The silence in the Great Hall was absolute. It was a physical weight, pressing down on them.
“That’s impossible,” Beatrice whispered, her voice trembling with rage. “She’s not a Croft.”
“She is the Majority Shareholder,” Blackwood corrected, closing the folder. “Effective immediately, Ms. Vance controls the board, the assets, and the future of this company. She is the Chairman. William answers to her.”
William slowly turned his head to look at his wife. His face was a mask of shock, but beneath it, a complex fracture was forming. He loved her. He trusted her. But he had spent his entire life being the King. Now, the woman he had sworn to protect was his boss.
Victoria stared at the legal document sliding across the mahogany table toward her. She remembered the letters Alistair had traced on her hand: *S-A-V-E.*
She realized with a sinking heart that this wasn’t a reward. Alistair hadn’t given her a gift; he had given her a duty. He had shackled her to the very empire she had tried to escape.
She looked at William, seeing the flicker of insecurity in his eyes. She looked at Beatrice, seeing the hatred reignite. She looked at the paper.
She hadn’t just inherited a fortune. She had inherited the war.