Chapter 2 #2
"Is he right?" I ask. "Are you a weapon?"
"Yes." No hesitation. No false modesty. "But weapons can choose when to misfire."
"That's a hell of a philosophy."
"It's kept me alive longer than most."
A knock on the window makes us both tense. Blake's hand moves toward his jacket, then stills when he sees who it is.
A woman. Tall, elegant, with Blake's dark hair and the kind of sharp, exhausted beauty that comes from fighting battles with people who probably underestimate her on a regular basis.
She's wearing a cashmere coat over what looks like business attire, carrying a leather briefcase that probably costs more than my car.
Blake unlocks the doors.
She slides into the backseat with the efficiency of someone who's done this before—late-night meetings, secret briefings, conversations that can't happen in places with surveillance.
"Talia Delano," she says, extending a hand. "Family attorney, professional cleaner, and Blake's favorite sibling."
I shake her hand. Her grip is firm, assessing. "Peyton Quinn. Apparently, I'm a Kingsley."
"Apparently, you're the Kingsley." Talia opens her briefcase, pulls out a folder thick with documents. "Which makes you either the most valuable person in Wintervale or the most endangered. Possibly both."
"I'm voting both," I say.
"Smart girl." She hands me the folder. "This is everything I could pull on short notice.
Copies of the Kingsley trust documents, the bloodline clause, verification requirements, and timeline for activation.
It's not complete, half of this is sealed tighter than classified government intel, but it's enough to understand what you're up against."
I open the folder. Legal documents swim before my eyes. There are dense paragraphs of ‘whereas’ and ‘hereto,’ signatures and seals, the architecture of power built long ago onto paper.
But one section is highlighted in yellow.
Article VII, Section 3: Dormant Heir Clause
In the event that a direct bloodline descendant of Edmund Charles Kingsley appears and provides genetic verification during the week of Christmas celebration, said descendant shall be granted proxy authority over...
The list goes on. And on.
Votes. Assets. Board positions. Control over foundations, real estate, investment portfolios.
Billions. With a B.
"Holy shit," I breathe.
"That's the technical legal term," Talia says dryly. "The activation window opens December 23rd and closes December 31st. Today is the 22nd. Which means—"
"Tomorrow." My hands are shaking. I force them still. "Tomorrow I become valuable."
"Tomorrow you become a target," Blake corrects. "You already are one. Tomorrow it just gets official."
“Why this timeline? What the hell was his fixation with Christmas?” I say out loud.
“The hell if I know. Old rich men are funny like that.” Talia continues. “If I may ask, Peyton, how much do you know about life here in Wintervale?”
“I know that my parents met at a political dinner in Wintervale when my father was first starting out in politics. My mother had a deep love for the town, so when they married, they made sure to keep a small house here. That’s why we spent most of the year in DC because of his work, but the majority of our summers here. ”
“Ah, so you’re understanding of the town politics here is from whatever your father has told you.”
“Pretty much.”
“Well, let me school you. There are three factions that want control of you.
The Kingsley family itself, specifically Edmund's current heirs, who don't want their inheritance diluted.
The Hollow Club hardliners, who want to use your proxy votes to swing development deals.
And various independents who see you as either a threat to eliminate or an asset to acquire. "
"And the Delanos?" I ask. "Which faction are they?"
"Split." Talia glances at Blake. "Silas wants you controllable. Nonno wants you alive but neutralized. And Blake..."
She trails off, looking at her brother with something complicated in her expression—concern, maybe, or warning.
Blake finishes the thought. "I want you free."
"Why?" I turn to face him fully. "You don't know me. You don't owe me anything. Why risk your family's wrath for a stranger?"
"Because I've seen what happens when the Delanos decide someone is useful." His voice is quiet, lethal. "I've cleaned up the aftermath. Buried the bodies. Lived with the guilt. And I'm not doing it again."
The car feels too small suddenly. Too intimate. Blake's confession hangs in the air between us like heavy smoke, impossible to ignore.
Talia clears her throat. "The practical question is what we do next.
Peyton, you have three options. One: Run and disappear before the activation window opens.
Two: Sign. Give proxy authority to the faction least likely to kill you and hope they keep their word.
Three: Fight. Activate the clause, claim your inheritance, and become a player instead of a pawn. "
"Fighting sounds suicidal," I say.
"It is," Blake agrees. "It's also the only option that doesn't end with you dead or owned."
"He's not wrong," Talia adds. "Running just delays the problem. They'll find you eventually. And signing means you're useful only as long as you're compliant. The second you're not..."
She doesn't finish her sentence. She doesn't need to.
