Sibella cruel enough to rip the wig from a sick woman’s head and publicly degrade her beside a gilded charity portrait

Alban held the encrypted phone in his hand, the bright screen illuminating the sharp angles of his face. He didn't look at the screen; his cold, intimidating eyes remained locked on Sibella.

"You claim you funneled my money to a lobbying firm in D.C.," Alban said, pacing slowly around her, trapping her in an invisible circle of dread. "A noble lie, Sibella. Almost convincing. But I am not a man who thrives on 'almost'."

"It's the truth!" Sibella insisted, her voice shrill, her diamond earrings shaking as she trembled. "Call them! Call the Harrison Group! They have the retainers on file!"

"I don't need to call them," Alban murmured. He stopped pacing and stood directly in front of her. "Because an hour before this gala began, my accountant finalized an audit of the medical liaison accounts. The money didn't go to D.C., Sibella."

Sibella’s breath hitched. She took a step backward, her heel catching on the hem of her gown.

"It went to an offshore holding company registered in the Cayman Islands," Alban continued, his words slow and measured. "A shell corporation named Aethelgard Holdings. Does that ring a bell, my dear?"

The remaining color drained completely from Sibella’s face. She looked like a ghost standing under the brilliant chandelier light.

"I... I don't know what you're talking about," she stammered, but her eyes darted frantically toward the exit.

"Aethelgard Holdings," Alban repeated, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper. "A company owned by your brother, Thomas. A man who currently owes a staggering debt to the Valenti crime family in New York."

The bodyguards standing at the perimeter of the room shifted slightly, the rustle of their tailored suits the only sound in the vast ballroom. The revelation hung in the air, heavy and venomous. Sibella hadn't just embezzled money; she had taken Alban's wealth to pay off a rival syndicate, funding the very people who wanted him dead.

"He was going to be killed, Alban!" Sibella screamed, dropping the facade entirely. Tears ruined her immaculate makeup. "Thomas got in too deep with the Valentis at the tables! They were going to break his legs, they were going to kill him! I had to get the money fast, and the medical fund was liquid and unmonitored!"

"Unmonitored," Alban scoffed quietly, a dark, dangerous amusement flickering in his eyes. "You thought because the money was assigned to a maid, I wouldn't watch it?"

"She's a servant!" Sibella fired back, a sudden, desperate anger rising in her. "Why do you care so much about her?! You're Alban Rookmere! You kill men for looking at you the wrong way, but you spend millions keeping a bald housemaid breathing?! It doesn't make sense!"

Alban stepped incredibly close to her. He leaned down, his imposing frame casting a shadow over her trembling form.

"It doesn't have to make sense to you," Alban whispered, his breath ghosting over her ear. "You only had to follow my rules. You chose your brother over my word. You chose the Valentis over me."

"Alban, please," she sobbed, reaching out to grab his shirt. "I love you. We're getting married. I can get the money back. Thomas promised he would pay it back!"