A vow of Violence

POV: Isolde Sterling

We arrived at the Sterling Gallery at 7:30 PM. I was wearing the liquid gold dress Julian had approved-a blinding lure designed to capture Vane's attention.

Julian, dressed in a black tuxedo that only emphasized his brute power, stood in the shadows near the entrance, a watchman ready to strike.

"Remember the protocol," Julian murmured into my ear, his breath warm on my skin. "Flattery. Eroticism. Arrogance. Make him believe you are exactly what your father sold you as."

"I was taught by the best," I whispered back, a challenge and a promise in my voice.

Lord Silas Vane arrived promptly, flanked by two bodyguards who moved with the silent efficiency of trained killers.

I moved forward, my gold dress catching the spotlights, offering him my hand.

"Lord Vane," I smiled, the practiced warmth chilling me to the bone. "I'm so pleased you could spare the time. You have such an impeccable eye for the avant-garde."

Vane took my hand, his grip lingering. He looked me up and down, a calculating glint in his eyes.

"Miss Sterling," he purred, his voice like expensive velvet. "A magnificent collection. And you, my dear, are the most exquisite piece here."

I felt Julian's eyes boring into my back, a wave of intense possessiveness that was both unnerving and thrilling.

I led Vane deep into the exhibition, isolating him from his guards. I used every social weapon I possessed: flattery about his charity work, sharp insights into the art market, and subtly leaning close, allowing him to catch the scent of my perfume.

"The Thorne merger is quite the spectacle, wouldn't you agree?" Vane asked, his voice casual as we stopped before a massive, angular sculpture.

"Julian has a flair for the dramatic," I agreed, shrugging lightly. "He is an acquired taste."

"Indeed. A rather sharp taste," Vane agreed, his hand reaching out, his finger tracing the bare skin on my back just above the gold neckline. The touch was quick, clinical, and violating.

Before I could react, the low hum of Julian's voice crackled in my earpiece. "Isolde, pull back. Now. Kai is reporting a system anomaly at the penthouse."

"Vane," I said, pulling away smoothly, "I must see to a curator. Enjoy the rest of the viewing."

As I turned, Vane placed a hand lightly on my arm, stopping me.

"Just one moment, my dear," he said, his voice hard now, the kindness gone. "I have a message from your fiancé's technician."

He pulled a second phone from his pocket, one that Kai hadn't been able to spot. He pressed a button.

A sound-guttural, painful-blared from the speaker. It was Jax.

"Hello, Isolde," Vane purred, his reptile smile returning. "A shame about your little distraction. We knew you were coming. And now, we have your technician. Consider him collateral for the assets you just signed away."

The trap was sprung. The gallery was compromised. Jax was taken.