She Thought I Was Nobody at Her Charity Gala—Then One Folder From Her Grandmother Made Her Face Turn Pale.

The heavy doors of the armored SUV locked with a solid, echoing click. The interior was lit by the bright neon lights of the city flashing past the tinted windows. Vivienne sat in the back seat, her crimson dress pooling around her, feeling entirely out of her element. Sylvester sat across from her, perfectly still, watching the city he once ruled.

"Where are we going?" Vivienne asked, trying to keep her voice steady, attempting to hold onto whatever dignity she had left.

"To collect," Sylvester said simply.

"If my grandmother paid you to kill me, and you aren't doing it, then you just stole a billion dollars from the most dangerous woman in high society," Vivienne said, crossing her arms. "She won't just let that go. She will send the proxy after you."

Sylvester’s eyes shifted toward her in the dim light. "You know about the proxy?"

"Of course I do," Vivienne scoffed. "My grandmother never got her own hands dirty. Whenever someone crossed the Cross family, she sent her proxy. A ghost. A man who comes in the middle of the night, leaves no evidence, and wipes out entire bloodlines. You might be a tough guy, Sylvester, but the proxy is a myth that actually bites."

"Is he?" Sylvester asked, a faint trace of amusement in his deep voice.

The SUV took a sharp turn, descending down a bright concrete ramp into a highly secure underground parking structure. The tires squealed slightly as the heavy vehicle came to a halt in front of a private elevator.

Two of Sylvester's men opened the doors. Vivienne stepped out, the cool underground air hitting her rosy skin. She looked around. "This is the financial district. Why are we here?"

"Your grandmother is a creature of habit," Sylvester said, leading her toward the steel elevator doors. He punched a code into the keypad. "She likes to keep her most valuable possessions in places where money is worshipped. Thirty years ago, she locked something away in a private vault beneath this building. Something she didn't want the proxy to ever find."

The elevator doors chimed and slid open. They stepped inside. Sylvester pressed the button for the lowest basement level.

"If the proxy is as dangerous as you say," Sylvester continued, looking straight ahead at the metal doors, "why did your grandmother try to hire me to kill you?"

Vivienne looked away, a shadow of guilt crossing her elegant features. "Because she found out what I did to secure my inheritance. I forged the documents. I was going to cut her out of the family empire next week."

"Greed is a loud master," Sylvester murmured.

The elevator lurched to a halt. The doors slid open to reveal a massive, brightly lit corridor lined with thick steel vault doors. Standing at the end of the hallway, blocking their path, was a tall man in a grey tactical suit, holding a suppressed pistol. His face was entirely hidden behind a dark mask.

Vivienne gasped and grabbed Sylvester’s arm. "That's him. That's the proxy."

Sylvester didn't move. He looked at the masked man standing thirty feet away. The tension in the bright corridor was suffocating.

"Put the gun down, kid," Sylvester said, his voice echoing loudly in the concrete space.

The proxy hesitated, then slowly lowered the weapon, reaching up to pull the mask off his face. Vivienne’s jaw dropped. The terrifying assassin who had haunted her family's enemies for a decade was a young man with bright blue eyes.

"Sorry I'm late, boss," the young man said with a perfect American accent. "The grandmother's security was heavier than expected."