The chandeliers of the French estate still shimmered in the aftermath of chaos, but the illusion of elegance had shattered. Chance Chancellor lay dead on the cold stone floor, a bullet buried deep in his chest, his blood soaking into the imported rugs. And across from him stood Cane Ashby—not in mourning, but in fury. Because Chance’s death was never part of the plan. Carter’s spiral had not only cost Cane his leverage but destroyed the empire he had so meticulously constructed.

Cane wasn’t shocked that someone had died. He had always known that power came with blood, and he’d accepted long ago that not every ambition could be fulfilled with clean hands. But it wasn’t supposed to be Chance. It wasn’t supposed to be anyone he couldn’t afford to lose.

As sirens wailed in the distance—drawn by Amanda Sinclair’s desperate call for help—and shadows moved through the smoke-choked corridors, Cane stood paralyzed in a nightmare of his own design. The estate, once a fortress of strategy and secrecy, was now a graveyard. Carter, the man Cane had trusted beyond all others, had gone rogue. And worse—he had done it in Cane’s name.

Carter’s death brought no peace. He’d ended his own life after taking Lily hostage and forcing a showdown that ended with Chance’s fatal sacrifice. The bullet was meant for Cain. Chance had intercepted it—just as he always had, always the protector, always the one acting on instinct instead of calculation. And now he was gone.

Cain had built the perfect trap. A luxurious estate in southern France, isolated from press, from enemies, from scrutiny. He had drawn Damian Cain into the fold under the pretense of reconciliation, all while laying the groundwork for a forced acquisition of Chancellor Industries. Nick Newman had been a pawn. Sharon, a bargaining chip. Amanda, the wildcard. Phyllis, the watcher in the shadows. But Carter—Carter was supposed to be the constant.

Instead, he had become the detonator.

Standing over Chance’s body, Cane’s rage boiled beneath his tailored exterior. “You were never supposed to improvise,” he muttered, fists clenched. “You were never supposed to feel.” Carter’s fixation with Lily had corrupted everything. His obsession had turned strategy into madness. He hadn’t eliminated Damian for business—he had done it for love, or the twisted idea of it he clung to like a drowning man.

Now, nothing remained but ruin. Damian’s murder had sparked suspicion. Chance’s death had drawn bloodlines and law enforcement into a frenzy. The maze was sealed off, the dagger confiscated. Flynn, the fixer, had vanished—his last texts already leaked. And Phyllis? She had seen it all. She would not stay silent.

In the end, Cane was left with exactly what he feared most: exposure. The elegant strategy had collapsed under its own cruelty. There would be no salvaging this, no clean getaway. The empire he built to restore his name would now bury it.

And Chance’s blood was the price.