The penthouse of the Thorne estate, once a sanctuary of stolen luxury, now felt like a tomb. Sofia paced the length of the marble living room, her heels clicking like frantic gunfire against the floor. She had torn off her lace veil, throwing it onto the sofa as if it were a poisonous snake.
"She's alive, Julian! I saw her eyes!" Sofia's voice rose to a hysterical pitch. "The color was different, yes, but the way she looked at me... it was Rose. I felt it in my bones."
Julian was at the bar, his hands trembling so violently that the neck of the crystal decanter rattled against the glass. He poured himself a double scotch and downed it in one go. His face was still the color of ash.
"Shut up, Sofia," he snapped, though his voice lacked its usual authority. "Liam Vance is playing a game. He found a look-alike, a girl from some godforsaken village in Europe, and he's using her to rattle us. It's a psychological stunt."
"A stunt?" Sofia spun around, her eyes wide with terror. "He mentioned Switzerland! He mentioned the merger! Julian, she looked at your watch. She looked at you as if she knew exactly where the bruises were on her own body. If she talks... if she goes to the police..."
"She won't go to the police," Julian growled, slamming his glass onto the counter. "If she were the real Rose, she would have done it already. She's playing 'Elena Vance' because she has no choice. But more importantly... the world saw her tonight. If the shareholders believe Rose Thorne is alive and well at the side of Liam Vance, they will pull their support for my chairmanship by morning."
Julian walked to the window, staring out at the city lights. He felt a cold sweat on the back of his neck. He remembered the feeling of Rose's shoulders under his hands. He remembered the sound of her body hitting the branches. No one survives that, he told himself. No one.
But then he remembered her smile tonight. That sharp, predatory curve of the lips. It wasn't the smile of a victim. It was the smile of an executioner.
Suddenly, Sofia's phone chimed on the coffee table. Then Julian's. Then the landline began to ring.
Sofia grabbed her phone, her face draining of what little color it had left. "Julian... look at the headlines. It's already starting."
The screen was filled with grainy photos from the gala. "A GHOST AT THE GALA? ELENA VANCE STUNS ONYX BAY." "THE UNCANNY RESEMBLANCE: IS THE LATE ROSE THORNE ACTUALLY AMONG US?""THORNE INDUSTRIES STOCK PLUMMETS 8% IN AFTER-HOURS TRADING."
"Damn him," Julian whispered, a vein throbbing in his temple. "Liam isn't just haunting us. He's shorting our stock. He used her as a distraction while his brokers began the slaughter."
While the Thorne penthouse was falling into chaos, the atmosphere in Liam Vance's private study was one of quiet, lethal triumph.
Elena sat in a velvet armchair, her red dress flowing around her like a pool of blood. She held a tablet, watching the live ticker of Thorne Industries. The red line was a jagged blade, cutting deeper and deeper into Julian's wealth with every passing minute.
"Eight percent," she noted, her voice calm. "He lost nearly fifty million dollars in two hours."
Liam was seated at his desk, his sleeves rolled up, looking over a series of legal documents. He looked up, his gray eyes reflecting the glow of the monitors.
"That was just the opening act, Elena. By the time the markets open on Monday, the fear will have turned into a stampede. The investors don't care if you're a ghost or a cousin from Switzerland. They only care about stability. And right now, Julian Thorne looks like a man who is losing his mind."
He stood up and walked over to her, handing her a leather folder.
"Sofia is our weak link," Liam said, his voice dropping to that intimate, dark register. "Julian is a sociopath; he will fight until the end. But Sofia... Sofia is a coward. She's already panicking. Tomorrow, she will try to reach out to someone. She will try to find proof that you are Rose."
Elena opened the folder. Inside were photos of Sofia meeting with a private investigator in secret months ago.
"She has secrets of her own," Elena murmured. "She's been skimming money from my father's charity accounts long before she met Julian."
"Exactly," Liam said. He leaned over her chair, his hands resting on the armrests, effectively pinning her in place. The scent of leather and expensive tobacco enveloped her. "I want you to send her a gift. Something that only Rose would know about. I want her so terrified that she stops trusting Julian. If we break their alliance, Julian will have no one left to hide his tracks."
Elena looked up at Liam. The proximity was intoxicating. She could see the flecks of silver in his eyes. For a moment, the vengeance felt secondary to the heat of the man standing over her.
"What kind of gift?" she asked, her voice a low breath.
Liam reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, charred object. It was a burnt scrap of the silk scarf Elena had thrown into the fire in Chapter 3. He had saved a piece.
"Send this to her house. No note. Just the ash. Let her wonder how a dead woman's belongings found their way into her mailbox."
Elena took the scrap, her fingers brushing Liam's. A spark of electricity shot through her.
"You're more cruel than I thought, Liam," she whispered.
"In this world, Elena, mercy is a luxury we can't afford," he replied, his gaze dropping to her lips for a fraction of a second before he straightened up. "Go to sleep. Tomorrow, we begin the second phase. We're not just taking his money anymore. We're taking his sanity."
Back at the penthouse, Sofia had finally collapsed into bed, but sleep would not come. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Rose's green eyes staring at her.
She got up to get a glass of water, her bare feet silent on the cold floor. As she passed the mirror in the hallway, she froze.
In the dim light, for a split second, she didn't see her own reflection. She saw Rose standing behind her, her white dress soaked in blood, her neck twisted at an unnatural angle.
Sofia screamed, spinning around, but the hallway was empty. Only the sound of the wind howling against the windows answered her.
"Julian!" she cried out, running into his room. "Julian, she's here! I saw her!"
Julian was sitting on the edge of his bed, holding a gun in his lap, staring at the door. He didn't even look at her.
"I know," he whispered. "I feel it too."
The war had moved from the boardroom to their bedroom. And the ghosts were winning.