CONRAD WILLIAM'S POVAt twelve, he started bringing me to the private parties — the ones in the hidden rooms, behind velvet curtains, where only his inner circle was allowed.At thirteen, he started dressing me in his colours, sitting me on his lap while he smoked and discussed deals with politicians and generals.At fourteen, he started letting me speak. Letting me serve drinks and whisper in ears and be seen — because by then I knew how to smile at the right people and make them forget they ever had a conscience.He'd feed me the finest food, drape me in silk, and when the others watched, he'd laugh and tell them:"This one earns every Dollar I spend on him. More than any of you ever will."We — my sister and I — were given a room of our own.Small, but clean.Better than anything we'd known before.But the price of the small room was higher than my dignity, my life, my soul.And every night, when I came back from serving him, she'd already be curled under the blanket, pretending to
CONRAD WILLIAM'S POVI sat up in bed, my chest tight, my fingers digging into my thighs hard enough to bruise.It's been years.But I can still see her little face looking up at me that night.And I still don't know if I saved her... or just gave her more time to hate me for failing her anyway.They let her go.That night, after I said it, they laughed. Said, "Brave little fucker, aren't you?" And then they shoved me into the back of a car while my sister screamed.I kept my eyes on her the whole time — even as they dragged me off — so she wouldn't see me flinch, so she wouldn't see how scared I really was.They let her stay in the brothel, with me. But they kept coming back.Even after I took her place, they still came back.At first, I thought they'd leave her alone completely — I believed them when they promised. But Edward's men don't keep promises. They would grab her face when they saw her in the street. Sneer at her. Sometimes I heard from the other boys that she cried when th
CONRAD WILLIAM'S POVI stared at the ceiling, flat on my back, the shadows of the fan blades cutting across the plaster like knives. The room was quiet — too quiet — but inside my head, it was deafening. I couldn't sleep. Again.Every time I closed my eyes, I felt him. His breath on the side of my neck, his hand gripping my wrist too tight, his laugh echoing like a curse under my skin.I thought pulling that knife on him would scare him off. That maybe — just maybe — he'd finally see me for what I really am: dangerous, untouchable, not worth the trouble.But instead... it encouraged him.That smile he gave me when I pressed the blade to his throat — it wasn't fear. It wasn't even anger. It was hunger. Like I'd just woken up some sleeping demon in him and he was grateful.I can still see his eyes when he leaned into the blade, just enough to nick the skin on his neck, and I could imagine him whispering to me"Finally, baby boy... finally showing some teeth."I should've run then.I sh
CAISEN VALENTINE'S POVOut of that velvet coffin of smoke and stupidity.Back into the night where I belonged.Because I didn't need distractions.I needed blood.And soon—Edward Miller would see exactly what kind of son his sins had raised against him.Liam and I? We've been inseparable since the beginning. Not by choice—by survival. Because when you're raised in hell, you cling to the only soul who doesn't try to burn you.And Edward? That bastard gave Liam everything except what mattered. Not freedom. Not peace. Not a goddamn ounce of dignity.The day he handed over his own son to some filthy businessman for a deal—that was the day he dug his own grave. With his own hands. Smiling. Proud.He's not a father. He's a goddamn psychopath. A parasite in a silk suit. The kind of monster who doesn't just destroy you—he makes you thank him for it.He's got enemies clawing to rip him apart—vultures, every damn one. His business partners.Me—his fucking son, born from his filth, forged in his
CAISEN VALENTINE'S POVThe Venta Black Order Warehouse—Sector 9, New YorkThey say when a devil gets angry, the sky rips open. But when I get angry?The ground fucking shatters.I've tasted rage before—quiet, elegant, even seductive. The kind that lets you watch your enemies rot from the inside while you sip whiskey and smile.But this? This wasn't rage. This was annihilation on legs.I slammed open the warehouse doors, my men stepping back without needing to be told. They saw it in my eyes. They felt it in the air—thick like gunpowder, electric like a storm that's about to level the earth.Nobody spoke. Nobody breathed.Not unless they wanted to die tonight.The man I'd had kidnapped—Sam Matthew—sat bound to the metal chair like a stuffed pig waiting for the slaughter. His mouth was bloodied. One eye swollen shut. I hadn't touched him yet. This was my men's warm-up act.Now it was my turn.I stalked toward him, black coat trailing like shadow behind me, boots echoing like gunshots
CONRAD WILLIAM'S POVHe was too quiet.I didn't notice when he entered the office, but I felt the shift in the air the moment he stopped behind me. The silence stretched, thick and strange—until he spoke, voice coated with disbelief and something far more dangerous."What the fuck is this?" His tone didn't have anger, but something menaces like he has been pissed at something.I turned slowly, my blood running cold the second I saw what he held in his hand.The photo.That cursed photograph. The one where Lucian had his arm draped around my shoulder, both of us smiling like we didn't belong to a world soaked in blood and lies. I meant to hide it. Meant to burn it. But I couldn't let it go. It was stupid. Sentimental."Is this what you stare at when you think no one's watching?" he snarled, stepping closer. "You got a little schoolboy crush on Lucian now?"I didn't answer. My jaw tightened. My hands twitched at my sides.But he saw everything.He always did.Caisen's eyes darkened. Fur