Chapter 6 - Chloe’s Golden Cage: When the Mistress Realizes She Is Just Another Pawn
While Julian was meeting with his security commanders at the shipyard gatehouse, Chloe sat alone in the master bedroom of Vance Manor—my bedroom.
Through the covert optical fibers Mason had wired into the manor’s ventilation system years ago, we watched the high-definition surveillance feed on Mason’s tablet from the safety of our secondary safehouse in Norfolk.
Chloe was dressed in one of my custom silk robes, drinking sparkling cider from my crystal flutes, admiring a three-carat diamond ring Julian had given her earlier that evening.
The bedroom door swung open. Julian walked in, shedding his soaked trench coat and tossing it onto an antique armchair.
“Did Albright call back?” Chloe asked, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness as she walked over and wrapped her arms around his neck. “When do we get the final probate sign-off, Julian? The decorators need the deposit for the nursery in the east wing.”
Julian didn't hug her back. He peeled her arms off his shoulders with cold indifference and walked over to the bar to pour himself a three-finger glass of bourbon.
“Stop obsessing over wallpaper, Chloe,” Julian said dismissively, his tone sharp and irritated. “We have far more pressing matters.”
Chloe blinked, taken aback by his sudden coldness. “Pressing matters? Julian, we won. Valerie and Mason are at the bottom of the Blackwater River. The memorial is over. Tomorrow I sign the transfer documents, and we merge Vance with Sterling.”
Julian took a slow sip of his bourbon, then turned to look at her with a look of pure contempt. “You don't merge anything. I merge the assets. You simply sign the transfer of executorship over to Nautilus Global.”
Chloe frowned, stepping back slightly. “Wait… that wasn't our deal. You said we would be equal partners. You said this baby would inherit the combined Sterling-Vance empire.”
Julian let out a cruel, mocking laugh that echoed through the empty bedroom. He walked over to the safe, pulled out a thick document, and threw it onto the king-sized bed.
“Read clause fourteen, Chloe,” Julian sneered. “You signed a complete, non-revocable indemnification waiver last Tuesday. In exchange for a one-time settlement of three million dollars and a monthly stipend, you relinquish all corporate governance, board seats, and voting rights in Vance Shipyard.”
Chloe’s face turned paper-white. She lunged for the papers, flipping through the pages with trembling hands. “Three million?! This company is worth billions! I betrayed my own sister for you! I put the tracker on Valerie’s car! I told you which route she was taking to the bay!”
She placed the tracker.
Sitting beside Mason in the safehouse, my fingernails dug so deep into the palms of my hands that I drew blood. My own half-sister had physically marked me for slaughter.
“You did what any greedy, insecure child would do,” Julian said casually, loosening his collar. “You wanted her life, her jewelry, her husband. And you gave it all to me on a silver platter. Did you honestly believe a Sterling would share a global defense empire with the bastard daughter of an unfaithful shipyard owner?”
“I’m carrying your child, Julian!” Chloe screamed, tears streaming down her contoured cheeks. “You promised we would be married in Paris next month!”
Julian walked over, grabbed her by the chin with a grip that made her wince, and whispered into her face: “That child will have a trust fund. But the moment that baby is born, you will take your three million dollars and disappear to a villa in Portugal. If you ever set foot in Virginia again, or speak a single word about what happened at the Blackwater River, I will ensure you share the same watery grave as your dear sister.”
He released her with a shove. Chloe collapsed onto the bed, sobbing hysterically into the silk pillows.
Julian checked his watch, completely unbothered. “Get dressed. The board dinner starts in two hours. Put on some makeup and cover those pathetic tears. You have papers to sign tonight.”
He walked out and slammed the door.
On the monitor, Chloe curled into a fetal position, clutching her stomach, realizing too late that she had traded her soul for a prison cell.
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“Look at her,” I whispered, my voice shaking with disgust. “She thought she was the queen. She was just the bait.”
“She’s vulnerable now,” Mason said, closing the laptop screen. “When a co-conspirator realizes they are marked for disposal, they stop being loyal. It’s time we pay our little sister a visit.”
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