The private elevator opened directly into the rear garage of Lachn Tower, sealed away from the street, the press, and the city’s curious eyes. Midday sunlight cut in through the high sts along the concrete walls, clean and unforgiving, but contained. He preferred it that way.

  The car was already waiting. It always was.

  He stepped inside without pause. The door closed behind him with a muted finality. The engine purred to life as the vehicle eased out of the garage and into the city, unseen and unannounced.

  Only then did he press the button on the cars interior communication system.

  Celeste answered immediately.

  She stood in the estate’s wide foyer now, te-morning light pouring in behind her, outlining every curve. The deep charcoal sheath she wore clung to the full swell of her breasts, traced the narrow dip of her waist, and followed the generous fre of her hips. Fabric whispered against bare skin with each steady breath. Her posture was alert, shoulders squared, chin lifted just enough to own the space around her.

  “Everything alright?” she asked.

  “Perfectly,” he replied. “I need you and the others prepared. Front steps. Full daylight. Sunday best. Noon.”

  She blinked.

  “At noon?”

  “Yes.”

  A pause.

  “Why?”

  He leaned back, the corner of his mouth lifting.

  “Because Camille Morvant made an unexpected visit to the Tower this morning. I intend to control the narrative before she does.”

  Celeste’s expression hardened instantly.

  “You’re bringing her here?”

  “Along with her daughter,” he said calmly. “Savina.”

  For a brief moment, her composure slipped.

  “Uh… um… thanks, I suppose… for the warning?”

  “Long game,” he said evenly. “Long game.”

  Her eyes narrowed, thinking ahead.

  “You want them to join us.”

  “My dear,” he replied, “they’ll believe it was their idea.”

  She scoffed.

  “Well. Aren’t you confident.”

  “Always.”

  His voice shifted—not louder, but precise.

  “You must set the tone. Camille has lived in power for a long time. She will look at you first. She will mistake your youth for softness. Correct that immediately. Stand composed. Regal. Unassaible. Let her feel the weight of the ground she’s stepping onto.”

  Celeste straightened instinctively, the movement pulling the dress tighter across her chest.

  “Of course.”

  “One more thing.”

  “Yes?”

  “Make sure SHE remembers her role. She’ll be itching to test Camille—especially with a daughter present. This moment requires restraint, not provocation.”

  Celeste nodded once.

  “Naturally.”

  “I’ll be there shortly.”

  “See you then.”

  The call ended.

  He reached into the console and poured himself a measured scotch. Amber liquid caught the passing light as the car merged smoothly into traffic. He took a slow sip, letting the warmth spread through his chest, eyes fixed forward.

  The estate awaited—sunlit, composed, already arranging itself for dispy.

  And when the Morvants arrived, they would not be greeted by chaos or confrontation…

  …but by order.

  By ceremony.

  By women already in pce.