Julian’s dark eyes narrowed sharply as he followed Elena’s gaze toward the far back of the grand St. Regis ballroom.
Standing just inside the heavy, sealed oak doors was Adrian Thorne—Julian’s estranged older stepbrother, the man who had walked away from the Vance family fortune and boardroom five years ago without taking a single dollar.
“Adrian?” Julian’s voice dropped an octave, shock giving way to immediate, cold suspicion. “What are you doing here?”
Adrian stepped forward down the white aisle, his posture calm and his expression completely unreadable as two hundred wedding guests watched in stunned silence.
“I didn’t come for the wedding, Julian,” Adrian said evenly, stopping beside Elena. “I came to make sure Elena made it through those doors alive.”
Julian turned back to his wife, his chest tightening with a mix of disbelief and anger. “You went to him? After everything that happened between us five years ago, you hid with Adrian?”
“If I hadn’t pulled her out of that freezing ravine in Switzerland six months ago, there wouldn’t be anyone left to hide,” Adrian replied calmly, resting a steady hand near Elena’s silver crutches. “The local trauma clinic in Geneva was paid off within two hours of the crash. Whoever wanted Elena dead had direct access to your private security routes and travel manifests.”
Camilla, still kneeling near the ruined white carpet with mascara streaked down her cheeks, let out a sharp, bitter laugh through her sobs.
“Ask him why he really saved her, Julian!” Camilla shrieked, pointing a trembling finger at Adrian. “Tell him, Elena! Tell your husband how close you two got while you were ‘recovering’ in that chalet in Switzerland!”
“Shut your mouth, Camilla,” Julian snapped without even looking down at her.
“No, let her talk,” Elena said quietly, her grip tightening on her crutches as she looked straight into Julian’s eyes. “Because the truth is far worse than anything Camilla could ever invent. Six months ago, I didn’t fly to Geneva for a vacation, Julian. I went there because I found a hidden ledger in your late father’s private safe—and the name at the top of the offshore shell company wasn’t Lucas Sterling.”
Julian froze. Every muscle in his body went rigid. “What are you talking about?”
Elena reached slowly into the inner pocket of her long black wool coat and pulled out a small, metallic silver encrypted flash drive.
“Lucas was just the errand boy, Julian,” Elena said, her voice dropping to a chill that made the air around the altar feel ten degrees colder. “Someone in your own bloodline wired half a million dollars to have my brakes cut in the mountains—and they’re standing inside this room right now.”
