Chapter 7
Three hours of sleep and her third bodega coffee weren’t cutting it.
Last night’s dreams clung like cobwebs—demon lawyers in crimson power suits, doors that opened onto nothing, Lilith’s voice echoing through corridors that stretched into infinity. The confrontation from yesterday playing on loop, that poison-sweet smile.
She hadn’t asked about Celeste. Hadn’t found the right moment between the dinner and the confession and the texts that had kept her staring at her phone until two AM.
Every word.
The pendant lay cool against her chest. Not warm, not cold. Waiting.
Morning commuters streamed around her: lawyers with their briefcases, bankers with their Bluetooth earpieces, ordinary professionals living ordinary lives.
Her phone buzzed. Mia: a row of coffee cup emojis and you got this babe.
She typed back If I disappear check the basement, stared at it for three seconds, then deleted it. Too real. She sent a heart instead and pushed through the revolving doors.
The lobby swallowed her whole. Marble and brass and that particular hush of old money. The security guard nodded without really seeing her.
Derek met her at reception on sixty-one, vibrating with nervous energy that had nothing to do with caffeine. His coffee sat forgotten on Cassandra’s desk, steam still rising. The dark circles under his eyes suggested he hadn’t slept much better than she had.
“Conference room meeting in five minutes.” His voice was tight. “All hands. Everyone. Even the mail room demons.”
“There are demons in the mail room?”
“Figure of speech.” He glanced at the other employees hurrying toward the elevators, their faces pale and pinched. “Mostly.”
Dread curled through her stomach. “What’s this about?”
“No idea. But last time we had an all-hands, someone got reassigned to Siberia. Actual Siberia. In January.” Derek grabbed his tablet. “Where’s Victor?”
“Already inside. Been here since dawn according to security.”
Had the partners found out she’d told Mia? Was this about Peterson Holdings? About the fake relationship that was becoming less fake by the hour?
“We should go,” Derek said. “Being late to an all-hands is… frowned upon.”
The elevator was packed with nervous employees, the usual morning chatter replaced by tense silence. A woman from accounting kept twisting her wedding ring like a rosary. A junior associate muttered what sounded like a prayer under his breath.
The conference room hummed with barely controlled panic. Senior associates filled every chair while junior employees lined the walls three deep. The air itself felt thicker, charged with collective anxiety.
And at the head of the table, arranged like a tribunal from another century: the five senior partners.
Grimm, with his iron beard and winter eyes. Malphas, fingers too long, joints bending wrong. Beleth, swaying to music only he could hear. Azrael, green eyes that made you think of closed caskets. And Lilith: crimson dress, perfect smile, eyes that found Ava the moment she entered and didn’t let go.
Victor stood near the windows, his reflection wavering in the glass. When Ava crossed the threshold, his gaze found hers immediately. A muscle twitched in his jaw, the only tell that he was as tense as everyone else.
She took a position along the wall with the other associates, wedged between Derek and a paralegal who kept checking his phone like he was composing a will.
Whispers rippled through the room: “…heard it’s about…” “…someone’s getting fired…” “…or worse…”
Grimm rose.
The room fell silent so fast Ava heard someone’s coffee cup rattle against its saucer.
“The partners have an announcement.”
Malphas’s too-long fingers drummed the volcanic glass table, each tap echoing like a countdown. “Our annual corporate retreat begins this Friday.”
Whispers exploded. Then…
“Silence.” Lilith’s voice cut through like a blade. “The retreat is mandatory. Overnight accommodations required. Attendance is non-negotiable for all senior staff and their…” She paused, savoring the moment, eyes finding Ava with laser precision. “Significant others.”
“Significant others?” someone asked from the back. Brave or stupid.
Beleth swayed, humming something that made Ava’s teeth ache. “Those in recognized claims must attend together. Procedure, you understand.”
“And to ensure,” Lilith added, her smile sharpening, “that all claims are legitimate. After recent… developments, we must verify new arrangements. For the firm’s protection, of course.”
The mark above Ava’s heart flared hot. Across the room, Victor’s expression darkened to something dangerous.
“The Avalon Resort in the Hamptons,” Grimm continued. “Three days, two nights. Team building exercises. Saturday evening gala.”
“Room assignments are already made.” Lilith’s smile widened, showing teeth that seemed slightly too sharp. “Claimed couples will share accommodations. I do hope that’s not a problem for anyone?”
Derek’s hand shot up despite Ava grabbing for his arm.
