Chapter 122
[ 510 words ]
Chapter 122:
The suffocating tension in the room instantly evaporated. The crowd, sensing the shift in power, immediately raised their champagne glasses, offering fake, polite smiles to the new Mrs. Romero.
The General turned around. He leaned heavily on his cane and began to walk away.
But as he passed Finch the butler, Caroline’s operative eyes caught a microscopic movement. The General tilted his head a fraction of an inch and shot Finch a look of pure, lethal intent.
Finch gave a microscopic nod in return.
A cold chill ran down Caroline’s spine. The old man wasn’t surrendering. She knew, with chilling certainty, that a silent order had just been given. The real war was just beginning.
𝖱𝘦𝖺𝖽 𝘧𝗿𝘰𝗺 𝘺o𝗎𝘳 𝘱𝗵o𝗇𝗲 𝘰𝗇 gа𝘭𝗻o𝘷els.𝘤o𝗆
Jarrod wrapped his arm tightly around Caroline’s waist, pulling her flush against his side. He lowered his head, pressing his lips against her temple.
“Flawless execution, Mrs. Romero,” Jarrod whispered, his voice vibrating with dark pride. “We won round one.”
She had survived the fire, but she knew she was now permanently trapped in the inferno.
The suffocating noise of the Romero family gala finally began to bleed out of the massive hall. The blinding crystal chandeliers dimmed slightly, casting long, exhausted shadows across the marble floor as the political elite began to filter toward the exits in groups of two and three.
Caroline stood near the edge of the main hall, her spine locked in perfect, rigid alignment. She offered a flawless, empty smile to a passing four-star general who nodded at her with newfound, cautious respect.
Beneath the hem of her midnight-blue velvet gown, her ankles throbbed with a vicious, stabbing pain. The four-inch, diamond-encrusted stilettos felt like nails driving directly into her heel bones with every micro-shift of her weight. She ignored the pain completely. A strange, cold calm had settled over her, burying the earlier panic. Her training—the endless drills from a life she was forced to forget—had taken over.
Jarrod stood flush against her side. His large hand rested heavily on the curve of her waist, his thumb pressing firmly against her spine. It wasn’t a gesture of affection; it was a tactical position, a constant, physical reminder that he was her shield.
They turned in unison, preparing to walk toward the quiet sanctuary of the side terrace.
Before Caroline could take a single step, a figure lunged out from the dark shadow of a massive Roman pillar, physically blocking their path.
It was Harper Romero.
Harper’s expensive designer makeup was smeared under her eyes, leaving dark, ugly streaks of mascara down her flushed cheeks. She reeked of expensive champagne and pure, toxic malice. Her eyes were wide, glassy, and completely unhinged.
“Are you actually going to let her stay, Jarrod?” Harper shrieked. Her voice was sharp and loud enough to make the remaining guests within a thirty-foot radius stop and turn their heads. “You dragged a cheap, slum-dwelling nurse in here and forced us to acknowledge her, but it won’t last! I saw you in the parlor—you think a legal title changes who she is? Do you think putting a ring on a stray makes her one of us?”
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