn in a game I never agreed to play.

Inside, the party is a swirl of movement and luxury. Massive chandeliers cast a warm, golden light over the high ceilings and gleaming marble floors.

Servers in crisp black-and-white uniforms weave through the guests, offering glasses of champagne and trays of hors d’oeuvres so delicate they look like they belong in a museum rather than someone’s mouth. The scent of expensive perfume mingles with the faintest hint of cigar smoke, a reminder that this isn’t just a party—this is a gathering of people who matter.

I don’t have to search long before I spot the birthday girl.

“Julie!” Elise Emberly’s voice cuts through the hum of conversation, bright and delighted as she turns toward me, already reaching for my hand. She looks exactly as I expected—perfect, in a sleek champagne-colored dress that hugs her figure, her auburn hair cascading down in soft waves. Her makeup is flawless, not a single detail out of place.

“Happy birthday, Elise,” I say, letting her pull me into a quick hug before she leans back to examine me.

“You look stunning,” she declares, her green eyes scanning me with approval. “I was starting to think you weren’t coming.”

“I almost wasn’t,” I admit with a small laugh, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “Last-minute family drama.”

Elise rolls her eyes in exaggerated sympathy. “Isn’t it always family drama with you?”

I smirk, shaking my head. “You have no idea.”

She sighs dramatically, looping her arm through mine as she plucks two champagne flutes from a passing tray. “Well, whatever it was, forget it. You’re here now, and we’re celebrating.”

I take the glass from her, letting the crisp, bubbling liquid fizz against my lips. “Where’s Rhianne?” I ask, glancing around the massive room.

Elise makes a face, half amused, half dismissive. “Around. Somewhere. You know how she is these days—she never stays in one place for too long.”

I do know. Rhianne has always been part of our group, but lately, she’s been more distant, caught up in things none of us fully understand. She’s still Rhianne, still our friend, but she’s also something… other now, something more removed. I don’t know if it’s by choice or circumstance.

“She said she’d be here,” Elise continues, “so I assume she is. She’s probably just avoiding me.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Avoiding you? What did you do?”

Elise grins mischievously. “I might have tried to set her up with someone last time we went out.”

I snort, shaking my head. “You never learn.”

“What?” Elise defends herself, laughing. “She needs someone. She’s been so serious lately.”

“Maybe she likes being serious,” I say, though I understand what Elise means. Rhianne has changed, though I don’t think any of us really know why.

“Whatever. If she shows up, she shows up,” Elise says, waving a hand as if brushing off the topic. “More importantly, are you going to have fun tonight?”

I laugh softly, taking another sip of champagne. “I’m trying.”

Elise narrows her eyes at me, as if deciding whether or not to accept that answer. Finally, she smiles, squeezing my hand. “Good, because I refuse to let you mope around looking all tragic and mysterious when there’s a party happening.”

Before I can respond, someone calls Elise’s name from across the room. She turns, eyes lighting up, and within seconds, she’s being swept away into another conversation, another moment of attention that she was clearly born for.

I watch her go, a little relieved, a little envious. Elise belongs in this world in a way that I never truly have. She moves through it effortlessly, unconcerned with expectations or responsibilities. She enjoys it.

Me? I feel like I’m constantly trying to hold on to something slipping through my fingers.

Shaking off the thought, I finish my champagne and scan the room once more. Maybe I should look for Rhianne. Or maybe I should just let myself be for a little while—drink, dance, pretend for one night that nothing outside this house exists.

I don’t know what tomorrow will bring. Tonight, for just a little while, I don’t want to think about it.

The night drifts on in a warm haze of laughter, champagne, and music that thrums through my veins. I float through conversations, exchanging pleasantries with people whose names I barely remember, indulging in the illusion that I belong here. It’s easier with a drink in my hand, easier when the weight of my family’s expectations feels miles away.

I let myself enjoy it.

A man I vaguely know from another social gathering—a son of someone important, but not someone I particularly care for—leans in too close as we talk, his breath tinged with expensive liquor. I laugh at something he says, though I don’t quite catch it, the edges of my thoughts softened by the alcohol. The champagne has made everything feel lighter, more distant.

Eventually, the music slows, and the energy of the party shifts. Some people have left, while others remain, gathered in smaller groups, talking in hushed voices over half-finished drinks. The night is winding down, the electric excitement fading into something more subdued. I realize then that I should probably leave too.

I weave my way through the scattered guests, finally spotting Elise draped lazily over one of the plush lounge chairs on the balcony, a cocktail in hand, still basking in the glow of her own celebration.

“I’m heading out,” I say, leaning down so she can hear me over the faint music.

Elise blinks up at me, then pouts. “Already?”

I laugh softly. “It’s late, and I need to go before I drink enough to start making bad decisions.”

She giggles, reaching out to squeeze my hand. “Fine, fine. Next time, you’re staying until the bitter end.”

I smile. “Deal.”

With that, I step back inside, pulling my phone from my clutch and dialing the driver’s number. “I’m ready,” I say when he picks up. “Meet me out front.”

He confirms, and I make my way to the entrance, the cool night air sobering me slightly as I step outside. The estate is quieter now, the earlier rush of cars and guests dwindling to just a few luxury vehicles waiting in the driveway.

The sleek black car I arrived in pulls up smoothly, and I slide into the backseat without hesitation. My security detail—an older, no-nonsense man named Carter—takes his usual seat up front beside the driver.

“Back home, Miss Spade?” the driver asks.

“Yes,” I murmur, resting my head back against the seat. The exhaustion from the night finally starts to settle in.

The car rolls forward, leaving the estate behind. The streets are quiet at this hour, the city lights casting a soft glow over the roads. I close my eyes for a moment, exhaling slowly.