“What about those of us who aren’t claimed?”
“Standard double occupancy,” Malphas replied, sounding bored. “The firm isn’t made of money.”
“Any other questions?” Grimm’s tone suggested there better not be.
Silence. Someone’s phone vibrated against the table and everyone jumped.
“Excellent. Dismissed.”
The room emptied with the speed usually reserved for fire drills. The partners rose in unison, perfectly synchronized, inhuman, and vanished one by one in flashes of hellfire, leaving clouds of acrid smoke that dissipated before they could trigger the sprinklers.
Only Lilith remained.
She circled them slowly, heels clicking against the floor in a rhythm that matched Ava’s heartbeat. Click. Click. Click.
“Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?”
“Notice what?” Victor’s voice was flat as a blade.
Lilith moved to the window, examining her reflection.
“You know what I love about long-term investments? Watching them mature.” She touched a perfect curl.
“I’ve been nurturing certain arrangements for fifteen years now.
Can you imagine? Fifteen years of careful planning.
Waiting for all the pieces to fall into place. ”
Ava’s blood chilled. “What arrangements?”
“Oh, you’ll find out.” Lilith turned, her smile poison-sweet. “Though I will say, your mother makes excellent soup dumplings. I had them just last month. Stopped by to check on the renovations.”
The floor dropped out from under her. “You’ve been to my parents’ restaurant?”
“Of course. I like to keep tabs on my investments.” Lilith moved closer. “Tell me, do they know what they signed? Do they understand the clauses buried in that renovation loan? The insurance policies? The vendor contracts?”
Peterson Holdings. Her mother’s text from weeks ago: We barely remember signing.
Ava’s vision blurred at the edges. Her hands were shaking. The pendant burned against her chest now, ice becoming fire, and she couldn’t tell if it was protecting her or warning her or screaming.
“No,” Lilith continued, watching Ava’s face like a cat watches a wounded bird. “I don’t suppose they do. Not yet.”
“Stay away from my family.”
“But darling, I’ve been part of your family for years.” Lilith’s eyes glittered. “You just didn’t know it. Peterson Holdings sends its regards.”
Victor moved so fast Ava barely tracked it; suddenly between them, the temperature dropping twenty degrees.
“That’s enough.”
“Is it?” Lilith’s gaze shifted to him. “She should know what’s at stake. What happens when fake arrangements crumble.”
“You…” Ava started forward, but Victor’s hand on her arm stopped her. His grip was too tight. His fingers were too cold.
Lilith took half a step closer. For a moment—just a moment—her true form flickered beneath her perfect face. Fire and teeth and howling darkness. Eyes with no whites, just endless black shot through with red lightning. A mouth that opened too wide, revealing row after row of needle teeth.
Then the mask slammed back into place, and she was just Lilith again. Beautiful. Terrible. Smiling.
“I’ll see you both at the retreat. Do try to be convincing.”
She turned and swept out, the door slamming hard enough to crack the frame.
Victor exhaled slowly. The frost on the windows began to melt. “That could have gone better.”
“Peterson Holdings.” Ava’s voice shook. Her whole body was shaking. “She’s been involved with my parents for years? The loan they barely remember signing… that was her?”
“It seems so.” He straightened his tie, not meeting her eyes. “We need to talk about this. But first, we need to buy you a ball gown.”
“Victor…”
“The retreat, Ava. Three days. We can’t face Lilith in borrowed Prada.” His voice hardened. “And I need time to figure out exactly how deep this goes.”
Bergdorf’s main floor smelled like money and intimidation.
Evening gowns hung in their own alcove near the grand staircase, each displayed with museum-piece spacing. Soft classical music drifted from hidden speakers. The kind of quiet that cost extra.
“The blue would suit you,” Victor said, nodding toward a midnight silk that shifted between sapphire and black depending on the angle. “And perhaps the burgundy for cocktails.”
Ava reached for the fabric. It felt like water against her fingertips, cool and impossibly soft. Then she saw the price tag.
Six months’ rent. For something she’d wear once.
A sales associate glided over, silver hair in an architectural chignon, name tag reading Vivienne in elegant script. She assessed Ava with the professional eye of someone who could determine measurements at twenty paces.
“Would you like to see them in your size? You’re a four, yes? Perhaps a two in certain designers.”
“We’ll take several to try,” Victor said before Ava could respond. “The blue, the burgundy, and…” He paused, studying a gown the color of champagne with delicate beading across the bodice. “That one.”