I look down at the folder in my lap. At the legal architecture of power my mother died trying to claim. At the inheritance, she wanted me to have. At the choice I'm being forced to make before I'm ready. I’ve been met with a lot of challenges in my life, but this one seems monumental.
"If I fight," I say slowly, "I need more than lawyers and bodyguards. I need leverage of my own. Information. Allies. Proof that I'm more dangerous alive and independent than dead or controlled."
"Agreed," Talia says, seemingly impressed with my response. "Which is why I brought this."
She pulls out a flash drive, sets it on the center console like it's a live grenade.
"Your mother's research," she says quietly.
“She kept a notebook of her research at home. I’ve seen that.”
“No, not that. This is something else. This is everything she compiled before she died. Genealogy, financial records, correspondence. And something she was going to use to force the Kingsleys to acknowledge her claim."
My breath catches. "How did you get this?"
"Your mother was smart. She sent encrypted copies to three different attorneys before she died, with instructions to release them if anything happened to her. I was one of them." Talia's expression is grim. "I've kept it sealed for three years, waiting to see if you'd come looking. Now you have."
I take the flash drive with trembling fingers. It's small, unremarkable, the kind of thing you'd lose in a drawer.
It's also the key to everything.
"There's something else you should know," Talia says. "The Frost Society is watching. They know about the clause. They know about you. And they're divided on whether you're a threat to Wintervale's balance of power or an opportunity to shift it."
"The Frost Society," I repeat. "The women's club?"
"The women who run this town while the men think they're in charge," Blake corrects me. "They're more dangerous than the Hollow Club because they're patient. Strategic. They are willing to lose battles to win wars.”
"And they want me for what?" I think about some of the Wintervale women who may be part of their club.
"That," Talia says, "is the question keeping me up at night. But my advice? Don't ignore them. The Evermoore matriarch has been asking questions. Careful ones. The kind that means she's planning something."
The Evermoores are a powerful matriarchal family around here. I didn’t know any of them were that involved in The Frost Society, but honestly, I never paid the club much attention.
My phone buzzes again.
Unknown Number: Final warning, Peyton. Come back now, or we come get you. And Blake can't stop all of us.
I show it to Blake.
His expression hardens. "They're tracking your phone."
"I assumed."
"Then they know where we are." He starts the engine. "We need to move."
"Where?" I ask.
He glances at Talia. She nods, some silent sibling communication passing between them. It’s almost like they’re superhero twins with telepathic powers.
"Frost & Flame," Blake says. "My club. It's not Delano territory—I won it in a fight before I left. Silas has tried to claim it for years, but the deed's in my name and he can't touch it without admitting he doesn't control me."
"A nightclub," I say flatly. "You want to hide me in a nightclub?”
"I want to hide you in the one place in Wintervale where violence is expected, cameras don't work, and I control.” He pulls out of the parking space, accelerating into traffic. "You said you wanted to fight. Welcome to your war room."
Talia leans forward. "I'll keep digging through the Kingsley documents and see if there are any other clauses or loopholes we can exploit.
But Blake? She needs genetic verification by the 23rd if we're going to activate the clause. That means a lab, witnesses, and official documentation all done under the radar.”
"I know a guy," Blake says.
"Of course you do." Talia sighs. "Try not to get her killed before Christmas. Nonno will never forgive you."
"Nonno will have to get in line."
She opens the door, pauses. Looks at me with something that might be sympathy. "For what it's worth, Peyton? Your mother was brave. Stubborn. Brilliant. She would have loved seeing you fight for this. Remember, it’s your birthright.”
Then she's gone, disappearing into Wintervale's shadows like she was never there. Superhero style.
Blake and I sit in silence for a moment, the weight of the last hour pressing down on the back of my neck like my oversized childhood pet dog, Wilbur.
"Thank you," I finally say. "For telling me the truth. For not treating me like I'm breakable."
"You're not breakable," Blake says. "You're a Kingsley. They don't break. They sharpen."
"My mother broke."
"No." He looks at me, and his eyes are dark, certain. "They broke her. There's a difference."
“Blake–”
“Yeah?”
“What does my father know about this?”
He pauses for a moment to consider the question. “That, I don’t know.”
He drives.
I clutch the flash drive like a lifeline and watch Wintervale slide past the windows, Christmas lights, and fresh snow and secrets buried under beauty.
Tonight I'm just Peyton Quinn, senator's daughter, mama-orphaned heir, the exotic beauty holding onto a rage that's been building for three years.
But tomorrow the war starts. Tomorrow, I stand my ground and take my place inside one of the most aristocratic, Anglo, elitist families in this town.
Tomorrow I become a Kingsley.
And tonight?
Tonight I learn how to fight.