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Amara stood before the mirror in the private chamber—now hers and Chris's. The weight of the empire didn't compare to the weight of his words: "Deal with her as you please." Skylar. Once untouchable. Now fully in her hands.
Her fingers clenched the edge of the marble sink. Was this what she always wanted? The authority, the respect, the power? Perhaps. But not like this. Not from a wounded Chris, not while she still felt the sting of last night—the glass, the blood, the betrayal.
She turned sharply, her silk robe fluttering as she strode out.
Guards straightened when they saw her. "Bring Skylar to the Judgement Hall. Now."
As they moved, Amara's mind raced. She wasn't doing this out of vengeance. This was about order. About consequences. About the fact that no one—not even the former 02—was above the law in the Blackwood Empire.
Minutes later, Skylar stood before her—hands bound, eyes fiery.
"You think this is justice?" Skylar hissed.
"No," Amara said coldly. "This is mercy. Justice would have your head displayed on every wall in this castle."
She circled Skylar slowly. "But I won't kill you. Not today. Not unless Chris says otherwise. But your title? Gone. Your influence? Shattered."
Skylar smiled bitterly. "And you think he loves you?"
Amara's voice dropped. "He married me."
"But his heart still bleeds… for me."
That cut deeper than any dagger.
Amara turned away, hiding the flicker of doubt.
"Strip her of all access. She is no longer permitted within any classified Blackwood facility. Her number? Revoke it. Let her beg at the auction like the rest."
Skylar was dragged away, but her gaze never broke from Amara's. "You'll never own him."
Amara remained still until the doors closed. Then, and only then, did her hand tremble.
Power was not always victory. Sometimes it was a curse dressed in velvet.
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