The penthouse suite in downtown Denver smelled of expensive orchids and victory. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the city lights twinkled like scattered diamonds, a stark contrast to the dark deeds being celebrated inside.
“To fifty million dollars,” Carter announced, his voice practically vibrating with glee. He popped the cork on a bottle of vintage Dom Pérignon, the spray catching the ambient light.
Sienna, draped in a backless silk gown that clung to her like a second skin, held out her crystal flute. She giggled, a sharp, grating sound. “You’re sure there’s no investigation? The police aren’t poking around?”
Carter took a long, indulgent sip, walking over to the glass. “I gave the performance of a lifetime, Sienna. I was the devastated, inconsolable widower. I told them she slipped on the black ice. The storm buried any evidence, and they couldn’t even recover the body because of the blizzard conditions on that ledge. They bought the ‘accidental slip’ story completely. The memorial service is tomorrow at the cathedral, and the Apex Insurance rep is flying in to personally sign off on the check right after the eulogy.”
Sienna wrapped her arms around his waist from behind, resting her chin on his shoulder. “Fifty million. We can buy the island, Carter. We never have to look at snow again.”
Meanwhile, two hundred miles away.
The air in the private, underground medical facility smelled sterile—a sharp mix of iodine and ozone. It was a black-site clinic owned entirely by Apex Group, utilized exclusively for Arthur’s most sensitive corporate personnel. Right now, it was my sanctuary.
I sat on the edge of the hospital bed, the monitors beeping in a steady, reassuring rhythm. The baby was fine. By some absolute miracle of physics and maternal desperation, the snowdrift had cushioned the impact enough to protect my womb. But the jagged rocks had demanded a toll.
I raised a trembling hand to my face, staring into the silver-backed hand mirror Arthur had quietly placed on the bedside table.
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