Chapter 4 - Armor
The hot water washed away the blood, the dirt, and the grime of the last six months. Charlotte stood under the rain shower in the penthouse bathroom, watching the pale pink water circle the drain.
With every drop of water that fell, she felt the weight of her disguise washing away. She had played the victim. She had played the scared, grieving orphan. She had scrubbed floors and hidden in shadows. But no more.
When she stepped out of the bathroom, wrapped in a plush robe, a team of five people was waiting in the master bedroom. Hair stylists, makeup artists, and a tailor holding a garment bag. Elias stood by the window, his back to her, speaking rapidly in hushed, sharp tones on his phone.
"Do it," Elias barked into the receiver. "Freeze the Sterling accounts the second the clock strikes three. No, I don't care about the collateral. Just do it." He hung up and turned around. His breath hitched slightly as he looked at her.
"Your armor is ready, Miss Vale," the tailor said with a polite bow, unzipping the garment bag.
It wasn't a ballgown. Charlotte wasn't a princess waiting to be rescued. It was a bespoke, razor-sharp black power suit. The cut was aggressive and flawless, tailored to accentuate her posture and demand respect. Beneath the blazer was a crimson silk blouse—the color of power, the color of blood.
For the next hour, the room was a blur of activity. The makeup artist skillfully covered the bruise on her cheek, replacing her exhaustion with a flawless, intimidating contour. Her hair, which had been tied in a messy, dirty knot, was blown out into sleek, dark waves that cascaded over her shoulders.
When Charlotte finally stepped in front of the full-length mirror, she didn't recognize the woman staring back at her.
The frightened girl who had cried at her mother’s funeral was dead. The woman in the mirror was cold, untouchable, and dangerous. She slipped on a pair of black Christian Louboutin stilettos, the signature red soles matching her blouse.
Elias walked up behind her, his reflection joining hers in the mirror. He handed her a delicate, platinum necklace with a diamond pendant—the Solmere family crest.
"Your mother gave this to me for safekeeping," Elias said softly, stepping close enough that she could smell his expensive cedarwood cologne. He reached around her neck, his warm fingers brushing against her skin as he fastened the clasp. "She knew a day might come when you would need to remind them who owns the crown."
Charlotte touched the cold diamond resting against her collarbone. "Are you ready to burn Richard Sterling’s empire to the ground, Elias?"
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Elias smirked, a predatory gleam in his gray eyes. "I’ve got the matches. You light the fire."
"Let's go," Charlotte said. "It's 2:55 PM. I don't like being late to my own meetings."
