Chapter 8 - The Grand Betrayal
The plan was simple,
and incredibly dangerous.
We would leak a small portion of the data to lure the Council’s leadership to a neutral location.
A gala at the Metropolitan Museum,
a place of high society and even higher stakes.
"You'll be my date,"
Adrian said,
handing me a box containing a dress of midnight blue silk.
"But you'll also be the bait."
The night of the gala,
the museum was a sea of jewels and tuxedoes.
I walked in on Adrian’s arm,
my head held high,
the iron box hidden in my clutch.
I could feel the eyes of the city's elite on us,
the whispers following in our wake.
"There she is,"
a voice hissed from the crowd.
I turned to see Marcus Blake standing near the statues,
looking haggard and desperate.
"Adrian,"
I whispered,
clutching his arm.
"I see him,"
Adrian replied,
his face a mask of cold indifference.
"He's the distraction."
Suddenly,
the lights went out,
and the screams began.
But it wasn't the Council who attacked.
It was the Viscari guards.
One by one,
they turned their weapons on the guests.
"Adrian,
what is happening?"
I cried,
tripping over my dress.
He looked at me,
and for the first time,
his silver eyes were filled with a terrible,
sorrowful light.
"The Council didn't buy my guards,
Lena,"
he said,
his voice hollow.
"I bought the Council."
I froze,
the world turning to ice around me.
"What?"
"My father was the one who ordered your mother's death,"
he confessed,
the words falling like stones.
"I’ve spent years trying to take his place,"
"to fix what he broke."
"But to do that,"
"I had to become the head of the Council."
"I used you to find the chips,"
"to erase the evidence against my family."
I backed away from him,
disgust and heartbreak warring in my chest.
"You were just like Marcus,"
I spat,
the betrayal cutting deeper than any blade.
"No,"
he said,
reaching for me.
"I was worse."
"But then I fell in love with you."
Before I could react,
Marcus Blake lunged from the shadows,
a gun in his hand.
"If I can't have her,"
"no one can!"
May you like
The shot rang out,
echoing through the halls of history.
