Chapter Twenty-Three
EMILIA
The Adams penthouse wasn’t meant to house anyone but family. That’s what made it feel like an intrusion when I stepped out of the elevator and saw him there.
Alaric Vale.
He was leaning against the marble bar, jacket undone, posture all dynasty ease and old-world training. He looked like he belonged here, and that was the problem.
Alexander had mentioned it briefly last week—too briefly. Something about the Vales considering a merger, the Accord on the table if they agreed to terms. If Alexander had spoken about the Accord with them, it wasn’t casual. It was dynasty-serious.
And now Alaric wasstaying here. Not in some distant suite with his entourage. Or tucked away in another wing of the hotel. No—he was inourpenthouse, until the suite below opened next week. That’s what Alexander had told me with a shrug, as if it meant nothing.
It didn’t feel like nothing.
“Emilia,” Alaric said, like my name was a greeting he’d been waiting to use. His smile was smooth, courteous, but hiseyes carried the same weight I’d seen in every dynasty heir who knew too much. “I was hoping we’d cross paths again.”
I forced a polite smile. Dynasty training. Never let them see you hesitate. “You didn’t have to move into our space to find me.”
His laugh was soft, practiced. “Temporary inconvenience. The suite below will be ready soon. Until then…” He gestured to the view of the city through the glass. “Not a terrible exile.”
I stepped further in, heels clicking on the marble, refusing to let him command the room just because he was already inside it. “Alexander didn’t tell me you were staying here.”
“Alexander and I go back a long way.” Alaric straightened, and suddenly he wasn’t lounging—he waspresent. Intentional. “He thought it best. Old friends should stay close when discussing futures.”
There it was. Futures. Not business or trade. Futures.
I kept my face smooth, even as my stomach twisted.
“He’s always valued your advice.”
“And your brother has always been a man of vision,” Alaric said easily. “When he mentioned the Accord, it felt less like an offer and more like a continuation. Something we’d spoken about years ago. Promises waiting to be collected.”
My throat tightened, but I didn’t flinch. If Alaric knew about the Accord, then Alexander had already crossed a line. This wasn’t hypothetical. This was dynasty binding.
I tilted my chin, meeting his gaze. “Promises don’t bind unless both sides agree.”
“True,” Alaric said, studying me. “But sometimes both sides don’t realize how much they’ve already agreed to.”
That was the thing with dynasty heirs: they could make a threat sound like a compliment.
I smiled faintly, the way I’d been trained. “Enjoy the viewwhile you can. The suite below should be ready by next week.”
He inclined his head in mock-bow. “Until then, I’m your guest. I’ll try not to overstay my welcome.” His eyes flicked to mine, holding. “Though I have a feeling we’ll be seeing more of each other anyway.”
And then he was gone, disappearing into the hall as if he hadn’t just cracked open the ground beneath my feet.
I stood in the silence he left behind, staring out at the city lights.
Alaric Vale was living in our penthouse. Alexander had told him about the Accord. And if the Vales agreed to the terms of a merger, I wasn’t just Emilia Adams anymore. I was leverage. A piece of dynasty law already being negotiated.
And for the first time in years, I felt the walls of the dynasty closing in.
Chapter Twenty-Four
BASTION
Alumni gathered like they mattered. Men I’d put through tables now trying to shake hand like they’d forgotten.
