Chapter 8 - The Shattered Glass
The heavy lead-nosed rounds tore into the iron pressurized valve sixty feet above our heads.
For half a second, there was a high-pitched, metallic shriek as five thousand gallons of pressurized water met structural failure. Then, with the force of an exploding dam, the master water main ruptured.
A tidal wave of ice-cold water exploded through the conservatory ceiling.
The blast wave tore down the structural support cables, sending massive sheets of safety glass, iron struts, and torrential water crashing down into the center of the pavilion. The mercenary beside Victoria was instantly swept off his feet by the torrent, smashed against a marble fountain with a sickening crack.
"Jump!" Julian roared, grabbing my waist.
Christian leaped over the iron railing to the left landing, while Julian and I tumbled over the opposite balustrade, dropping eight feet onto a raised planter of dense soil and thick tropical fern. The impact jarred my bruised ankle, but the soft earth absorbed the worst of the momentum.
Above us, the glass roof disintegrated into a rain of million-sharded diamonds.
Water and mud swirled everywhere, extinguishing the creeping flames at the edge of the conservatory, filling the air with blinding white steam.
Through the roaring cascade, I saw Eleanor Vance screaming—not in fear, but in rage—as the wall of water knocked her off her feet, dragging her silver-clad body across the flooded tiles. The detonator slipped from Victoria's hand, tumbling into the swirling pool of dark, debris-filled water.
"Victoria!" Christian’s voice tore through the steam.
Christian emerged from the debris like an avenging specter, his weapon lost in the fall, advancing on his sister with bare hands.
Victoria scrambled backward through the mud, coughing up water, her eyes manic. She still had the revolver. She leveled it at Christian’s chest and fired twice.
*Bang! Bang!*
The shots went wild in the blinding steam, one shattering an ancient terra-cotta urn inches from my head. Christian closed the distance in a heartbeat. He lunged forward, his scarred hands clamping onto Victoria's wrist, slamming the weapon against the stone edge of a planter until the gun clattered into the deep water.
"It’s over, Vicky!" Christian snarled, pinning his sister against the marble wall, his hands holding her wrists. "It’s over!"
"It will never be over!" Victoria shrieked, spitting blood and mud into his face. She fought with a feral, terrifying strength, her fingers clawing at the burn scars on Christian’s neck. "You should have burned! You were supposed to be ashes! You ruined everything!"
From behind them, out of the swirling white steam, rose Eleanor Vance.
The family matriarch had retrieved the fallen revolver from the shallow water. Her silver hair was soaked, clinging to her skull like a shroud. Her face was a grotesque mask of aristocratic hatred. She wasn't aiming at Christian. She wasn't aiming at Julian.
She was aiming directly at me.
"You brought this rot into my house," Eleanor hissed, her finger tightening on the trigger. "You and your pathetic father."
"NO!"
Julian threw himself across the flooded floor.
The gunshot exploded with a deafening crack that echoed through the shattered conservatory.
Julian’s body jerked in mid-air.
A sharp cry tore from my throat—a sound of such raw, primal agony that it didn't feel human. *"JULIAN!"*
Julian crashed to the tiled floor, his hand instantly clamping over his left side. Bright crimson blood blossomed through his soaked white dress shirt, mixing with the floodwater that pooled around him.
Eleanor stood frozen, the smoking gun trembling in her hand. Her eyes widened in genuine, horrific realization. She hadn't hit the target she despised. She had shot her youngest son.
"Julian...?" Eleanor whispered, the gun slipping from her limp fingers, splashing into the mud. "Julian, no... I aimed for her..."
Christian didn't hesitate. With a roar of pure fury, he shoved Victoria to the ground and drove a brutal cross into Eleanor’s jaw. The matriarch crumpled onto the wet tiles, unconscious before her head hit the stone.
Victoria saw her mother fall. She looked at Julian bleeding out, looked at Christian advancing toward her, and realized the kingdom had collapsed. She scrambled backward through the broken glass doors, disappearing out into the raging, stormy darkness of the Bedford estate grounds.
I didn't care about Victoria. I didn't care about the Vance empire. I dragged myself through the freezing water on hands and knees until I reached Julian.
"Julian! Look at me! Look at me!" I sobbed, tearing the silk sash from my robe and pressing it with all my strength against the wound beneath his ribs. The blood was pulsing—hot, thick, and terrifying.
Julian’s face was graying, his breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps. But his trembling, blood-stained fingers reached up, finding my cheek, wiping away a mixture of rain, ash, and tears.
"Clara..." he whispered, a faint, agonizing smile touching his lips. "The... the wedding vows... I said them. I meant every word."
"Don't you dare talk like that!" I screamed at him, pressing down on the wound as my hands slipped in the scarlet flood. "You are going to live! Christian! Call an ambulance! CHRISTIAN!"
Christian was already kneeling beside us, stripping off his tactical vest, his fingers finding Julian’s carotid artery.
"The bullet passed through the lateral oblique," Christian said, his military medical training taking over. "It missed the heart, but he's hemorrhaging. We have less than twenty minutes."
From the distance, cutting through the thunder and rain, the wail of sirens began to rise. Dozens of them. Red and blue lights flashed through the burning trees of the long driveway.
"The federal marshals," Christian said, looking toward the gates. "Before I came up to your room, I pinged the encrypted distress beacon from your father's drive to the Department of Justice. They're here."
He looked at me, then down at his bleeding brother.
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"Keep pressure on that wound, Clara," Christian commanded. "I’m going to get our sister."
***
