LOGIN"I gave him a crown. He gave me a prison cell." Isabella was the ghostwriter of the Rossi dynasty. She was the brain, the backbone, and the secret weapon. She sacrificed her name, her pride, and her light to make Antonio Rossi a God among men. Her reward? A public arrest. A framed conviction. And a daughter who was brainwashed into calling her a monster. While Isabella rotted in a maximum-security cell, Antonio was busy planning the 'Wedding of the Century' with the woman who helped him destroy her. They took her freedom, her child, and her dignity. But they made one fatal mistake: They let her live. Five years come and pass in a blur nobody expects.Isabella isn't the soft, sacrificial wife anymore. She is a woman with a heart of ice and a bank account that rivals the devil’s. Antonio thinks he’s at the peak of his power. He doesn't realize that the woman he discarded is back and she’s not looking for an apology. She’s looking for blood.
View MoreChapter 30Valencia’s POVThe basement of Blackwood Manor didn't feel like a cellar; it felt like the belly of a shark. The air was chilled to a precise sixty degrees to protect the server stacks, and the only light came from the neon glow of a dozen monitors reflecting off Jax’s glasses.I sat beside him, still clad in my black tactical gear, the weight of the 9mm on my thigh a grounding presence. Silas stood behind us, a silent, looming shadow with his arms crossed, watching the digital battlefield with the eyes of a general."He’s at the gala dinner," Jax murmured, his fingers dancing across a custom mechanical keyboard with a sound like rain on a tin roof. "Table four. He’s sitting right next to the Commissioner and the head of the Chamber of Commerce. He’s playing the philanthropist tonight. It’s disgusting."On my secondary screen, a grainy live feed from a hacked security camera in the ballroom of the Grand Excelsior showed Antonio. He looked radiant in a white tuxedo, laughin
Chapter 29Valencia’s POVThe obsidian desk had been cold, but the fire Silas left burning in my blood was agonizing. I sat on the edge of my bed in the dark, the oversized white shirt, his shirt still damp with the salt of my own unfulfilled skin. I could still feel the phantom weight of his fingers, the ruthless efficiency of his withdrawal.He thought he had reminded me who owned the cage. But he forgot one thing: I had already died once. You cannot imprison a woman who has already walked through the fire and come out as ash.I reached for my laptop, the screen’s clinical glow cutting through the shadows of the room. I didn't want to sleep. Sleep was for people who weren't haunted. I tapped into the encrypted bridge Jax had built for me, the "Mirror Feed" that bypassed every security layer in the Rossi Manor."Talk to me, Jax," I whispered into the headset. "I know you’re awake. You don't sleep when you’re angry, and you’ve been angry since 02:00."A long silence, then the soft c
Chapter 28Silas’s POVThe ache in my groin was a dull, throbbing reminder of the checkmate she’d dealt me three hours ago. It pulsed with every heartbeat, a relentless drumbeat that echoed through my veins, refusing to fade. I had spent forty minutes under a spray of ice-cold water in the en-suite shower, the frigid needles biting into my skin, but they did nothing to extinguish the inferno Valencia Knox had ignited deep in my marrow. My study still smelled of her, that intoxicating pomegranate musk mingled with the faint whisper of expensive silk and every time I closed my eyes, I saw those violet contacts burning with a triumph that made me want to throttle her and worship her in the same ragged breath.I was no longer the master of this house. I was a man haunted by a ghost of my own making, a specter that wore her face and whispered promises of ruin and ecstasy.I moved from the study to my private quarters, a sprawling sanctuary of steel, glass, and shadows that spanned the en
Chapter 27Antonio’s POVThe smell of rotting roses still clung to the vents of the Rossi Manor, a cloying, sweet stench of decay that no amount of expensive aerosol could mask. It sat in the back of my throat, reminding me of things that should stay buried.I sat in my study, the mahogany desk gleaming under the lamplight. On the floor sat the charred remains of the white wooden box. I had watched it burn in the fireplace, but the image of those shriveled, brown petals was burned into my retinas."Isabella is dead," I whispered to the empty room, my voice a jagged edge of glass. "My mom had the prisoners finish her off.”I poured a glass of twenty-year-old scotch, the amber liquid trembling slightly. I hated the tremor. I hated that a bunch of dead flowers and a card had reduced Clara to a blubbering, hysterical mess upstairs. She was currently sedated, a weak, useless replacement for the woman I had broken. Isabella had been many things, fragile, beautiful, silent but she had neve






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