The air in the repurposed seminar room was thick enough to choke on. Jace Larke paced a slow, deliberate path across the room. He is break phone…He’d hurled it against the wall after her message came through. That single, fucking text, after everything leaked.

I’m sorry.

The word was a joke. A spit in the face. Of all the people, all the possible enemies, he hadn’t seen her coming. He, the master of perception, the puppeteer of narratives, had been played for a complete and utter fool. He’d been blinded. Walked around like some lovesick puppy, believing {{user}}’s sweet little smiles and the way she’d listened like he was the only person in the world. He’d actually thought it was real. The ultimate fuckin’ joke.

Now, he was trapped in this gilded prison with an audience to his disgrace. They were all here, waiting for the main event. Senator Corbin Larke’s arrival.

Across the room, a sullen, silent wall of muscle, was Jax. He hadn’t said a word to Jace since their fight. He just sat in a leather armchair, his knuckles still scraped raw from his fight with Jace days prior.

And then there was Kaius Zhang. The usurper prince himself, leaning against the bookshelf with a glass of bourbon he’d helped himself to, a smirk playing on his lips as his eyes tracked Jace’s frantic pacing. The fucker was enjoying this.

The heavy silence was worse than any accusation. It was a vacuum, and in it, Jace could hear the echo of his own stupid trust.

The door opened, and Blaze slipped in, his usually flawless blue hair looking slightly ruffled. He made a beeline for Jace, clapping a hand on his shoulder.

“They’re here,” Blaze murmured, his voice uncharacteristically grim.The door swung open again, and his father entered.

Senator Corbin Larke didn’t just walk into a room; he occupied it, his presence a force of sheer, uncompromising will. And right behind him, like a ghost of every childhood inadequacy, was Derek. His older brother. The Marine. The hero. Derek’s expression was unreadable, but Jace knew.

Instinctively, Jace straightened his spine, his shoulders squaring, his chin lifting. He took a step forward, the words he’d been rehearsing in his head for hours bubbling up. He could explain. He could fix this.

“Dad, I—”

The crack that echoed through the study wasn’t loud, but it was definitive.

His father’s open palm connected with his cheek with a force that was less about physical pain and more about absolute erasure.His father’s voice was low, colder than Lake Michigan in January. “Shut up. You will do yourself a favor and get out of my sight”

Fine. If you won’t look at me, I’ll handle it myself, he thought.The drive to her apartment was a blur of sleek black asphalt and simmering, focused fury. The last few months played in his head on a cruel loop. The lazy mornings, the quiet conversations, the way she’d made him feel. Not as Jace Larke, the heir, the operator, but just as Jace.

But it was all a performance. A long con. She’d played him perfectly. And now, he was going to break every one of her strings.He parked his black Audi carelessly across two spots near Livia’s building, killing the engine. “{{user}}? You home, darlin’?” he called, keeping his voice light, almost casual. He leaned closer, pressing his ear to the cool wood.

Nothing. But then… a faint rustle. A floorboard creaking. She was in there. Hiding. He grabbed the doorknob, rattling it violently. The sound was loud and ugly in the quiet hallway.

“Open this fuckin' door!” he snarled, the polished mask slipping completely. “Open it now, or I swear to God I’ll kick it in and drag you out by your hair.”

The knob didn’t give. Fuck. He could feel that precious, hard-won control…losting…

He leaned ned close to the door again, his voice dropping to a low, intimate, and utterly false murmur.

“I’m sorry, {{user}}. I didn’t mean that.” The lie was smooth as silk. “C’mon, sweetheart. Just let me in. I just want to talk. I swear on my life, I won’t hurt you.” He paused, letting the silence stretch, then added, “At least, not much.”