My Milf Conqueror System

Chapter 166: The Queen Behind the Wall

[Jake’s POV]

I had seen Sofia for less than a second.

A hand. A ring. Pale fingers resting against the armrest of a wheelchair as someone pushed her through the west corridor.

That was all.

It was enough.

Because Sofia Aldridge had once spent forty-three minutes arguing with me about rings.

It had happened during an acquisition meeting in London almost three years ago. I had spent half the meeting studying the platinum band on her right hand instead of the financial projections she’d spent an entire weekend preparing.

Naturally, Sofia noticed.

"If you keep staring at it, Jake, I’ll start charging you by the minute."

"It’s ugly."

"It’s practical."

"It’s aggressively practical."

"Thank you."

"That wasn’t a compliment."

"Everything sounds like one when you’re wrong."

I had lost that argument.

I’d lost most arguments involving Sofia.

I would know that ring anywhere.

The certainty settled inside me with terrifying clarity.

Sofia was here.

Alive.

Somewhere beyond the west wing of the Van der Meer estate.

Claire’s voice came through my earpiece almost immediately.

"Talk to me."

I accepted a champagne flute from a passing server and forced myself to look relaxed.

"She’s here."

The comm channel went completely silent.

Then Claire exhaled.

"You saw her?"

"Enough."

"Describe."

"Wheelchair. Nurse escort. West corridor. I saw her hand."

Nia immediately groaned. "Jake."

"It was Sofia."

"You identified a person from a hand."

"Yes."

"That’s either incredibly romantic or genuinely concerning."

"It’s both," Ethan said.

"Nia forgot to mute the hospital line again," Claire said dryly.

"I did not forget."

"He hacked the channel," Ethan replied.

"I was bored."

Claire ignored both of them. "Jake, are you certain?"

"Yes."

A short pause followed.

Then Claire simply said, "Okay."

No skepticism. No requests for proof.

Just trust.

I glanced across the gallery. Claire stood beside Evelyn near the donor tables, tablet in hand, expression calm and unreadable. She never looked directly at me.

She didn’t need to.

Aurelia appeared beside me moments later.

"You have the expression," she observed.

"What expression?"

"The one men get when they find something worth destroying themselves over."

I took a sip of champagne.

"I found proof."

Aurelia’s eyes sharpened immediately.

"Certain?"

"Completely."

"Good."

She followed my gaze toward Helena Strauss.

"Then we proceed."

Margot Delacroix was still watching us.

That woman was rapidly becoming a problem.

She stood beside Beatrice Vale and Helena Strauss, dressed in understated black silk, speaking quietly while somehow managing to look perfectly harmless. Predators often did.

Vivian drifted back toward us.

"Helena is preparing to move upstairs," she said.

"The music salon?" Aurelia asked.

Vivian nodded. "Fifteen minutes, perhaps twenty."

"Marianne?"

"Already positioned."

Good.

Marianne had surprised every one of us.

The Marianne Bellamy I had first met would have hated a room like this. The woman currently navigating Helena Strauss’s social circle looked composed, elegant, and quietly furious. Trauma had changed her.

Then again, trauma had changed all of us.

Nia suddenly spoke again.

"Jake."

The tone of her voice made me straighten.

"What?"

"I found something."

"What kind of something?"

"The camera loop in the west wing isn’t internal."

Claire immediately joined the conversation. "Explain."

"It’s being routed externally."

My pulse slowed.

That was never good.

"From where?" Claire asked.

There was a long pause.

When Nia finally answered, the usual confidence in her voice was gone.

"I don’t know."

The operations channel fell silent.

Nia Carter never said those words.

Ever.

Claire spoke carefully. "Nia."

"It’s layered," Nia said quietly. "Not corporate. Not military. Not private intelligence either. I’ve never seen encryption like this before."

Something cold settled beneath my ribs.

Because I had.

The System appeared.

[Warning.]

[External interference detected.]

[Classification: Unknown.]

[Recommendation: Exercise caution.]

I stared at the translucent screen.

Unknown.

The System almost never used that word.

