Chapter 272
Mirabel’s retreat led down a quieter side trail, flanked by luxurious tents glowing faintly from within. Her breathing was sharp and uneven now, anger propelling her forward. She didn’t notice when Bianca and Sarai peeled away from the crowd.
They moved smoothly, effortlessly—predators slipping from light to shadow—until they cornered her near a dim bend in the path, where the lanterns thinned and the noise of the conference faded into nothing.
And for the first time that night, Mirabel wasn’t the one choosing the battlefield.
“Mirabel, wait,” Bianca called, her voice polished to perfection as she approached with Sarai gliding smoothly at her side. Sympathy clung to her tone like expensive perfume—pleasant, convincing, and entirely artificial. Both sisters wore warm, welcoming smiles, their body language open, harmless. Almost sweet.
Almost.
“That was… quite a scene back there,” Bianca continued gently. “We couldn’t help but notice. You handled it with remarkable grace. Truly p>
Mirabel stopped.
Slowly, deliberately, she straightened to her full height, reclaiming every inch of authority she’d momentarily lost. Silk blouse immaculate. Pearls perfectly aligned. Heels planted like stakes in the earth. If humiliation had rattled her, she refused to let it show—though the sharp gleam in her eyes betrayed just how raw she still felt.
“What do you want?” she snapped, suspicion cutting through her voice.
Sarai stepped forward, all soft smiles and careful words, tucking her sarcasm neatly out of sight. “We’re on your side,” she said smoothly. “We’ve been watching Eliana for a while now—how she’s managed to worm her way into everything. Rafael’s life. Every room. Every conversation.” She tilted her head. “And if you’d like her gone—truly gone—we happen to have a plan p>
A beat.
“And,” Sarai added lightly, “we thought you might like to hear it p>
Mirabel’s mind began to churn.
She didn’t trust them. Not for a second. The Monroe sisters radiated ambition the way sharks radiated teeth—sleek, dangerous, and always circling. But trust wasn’t the point. Utility was. After that very public humiliation, she needed leverage. Allies. And if these two were offering her a way to remove Eliana without getting blood on her own hands p>
Pride bristled. Pragmatism won.
“Fine,” Mirabel said curtly. “But not here. There are too many ears—and I’ve had enough of an audience for one night p>
Bianca’s eyes flickered with triumph, quickly masked behind civility. “Of course. Our tent is nearby. Private. Comfortable.” She gestured smoothly down the path. “You’ll appreciate it p>
They led her to a sprawling canvas structure tucked discreetly away from the main trail—a luxury tent in every sense of the word. Plush rugs cushioned their steps, king-sized beds sat dressed in crisp linens, and a discreet minibar gleamed invitingly in the corner. It wasn’t Rafael and Eliana’s extravagant setup—but it was close enough to remind Mirabel she was still playing among elites.
The tent flap zipped shut behind them, sealing the outside world away.
Soft lamps bathed the interior in warm light, and the faint scent of orchids drifted through the air from a diffuser humming quietly in the background. Bianca moved with practiced ease, pouring three glasses of chilled white wine.
She handed one to Mirabel, her smile gracious and unassuming. “Please,” she said. “Make yourself comfortable p>
Her eyes met Mirabel’s, sharp beneath the politeness.
“We have so much to discuss p>
Mirabel sank into a velvet armchair, her gaze sweeping the room suspiciously. She took a sip, the cool liquid steadying her nerves. “Alright, talk. Why me? And what’s this plan of yours p>
Bianca leaned forward first, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, eyes gleaming with dramatic intensity. “Eliana has been a thorn in our flesh for far too long. She’s ruined lives, taken what’s not hers. We’ve watched her climb, using people like stepping stones p>
Sarai nodded, chiming in with emotional fervor, her green eyes flashing. “She was my best friend once, you know? We grew up together—me, her, and Jason. But Eliana? She just kept stealing him from me. Even now, after everything, he still pines for her. It’s infuriating. She doesn’t deserve him—or anyone p>
Mirabel listened, her expression neutral. She kept her deepest secret locked away: that Eliana was her biological daughter, abandoned years ago for the allure of wealth. Admitting that would paint her as a monster, even among these schemers. No, better to let them think her grudge was purely about power and money.
Bianca’s shoulders sagged as if the weight of heartbreak had finally become too much to carry. Her voice softened, trembled just enough to sound convincing—almost tearful, almost real.
“And me?” she said quietly. “I’m hopelessly in love with Rafael. He’s… everything. Powerful. Commanding. A man who bends rooms without raising his voice.” She let out a shaky breath. “But Eliana is in the way. She’s in his bed. Carrying his child.” Her gaze hardened. “I want her dead, Mirabel. Gone. Permanently. No more obstacles p>
Mirabel listened without interrupting, her expression carefully neutral.
Inside, she scoffed.
These girls really don’t know the half of it, she thought coolly. You want the wife gone. I want the husband too. Rafael dead meant his empire ripe for the taking—and if these two were foolish enough to handle the dirty work? Even better. Pawns were always easiest to sacrifice.
Sarai leaned in next, her sweetness shedding like a snake’s skin. Possessiveness crept into her voice, sharp and ugly. “Eliana’s always been the one who gets everything handed to her. The devotion. The protection. The future.” Her lips curved into a thin smile. “Not anymore. We have options—poisons, staged accidents. Quiet. Clean. Nothing that points back to us p>
Mirabel’s fingers tightened around her wineglass as her mind spun. This was reckless. Amateurish. And yet p>
Revenge had a way of making risk feel reasonable.
After a long beat, she lifted her chin. “Alright,” she said coolly. “I’m in p>
She paused, eyes narrowing.
“For killing Eliana p>
Bianca’s smile bloomed instantly—bright, victorious—but there was something sharp beneath it, something calculating. “Wonderful,” she said. “But if we’re doing this, it has to be airtight. Trust is everything p>
She reached into a sleek folder already waiting on the table—of course it was already there—and tapped it lightly.
“We put it in writing,” Bianca continued smoothly. “All three of us. Signatures. No misunderstandings. No… backsies p>
Mirabel froze.
Her eyes widened, the carefully polished mask slipping as the sheer audacity of it hit her. A contract. For murder. Her grip loosened, and the wine in her glass sloshed dangerously close to the rim.
For a heartbeat, outrage surged.
Then intrigue followed close behind.
Slowly, Mirabel smiled.
These women were either spectacularly stupid… or dangerously bold.
And either way, she could work with that.