Chapter 38 A House Of Cards

• The rain fell in a rhythmic, almost mocking pattern against the stained-glass windows of Damien Wolfe’s estate. Each droplet etched a trail down the colored panes, blending red into blue, blue into gold—like blood mixing with firelight. The evening had folded into night, but Ivy sat motionless at the edge of the master bedroom’s chaise longue, her eyes unfocused, staring out into the storm as if waiting for the sky to split open and swallow her whole.
• She had been silent for hours.
• Damien had left earlier in the evening, dressed in all black, a matching mask in hand, heading for another one of the underworld’s opulent masquerade galas—events so lavish, so dripping in wealth and sin, they would make kings and presidents look like paupers. But this one wasn’t just for entertainment. He was hunting. Ivy knew it the moment she caught a glimpse of the files laid across his desk: names, photographs, routes, and a single phrase etched in his familiar, ruthless scrawl—eliminate all threats.