King of Wrath (Kings of Sin #1) by Ana Huang

“Of course, you are free to make your own decisions,” my father finally said, his voice terrifyingly calm. “But I want you to know this, Vivian. If you walk out of this office today without making amends for your insolence, you are no longer my daughter. Or a Lau.”

His ultimatum barreled into me with the force of a runaway train, skewering my chest with a bayonet and filling my ears with the roar of blood.

The temperature dropped into subzero territory as we stared at each other, his cold fury waging silent battle with my pained determination.

There it was.

The invisible monster I’d feared since childhood, laid out like a gruesome corpse of the relationship we used to have.

I could cover it with a blanket and look away, or I could stand my ground and face it head-on.

I rose, my blood electric with fear and adrenaline as my father’s composure slipped the tiniest fraction.

He’d expected me to back down.

I’m sorry. The apology almost fell off my tongue through force of habit before I remembered I didn’t have anything to apologize for.

I wanted to stay a minute longer, to memorize his face and mourn something that’d died a long time ago.

Instead, I turned and walked out.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

My father had disowned me.

My father had disowned me, and I hadn’t tried to stop him because the price was too high.

Tears crowded my throat, but I forced them back even as a crushing sense of loneliness invaded me.

In the space of a week, I’d lost my family and I’d lost Dante.

The only thing I had left was myself.

And for now, that would have to be enough.





CHAPTER 37





Vivian





The Legacy Ball’s proximity to the chaos upending my life turned out to be a blessing in disguise. In the two days between my confrontation with my father and the gala, I threw myself into work with such fervor even Sloane, the consummate workaholic, expressed alarm.

Five a.m. wake-up calls. Dinner at the office. Lunch spent reviewing every detail and ensuring I had contingency plan upon contingency plan for everything from a citywide blackout to a brawl between guests.

By the time the actual ball rolled around, I was delirious from lack of sleep.

I didn’t mind. Busy was good. Busy meant less time agonizing over the shambles of my personal life.

However, despite all my planning, there was one thing I hadn’t prepared for: the effect walking into Valhalla Club would have on me.

Tightness crawled into my chest as I smiled and made small talk with the guests. Tonight, I was the hostess, which meant no running around checking on the food or music. That was my team’s job.

My job was to mingle, look good, pose for photographs…and not spend every second subconsciously searching for Dante.

I’d only visited Valhalla twice, both times with him. I hadn’t seen him yet. He might not show at all. But his presence—dark, magnetic, and omnipresent— permeated the room.

His laughter in the corners. His scent in the air. His touch on my skin. Hot kisses and stolen moments and memories so vivid they were painted all over the walls.

Dante was Valhalla, at least to me. And being here tonight, without him, was like a ship leaving port without an anchor.

“Vivian.” Buffy’s voice pulled me from the edge of a breakdown I couldn’t afford. I’d cried more this past week than I’d cried my entire life, and frankly, I was sick of it. “What a stunning dress.”

She came up beside me, elegant as always in a green brocade gown that paid tasteful homage to the ball’s secret garden theme. Magnificent diamonds draped across her neck and dripped from her wrists.

I blinked back a suspicious prickle and pasted on a smile. “Thank you. Your outfit is lovely, as well.”

Buffy swept a discerning gaze over my dress.

The Yves Dubois piece had turned many heads tonight, and for good reason. It cascaded to the ground in an exquisite sweep of red silk and gold-dipped feathers, so tightly packed they looked like a pile of fallen, gilded leaves. Shimmering gold thread formed an intricate phoenix pattern across the silk, so subtle it was almost invisible unless the embroidery hit the light at a certain angle.

It was clothing, art, and armor all rolled into one. A statement piece bold enough to declare power, but so dazzling few people looked past it to the sadness underneath.

“Yves Dubois couture,” Buffy said. “Dante is a generous fiancé.”

Her gaze coasted to my empty ring finger.

Tingles of unease crystallized beneath my skin. Dante and I hadn’t announced our breakup yet, but my lack of an engagement ring had drawn every person’s notice tonight.

Whispers were already circulating, not only about our relationship status, but about Lau Jewels’s stock market freefall. The negative press coverage had exploded in the past forty-eight hours. Although everyone had been perfectly nice to me so far—I was still the hostess, regardless of my family troubles—their murmurs hadn’t gone unnoticed.

“I bought the gown myself,” I said in response to Buffy’s observation. I smiled at her flicker of surprise. “I’m a Lau.” Even if my father disowned me. “I can afford my own clothes.”

I wasn’t a billionaire, but between my trust fund, investments, and event planning income, I held my own money-wise.