The Lancaster archives smelled of dust and deceit.
Sienna's fingers worked fast, the hairpin in her hand dancing like a conductor's baton. Click. Click. Click. The lock gave way with a whisper.
She exhaled slowly.
Inside the room, wall-to-wall ledgers loomed like silent judges. Stacked scrolls. Yellowing contracts. Century-old secrets.
But she wasn't here for tax records.
Her eyes darted to the far wall.
Grandfather Lancaster's portrait.His legacy—and his sins—literally hanging over the vault.
Sienna moved it aside.
The safe behind it was meant to be impenetrable. Reinforced. Trusted. Like everything else in this family.
But someone had already cracked it.
She pressed her fingers to the cold interior.Empty.
"Damn it."
Then—a floorboard creaked.
"Looking for this?"
Joyce Lancaster stepped from the shadows, slow and smug. She held out a folded parchment, the Lancaster family seal gleaming like a predator's smile.
Sienna's breath hitched. "The will."
Joyce tilted her head. "Grandfather's final gift to dear Silas.Five percent of Lancaster Holdings. A little golden lifeline…Provided he lives long enough to claim it."
She stepped closer to the oil lamp on the desk.Too close.
"A shame he won't."
And just like that—she dropped the will toward the flame.
Sienna lunged.
Joyce twisted back with a laugh—too confident, too slow.
Her sleeve brushed the flame.
The silk caught like paper.
Whoosh.
A halo of fire spiraled up her arm.
For one charged second, Sienna stood frozen.
Then—she moved.
Ripping a Persian rug from the wall, she tackled Joyce, smothering the fire with brutal efficiency.
They hit the ground hard.
Joyce coughed, half-sobbing, half-snarling. Her perfect waves were now a tangled ruin of smoke and melted lacquer.
"Why save me?!" she spat.
Sienna peeled the half-burned will from her fingers, eyes glinting.
"Because I want you to watch.When I take everything from you."
The parchment sizzled at the edges.
The words—scarred but legible—whispered from the fire:
"…to my grandson Silas, the shares in Veritas Biotech, for his mother's sake…"
Sienna's breath caught.
Veritas.Latin for truth.And also—her teacher's final research project.
She found him in the greenhouse, lit by thunder-flashes and the phosphorescence of glowing herbs.
He was crushing nightshade berries with a mortar and pestle, the scent thick and sweet and lethal.
He didn't look up. "You went to the archives."
His tone was flat."Idiotic."
Sienna tossed the charred parchment on the table.
"Why didn't you tell me your grandfather left you Veritas?"
Silas's hands froze.Then slowly, deliberately, he looked up.
"Because it's a death warrant."
His eyes locked with hers.
"Just like your teacher's research."
Outside, the storm broke.Lightning forked across the sky.Rain hammered the glass.
The game was no longer about marriage.
It was about survival.