Chapter Six
The walls of Conference Room B were glass — transparent, and strategic, and impossible to feel safe inside. Celine stood by the door while Damian paced, a coiled storm in designer gray.
The soft click of dress shoes echoed down the hall before the man himself appeared — Julian Vale.
Tall, bronze-skinned, with graying temples and a jawline like carved stone, Julian carried himself like a man born with secrets in his blood. He wore a charcoal three-piece suit that clung to his lean frame like second skin. His sharp green eyes flicked toward Celine, then Damian, amusement curling the edges of his mouth.
"Well, if it isn't the Ice King and the Heiress," Julian said smoothly, stepping into the room as if he owned it.
Celine stiffened.
She remembered those eyes. The ones that used to charm boardrooms and whisper lies behind her father's back.
"You're not supposed to be in the country," Damian said coldly.
Julian raised an eyebrow. "You say that like Dubai is a prison. I was invited."
Celine crossed her arms. "By whom?"
He turned to her slowly, studying her with a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"You look just like your mother when you're angry," Julian said.
A silence hung in the air — sharp and tense.
Celine's voice was cold. "You don't get to talk about her."
"Fair," Julian said with a shrug, then tossed a small black flash drive on the table. "But I do get to talk about this."
Damian eyed it. "What is it?"
Julian gestured casually. "Something your father kept hidden. And something a few people are willing to kill for."
Celine's heart thudded.
"My father's been dead for two years," she said. "What's left to uncover?"
Julian's eyes glinted. "Legacies aren't always buried with their owners. Sometimes they wait… and rot."
Damian picked up the flash drive, turning it over between his fingers. "What's on it?"
Julian smiled. "Something about you, Damian. And something about her." His eyes darted to Celine. "And something about the contract your father never wanted anyone to see."
Celine felt the ground shift under her.
"What contract?" she asked, voice barely above a whisper.
Julian stepped forward, lowering his voice. "The one that could unravel everything you think you know about why your life was handed over to this man."
Her blood ran cold.
Damian stood frozen. For once, unreadable.
Julian exhaled slowly. "If you want answers, you're going to need to come with me. Alone."
"No," Damian said instantly, voice sharp.
Celine lifted a hand. "I want to hear what he has to say."
"You don't know what game he's playing."
"I don't know what game you've been playing either," she snapped, looking between the two men. "But I'm tired of being the pawn."
Julian's smile widened. "She's growing teeth."
Damian stepped between them. "This isn't your arena anymore, Julian."
"No," Julian murmured. "It's hers now."
He turned to Celine and handed her a sleek black invitation card. Her name was embossed in red.
You are cordially invited.
One night. One truth. One cost.
Midnight. Club Silhouet.
Below the words was a blood-red wax seal she didn't recognize — but Damian did.
His face paled.
"You're not going," he said flatly.
Celine folded the invitation. "Watch me."
Julian gave a half bow and left the room like a ghost. No guards stopped him. No one dared.
When the doors closed, Celine faced Damian. "What's Club Silhouet?"
His eyes darkened.
"It's not a nightclub."
She stepped closer. "Then what is it?"
He looked at her like someone trying to hold back an avalanche.
"It's where the sins of the rich go to be erased. Where favors are traded in shadows. And where the last man who crossed your father vanished."
Her throat went dry. "Then why was I invited?"
Damian stared down at the invitation again.
"Because someone out there still thinks you belong to him."