Then everything changes.

The first sign that something is wrong is the sudden deceleration of the car. My eyes snap open as the vehicle slows, and a glance out the window makes my stomach lurch.

We’re surrounded.

Black SUVs appear from every direction, sleek and silent as they cut us off with calculated precision. The headlights glare through the dark, casting long shadows over the pavement.

“Carter,” I whisper, panic creeping into my voice.

He’s already reaching for his gun.

The driver mutters a curse under his breath, hands tightening on the wheel. “Stay inside,” he says sharply, his voice strained but firm. Then he and Carter step out.

I watch in horror as the second the doors open, figures move like ghosts in the night—quick, precise, and terrifyingly efficient. I can tell just from the way they carry themselves that these aren’t common thugs.

They are professionals.

Russian.

The realization sends a shiver down my spine.

Carter barely raises his weapon before a gun is pressed against his temple, disarming him instantly. The driver doesn’t fare any better, taken down with brutal efficiency.

I slap a hand over my mouth to keep from gasping. My heart is a wild drum in my chest, my breath shallow as I shrink back into the seat.

Then I see him.

One man stands out among the others.

Tall, imposing, radiating a presence that demands attention.

Mikhail Sharov.

I don’t need an introduction to know who he is. The dark buzzed hair, the cold, assessing gaze, the sharp, unreadable expression—I’ve heard his name whispered in the circles my family moves in. He’s not just anyone.

He’s a king among criminals. He’s the man even my father respects.

The moment his piercing gaze locks on to me through the car window, a cold sweat prickles along my skin.

I barely have a second to react before he steps forward, raises his gun, and aims it directly at me.

The world narrows to the cold steel of the gun aimed at my head. My breath catches, my body frozen in place as Mikhail Sharov stares at me, his expression unreadable, his presence suffocating. The car feels too small, too closed in, the air thick with the scent of leather and my own rising fear.

“Out,” he says, voice low, controlled. A command, not a request.

My entire body is trembling. I can’t move. My hands grip the seat beneath me so tightly my knuckles ache. My stomach churns violently, the champagne I drank threatening to claw its way back up. This can’t be happening. This cannot be happening.

I shake my head once, barely able to force out the words. “W-What do you want?” My voice is a whisper, barely audible over the pounding of my heartbeat.

Mikhail doesn’t move, his grip steady on the gun. “Get. In. The. Car.”

I swallow hard, my throat dry as sandpaper. I don’t want to move, don’t want to get closer to him, but what choice do I have? My gaze flickers to the bodies outside, Carter and my driver kneeling on the pavement, their hands restrained behind their backs by his men. My stomach twists with horror.

“What about them?” I whisper, my voice shaking. “What are you going to do to them?”

Mikhail doesn’t answer. Instead, he shifts slightly, tilting his head in their direction.

Bang .

I scream as the first shot echoes in the night. Carter’s body jerks violently before slumping forward, blood spilling onto the pavement beneath him.

Bang .

The driver follows an instant later, collapsing like a puppet with its strings cut, a dark stain rapidly pooling beneath his head.

My breath shatters, the world spinning around me. My stomach lurches, bile rising in my throat. My hands fly to my mouth as I choke back a sob. The bodies—the blood—the way they just fell. My mind refuses to process it, refuses to accept the horror that just unfolded before me.

Mikhail lowers his gun slightly, but his gaze remains locked on to me, cold, unwavering. “You’re next if you don’t cooperate.”

A sob gets caught in my throat. My limbs feel like lead, but my survival instincts scream louder than my fear. Move. Move or die.

I inch forward, each breath shaking as I slide toward my open car door, the gun still aimed at my head.

Every step forward feels like dragging myself toward my own execution. My breath is coming too fast, shallow and ragged, my vision swimming with terror. The gun stays trained on me, an unwavering promise of what will happen if I make the wrong move. My fingers tremble as I reach for the car door handle, my heartbeat pounding so loud I can barely hear anything else.

I have no choice. I have to get in.

I swallow the sob rising in my throat, my fingers curling around the handle. Slowly, I pull the door open, feeling the cool metal under my sweaty palm. Mikhail watches me like a predator observing its prey, his gun steady, his patience razor-thin.

Then, at the last second—I snap.

With every ounce of strength I have, I swing the car door outward. Hard.

It slams into him with a sickening thud, catching him off guard just long enough. He staggers back a step, and before I can second-guess myself, I run.

My heels skid against the pavement, my pulse a wild, erratic drumbeat. I don’t think—I just move, sprinting toward the street, my dress tangling around my legs, my breath tearing from my throat in panicked gasps. The cold air burns my lungs, but I don’t stop.

I make it across the street before I hear it. The gunshot. A deafening crack splits the air, but I don’t process what’s happening until a second later.

Pain explodes through my body, so sudden and blinding that I don’t even know where I’ve been hit. My legs buckle beneath me, the strength in them vanishing all at once. I collapse onto the asphalt, a ragged scream ripping from my throat as fire pulses through my nerves, white-hot and unbearable.

The world tilts, my vision swimming, dark edges creeping into my sight. The streetlights above blur into glowing halos, the cold pavement biting into my skin as I struggle to move, to breathe, to do anything.

Footsteps. Slow, deliberate. A shadow looms over me.

Through the haze of pain, I see him—Mikhail, his expression unreadable, his gun still in hand. Another man stands beside him, his face obscured by the overwhelming darkness closing in around me.

I try to scream, to crawl away, to fight, but my body betrays me. The last thing I see before the world fades to black is Mikhail stepping closer, his eyes cold, unforgiving.

Then nothing.