The first shot came at dawn.
Not a bullet.
A headline.
Ivy woke to the sound of Lucien's phone vibrating—once, twice, then endlessly. He silenced it without looking, already awake, already alert.
"What is it?" she asked.
Lucien didn't answer. He turned the screen toward her.
EXCLUSIVE: QUESTIONS RISE OVER LUCIEN VALE'S MYSTERIOUS WIFE
Sources Claim Ivy Moore Linked to Old Fire Case
Ivy's stomach dropped.
"That was fast," she whispered.
"Daniel doesn't waste time," Lucien said. "He leaks. He poisons. He watches what panics you."
Her phone buzzed immediately after.
A message from an unknown number.
Smile for the cameras today, Mrs. Vale.
Let's see how long you last.
Her hands shook.
Lucien took the phone from her, jaw hardening. "You're not leaving this floor."
"I can't hide forever."
"You won't," he replied. "You'll be seen—on my terms."
Within an hour, the penthouse transformed into controlled chaos. Security doubled. Staff moved silently. A stylist arrived unannounced.
"A public appearance," Lucien said. "Now."
Ivy stared at him. "You're sending me out there? After this?"
"Yes."
"That's insane."
"It's strategy," he said. "Predators strike when prey runs. You'll stand still."
She searched his face. "And if they come for me?"
Lucien's voice dropped. "Then they come through me."
Minutes later, they stepped into the open.
Cameras exploded.
Questions screamed.
Lucien's hand found Ivy's waist—steady, unmistakable. Not tender. Defiant.
A reporter shouted, "Mrs. Vale, were you involved in the fire ten years ago?"
Ivy's breath hitched.
Lucien answered before she could. "My wife has been harassed by baseless rumors. Any further defamation will be handled legally."
They moved.
That's when Ivy felt it.
A shove. Subtle. Calculated.
Her heel slipped.
A scream tore from the crowd.
Lucien turned just in time to see a man retreating—hood up, face hidden.
Lucien pulled Ivy into him as security swarmed.
"You okay?" he demanded.
She nodded, shaken. "He tried to push me."
Lucien's eyes burned. "I saw."
Back inside the car, silence wrapped them tight.
"This isn't about you anymore," Ivy said quietly. "It's about sending a message."
"Yes," Lucien replied. "And Daniel just sent his."
Her phone buzzed again.
Round one.
Still breathing?
Ivy looked up. "He's escalating."
"So am I," Lucien said.
That night, Lucien made a call.
"Release the injunction," he said coldly. "Freeze Cross Holdings. Every account. Every shell."
A pause.
"Now."
He ended the call and turned to Ivy.
"You wanted to stop being afraid?" he asked. "This is what that costs."
She met his gaze. "I'm in."
For the first time, Lucien didn't correct her.
Outside, across the city, a screen lit up in Daniel Cross's office—accounts locking, numbers bleeding red.
Daniel smiled.
"Good," he murmured. "She's chosen a side."
Back at the penthouse, Ivy stood by the window, city lights flickering like warnings.
She wasn't a pawn anymore.
She was a target.
And targets, she realized, learn to strike back.