MasukZARA’S POVThe mansion’s dining hall had never felt this cold.The chandeliers burned bright, but the air was heavy—thick with tension and dread. Vanessa sat at the head of the table, legs crossed, a glass of red wine swirling lazily in her hand. Her lipstick was the same shade as the liquid in her glass—crimson, cruel, deliberate.Across from her sat Lucien and Zara. No guards, no servants. Just three people who had once shared lies, desire, and ruin.“Let’s stop pretending,” Vanessa began, her tone smooth but venom-laced. “You think you can play with me. Up Her eyes slid to Zara. “And if you keep testing me, I’ll start cutting the threads—starting with your mother. Then Adrian.”Zara’s breath caught. “Don’t—”“Then stop making me angry,” Vanessa snapped, the mask of calm shattering for a second before she smoothed it back with a smile. “You think I won’t do it? You think I’m bluffing?”Lucien’s jaw clenched. He said nothing. The silence between them was louder than any gunshot.Zara
The room in Lucien’s mansion felt smaller with the divorce papers folded and tucked into a drawer where no light reached. Outside, the city went through its restless night, indifferent; inside, the only things that moved were two people who had spent too long pretending they belonged on opposite sides of a war.They sat across from one another at the wide kitchen island—leftover takeout abandoned between them, coffee gone cold. Adrian had left minutes before, the plan spread in his wake like a thin map of roads they could take. He’d rattled off names and hiding places and supply chains the way surgeons list instruments, efficient and flat. The tone of the conversation had been clinical; the aftermath was not.Zara watched Lucien while he sipped his coffee, the hard line at his mouth softening only where the steam hit his face. The scar at his temple caught the light; his hand trembled just slightly as he set the mug down. She wanted to tell him how much she hated the sight of him now—
ZARA’S POVThe mansion was too quiet.Not the calm kind of quiet — the kind that comes after a scream.Zara sat in her father’s study again, staring at the untouched glass of whiskey by his framed photo.For hours, her fingers had traced the same ring mark on the desk. She should’ve gone to bed, but sleep was something the dead had stolen from her.A faint creak drew her attention.She turned. Nothing. Just shadows and the faint smell of her father’s cigars.Then—A single click from the drawer.Her pulse spiked. That drawer had always been locked.She tugged it open.Inside lay a key, a sealed envelope, and a USB drive labeled in her father’s neat handwriting:“For when you no longer know who to trust.”Her hands shook as she slid the envelope open.“My Zara, if you’re reading this, I’m already gone. The enemies you fear were once my friends. Vanessa isn’t your enemy—she’s the debt I could never repay. Be careful who you hate, my little lioness. Sometimes, revenge wears the face you
Lucien stared at the divorce papers like they were a death sentence.Zara’s signature bled across the last page, her handwriting trembling as if she’d cried through every word.He’d read the letter that came with it.“If you love me, let me go. Please. Don’t ask why.”He knew why.Vanessa.The pen felt heavy in his hand.He didn’t even remember signing. One second, he was staring at her name — the next, his own signature slashed through the paper like a wound.The room was silent except for the hum of his regret.And then — heels.Clicking across the marble floor, slow, deliberate, confident.Lucien didn’t need to look up to know who it was.“Still brooding over the ink, darling?” Vanessa’s voice was a velvet blade as she stepped in, her red dress hugging every curve, her smile sharp enough to cut glass. “You always were dramatic.”He exhaled hard, leaning back in his chair. “What do you want, Vanessa?”She ran a manicured finger along the papers. “A wedding. A big one.”Lucien’s gaze
ZARA’S POVThe funeral was over, but the storm hadn’t passed.Zara sat alone in her father’s office that night. The candles flickered low, casting long shadows across the portraits that lined the wall. Men of power. Men of ruin. Every one of them wore the same cruel smirk — including the newest addition: Don Enzo Marino.Her father’s death hadn’t brought peace. It had brought silence — and in that silence, danger grew.She replayed every word he’d ever said in those last days to lucien.“Protect her.”“Keep her out of the war.”It was too late for that. The war was already here.Her phone buzzed again — Adrian.“Did you get my message?” he asked.“I did.”“You shouldn’t have gone to the burial with Lucien. People are watching. Enzo’s allies, the council, the families—everyone’s trying to see who takes power next.”Zara’s voice was calm, but her hands trembled slightly. “They’ll see soon enough.”“Her chest felt like it was filled with ice.Moments later, a knock.Lucien stood at the d
DON ENZO’S POV He could feel death crawling closer. The room smelled like regret and blood — old blood. His. Don Enzo sat behind his oak desk, the one that had seen too many sins and deals, too many broken men. The world outside his window was still dark when Lucien arrived. He looked tired, hollow-eyed, as if the night itself had drained him of everything but guilt. “Sit,” Enzo said, voice thin but sharp as a blade. Lucien obeyed. There was no defiance left in him, not after everything that had happened — the arrests, the betrayal, the slow collapse of his empire. Enzo slid a black drive across the table. “Take this. It holds everything — every account, every name, every debt that ties our enemies together. If anything happens to me, protect Zara. Keep her out of this war.” Lucien’s brow furrowed. “What war?” “The one I created,” Enzo said simply. “And the one she’ll inherit.” He leaned back, pain cutting through his ribs. “You think I don’t know what I’ve done? You







