Chapter 2: The Lord of the Manor
Standing at the apex of the sweeping staircase was Julian Vance. He looked like a prince descending from Olympus, clad in a perfectly tailored, double-breasted white suit that practically glowed in the afternoon sun. Not a single thread was out of place. His dark hair was slicked back flawlessly, framing a face that was uncomfortably handsome, with sharp cheekbones and a smile that never quite reached his cold, dead eyes.
Behind him stood his court: a line of men and women dressed in dark, formal attire. They were the Vance family's handlers, fixers, and enforcers. They stood like statues, indifferent to the bruised child in the car below, waiting only for Julian’s command.
Julian’s smile widened as he looked down at the black car. It was a smile of absolute, terrifying entitlement. He was a man who had never been told 'no,' a man who believed the world and everything in it—including the fragile girl trembling in the sedan—was his personal property. He adjusted his pristine cuffs, relishing the dramatic tableau.
"Call whoever you want," Julian called out, his voice carrying effortlessly over the manicured hedges. His tone was breezy, almost conversational, dripping with aristocratic arrogance. "My family owns this town."
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He wasn't exaggerating. The Vances owned the police department, the judges, the mayor, and the local press. To challenge them legally was to scream into a void. Julian knew this. He wore his impunity like armor. He expected tears, he expected begging, and perhaps a futile phone call to a police chief who was currently sitting on a yacht paid for by the Vance trust.
He did not expect the chilling calm of the woman in black.