Claire noticed my silence instantly.

"Jake?"

"Nothing."

"That’s a lie."

"Probably."

Aurelia touched my sleeve.

"Helena is moving."

I looked up.

The atmosphere inside the gallery had changed.

Subtly.

Conversations were ending. Glasses were being set aside. Small groups dissolved and reformed with deliberate purpose.

The Ash Room was assembling.

Helena Strauss moved to the center of the gallery.

"Ladies," she said warmly, "if you would join us upstairs."

The response was immediate.

Nearly thirty women began moving toward the grand staircase.

Marianne disappeared among them.

Vivian followed.

Margaret Hale rose from her seat and joined the procession as well.

Aurelia squeezed my arm once.

"Stay visible."

"I know."

"Do not follow."

"I know."

"Jake."

I looked at her.

"Do not make me physically restrain you."

I sighed. "That feels unnecessary."

"You have known Sofia longer than you’ve known me, and yet I understand your self-destructive tendencies perfectly."

"Rude."

"Accurate."

She walked away before I could answer.

I watched them disappear upstairs.

Helena.

Beatrice.

Margot.

Marianne.

Vivian.

Aurelia.

The Ash Room.

The real battle was beginning.

And I wasn’t invited.

I hated this plan.

Claire appeared beside me a few moments later. Not close enough to attract attention. Just close enough.

"You okay?"

"No."

"Good."

I frowned. "Good?"

"You’re less dangerous when you admit it."

Fair.

She handed me a tablet.

"Look busy."

I glanced down.

Financial reports.

I stared at her.

"Claire."

"What?"

"You’re making me review spreadsheets during a rescue operation."

"You’ve survived assassins, private armies, and Isabella Vane."

She adjusted her glasses.

"You can survive accounting."

I looked at her for several seconds.

Then, despite everything, I laughed.

Quietly.

The tension in Claire’s shoulders eased.

Only slightly.

"There’s my idiot," she murmured.

I blinked.

"What?"

Claire froze.

For perhaps the first time since I’d met her, Claire Montgomery looked genuinely flustered.

"Nothing."

"You called me—"

"I did not."

"You absolutely did."

"Focus on the spreadsheet."

Interesting.

Very interesting.

The System appeared immediately.

[Ding!]

[New Optional Mission!]

Mission: Investigate Claire Montgomery.

Reward:???

Penalty for failure: Lifetime regret.

I nearly inhaled champagne.

"No."

Claire frowned.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Oh."

She visibly relaxed.

Then she narrowed her eyes.

"Actually, no. Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like you’ve discovered something deeply alarming."

I looked away.

"Nothing."

Claire sighed.

"I hate that word."

Before either of us could continue, Evelyn’s voice cut across the comm channel.

"Everyone listen."

Instant silence.

Evelyn rarely sounded worried.

She sounded worried now.

"I’ve just received notice of an emergency legal filing."

My stomach dropped.

"Filed by who?"

"Nia, trace origin," Claire ordered.

"Nia already did," Evelyn replied.

A pause followed.

Then she said, "The filing originated from Aldridge Enterprises."

I went cold.

Claire frowned.

"Sofia?"

"No."

Evelyn’s voice hardened.

"The filing appoints a temporary acting chair."

Silence filled the channel.

"Who?" I asked quietly.

Nobody answered immediately.

That was answer enough.

Finally, Evelyn spoke.

"Isabella Vane."

For a moment, the entire world seemed to stop.

Around us, the auction continued. People laughed. Music played softly. Champagne flowed.

And somewhere upstairs, thirty of the most powerful women in Europe were discussing influence and legacy while Isabella Vane quietly positioned herself to seize Sofia’s empire.

Claire grabbed my arm.

Hard.

Because she knew.

She knew exactly what I was about to do.

"Jake."

I looked toward the staircase.

Toward the Ash Room.

Toward Sofia.

Toward war.

"Don’t," Claire whispered.

Upstairs, somewhere beyond those closed doors, a woman screamed.

Marianne Bellamy.

Every conversation in the gallery stopped.

And suddenly, everything changed.