The heavy oak door slammed shut. The loud sound echoed off the high ceiling of the silent, cavernous bedroom.
Cordelia looked down at her left arm. The perfectly wrapped white bandage rested starkly against the dark silk sheets.
She traced the edge of the gauze with her right index finger. A bitter, self-deprecating smile formed on her dry lips.
She recalled the exact moment in her past life when Julian had handed her those forged documents. He had manipulated her into hating Damien with surgical precision.
She remembered Scarlett's fake, sugary sisterly love. That same love had ultimately led to her being locked inside the burning warehouse, gasping for air as the flames licked her skin.
Her hands curled into tight fists. Her fingernails dug painfully into her palms.
An unsettling calm replaced the vulnerable exhaustion in her eyes. The tears dried up instantly.
The sleek, modern intercom on the bedside table suddenly buzzed. The sharp electronic sound broke the heavy silence of the room.
Cordelia startled. She stared at the blinking red light on the black console.
She leaned over the edge of the mattress. She pressed the answer button with her uninjured right hand.
Nash's gruff, professional voice came through the small speaker: "Mr. Sterling, Scarlett Montgomery is in the lobby. She is demanding immediate entry."
Cordelia's breathing hitched. Just hearing that name sparked a pure, unadulterated hatred deep in the center of her chest.
Out in the hallway, Damien stood rigid. He glared at the wall-mounted security monitor displaying the live feed of Scarlett pacing in the marble lobby.
He pressed his earpiece and ordered: "Nash, throw her out. Physically. Onto the avenue."
On the security feed, Nash nodded visibly. The large man stepped forward, preparing to execute the physical removal.
Inside the bedroom, Cordelia pressed the intercom button again. Her voice cut through the secure line, clear and steady: "Nash, let her come up."
In the hallway, Damien stared at the intercom speaker on the wall. His jaw clenched in absolute, staggering disbelief.
His mind immediately jumped to the worst conclusion. He assumed Cordelia wanted to see her sister to receive secret messages or escape plans from Julian.
He punched the reinforced wall beside the monitor. His knuckles turned stark white from the impact.
Damien pressed the master talk button. His voice was laced with pure venom: "Nash, escort Scarlett directly to the master bedroom."
He turned his head and ordered Pierce, who was standing nearby: "Activate the hidden audio surveillance in the master suite."
He walked into the adjoining study. He left the connecting door open just a fraction of an inch.
Damien stood in the pitch-black study. He positioned himself perfectly to observe the bedroom bed without being detected.
Cordelia heard the sharp click of the intercom disconnecting. She knew Damien's paranoid nature. She knew he was likely watching her right now.
When the soft, melodic ding of the private elevator opening in the foyer echoed through the penthouse, her shoulders slumped. Her gaze fell to the sheets, presenting the very image of a broken, helpless woman.
She pulled the comforter up slightly higher, hiding the tense, ready muscles in her arms. Her enemy had arrived.
