chapter 3

Claire’s POV

Back to present

I was about to head in when something caught my eye. The Italian tattoo on the side of his neck.

Grey De Luca. My supposed fiancé… or ex-fiancé. Sometimes, I wished we were still engaged.

He was putting on a black suit, holding a black briefcase. Fuck, if I said I didn’t find him stunning, I’d be lying. Jet-black hair, sharp features, more masculine than I remembered. It felt unreal, like he’d stepped out of a dream. And yet… his personality? That same cold edge I remembered.

It had been sixteen years since our engagement. Dad had called it off when I turned seventeen. Grey was nineteen, already making waves in his family’s business. Dating rumors, bad news, trouble wherever he went—murder allegations, crimes. Everyone whispered about him. And yet I couldn’t stop watching him.

I followed him quietly into Dad’s office, curious. I didn’t dare ask why he was here. Dad had forbidden me from mentioning Grey’s name after they suddenly became enemies for whatever reason.

Through the peephole, I watched the conversation. Dad’s face twisted in anger, a drink tipping over with a crash. My stomach lurched. But Grey… Grey stayed calm, composed, untouched by the chaos.

When he stood, briefcase in hand, and moved toward the exit, I froze. No place to hide. My hands found a cleaning brush, and I pretended to sweep the floor, praying he wouldn’t notice me.

And then he was there, standing in front of me. Closer than I expected. His gaze landed on me for a split second. I turned quickly, pretending to focus on the sparkling clean floor.

He didn’t recognize me. Thank God. The first—and only—time we’d met, I was eight. Everything had changed. I lowered my head, holding my breath as he passed, exiting the room.

As soon as his silhouette disappeared, I exhaled a shaky breath I didn’t know I was holding. Why had I even tried to hide? Not like I’d broken the engagement. My mind raced. He was perfect… too perfect… except for that personality, of course.

And just when I thought I could relax, the office door opened. Dad stepped out, staring at me like I’d just committed a crime.

“How long have you been here?” His voice was sharp.

“Uhm… I just got here,” I lied, heart hammering.

“Did you see any man walk out? Did he see your face?” He didn’t wait for an answer.

“No, like I said… I just got here,” I stammered. I was cooked if he found out Grey almost saw me. Dad’s protective streak was insane, but I knew it was for my own good.

“You shouldn’t be here, Claire,” he said warmly.

“Alright, alright! I’m leaving, gosh!” I said, rolling my eyes as I turned toward my room. Only there could I exist without scrutiny.

Once again, I felt like a stranger in my own home. Maybe I should stop being curious. Focus on myself. My health. Yes, that’s what Dad expected—and that’s exactly what I’d do.

I spent the rest of the day reading. At 7:00 p.m., I joined Dad, Stephano, and Ivan for dinner. Then a quick shower and straight to bed.

I barely drifted off when I felt my door open. A hard tap on my back jolted me awake. My nanny stood there, worry etched across her face. I shut my eyes again. Whatever it was, I’d deal with it in the morning.

 “Claire, you need to get up.”

Maria’s voice was urgent — not the soft morning tone she usually used.

“What is it?” I muttered, irritation still clinging to my sleep.

“The estate is under attack. We have to leave. Now.”

That woke me.

She yanked open the curtains. Smoke was already bleeding into the morning sky.

Before I could process what she’d said, she grabbed my first aid kit and pulled me out of bed. I stumbled after her, still in my silk pajamas.

The moment we stepped outside, the world ended.

Half the estate was burning. Missiles streaked overhead like falling stars, only these carried death. Explosions tore through the gardens. Gunfire cracked through the air. Screams followed.

I nearly slipped.

There was a body beneath my bare foot.

I looked down.

One of the guards. His eyes still open.

My stomach twisted violently.

More bodies scattered across the courtyard — maids, security, staff. People I’d seen every day. People who had served us tea, opened gates, smiled politely.

The air smelled like smoke, iron, and something burned beyond recognition.

“What is happening?” I whispered.

Maria didn’t answer. She dragged me toward the underground passage beneath the mansion.

“We’re taking the escape route,” she said.

“No.”

The word came out before I could stop it.

I tore my hand from hers.

“I’m not leaving Dad.”

I ran.

I heard Maria scream my name behind me, but the sound dissolved into gunfire.

As I reached the door to his office, I slowed.

The door was slightly ajar and voices drifted through the opening.

I stepped closer and looked inside.

My father stood in the center of the room, though “stood” was generous. His posture leaned, weight uneven, one hand pressed discreetly against his side where blood darkened his shirt. His face was pale but set, jaw tight with stubborn resolve.

Across from him stood a man dressed entirely in black.

I could not see his face. He had his back to me.

But even from that angle, he was imposing. Tall — at least 6’4 — broad-shouldered, unmoving in a way that suggested certainty rather than tension.

There was no chaos in his stance.

Only control.

Dad moved first.

He lunged forward with what strength he had left, throwing a punch aimed at the man’s jaw. It never connected. The stranger stepped aside with unsettling ease and responded with a strike that sent my father staggering.

Another blow followed. Then another.

Dad attempted to block, but he was slower now. Weaker. Each hit landed with a sickening finality.

I pressed my back against the wall beside the door, unable to intervene, unable to look away.

I saw my father fall flat, he tried to rise but failed.

His hand stretched toward the gun lying near the desk. His fingers grazed the handle.

The man noticed and with the tip of his polished shoe, slid the weapon across the floor and out of reach.

A small, involuntary sound escaped me.

The stranger placed his foot against my father’s chest, not violently — just enough to keep him pinned. He leaned down slightly, as though speaking confidentially.

I could not hear the words.

But I saw my father’s expression shift.

Not fear.

Recognition.

Then the man straightened and drew a gun from inside his jacket.

The first shot echoed through the room.

My ears rang.

The second shot felt distant, as though it belonged to someone else’s life.

By the third, I could no longer breathe.

My father’s body jerked once beneath the impact. Then it lay still.

There was no dramatic final movement. No last words.

Just stillness.

Blood spread steadily across the hardwood floor, dark and deliberate.

My mind urged me to move, to scream, to throw myself through the doorway and do something — anything at all, but my limbs refused. I was suspended inside my own body, conscious yet incapable.

He cannot just walk away.

I would not allow it.

Even if it meant dying beside my father.

I shifted my weight forward, preparing to push the door open.

A hand seized my arm and pulled me back into the shadow of the corridor. Another hand covered my mouth before I could react.

“Claire,” Stephano’s voice hissed in my ear. “What are you still doing here? You’re not supposed to be here”

“He’s going to kill Dad,” I whispered against his palm, struggling. “We have to stop him.”

Stephano’s grip tightened.

“Claire… he’s already dead.”

The words hollowed me out.

I had seen it. I knew, but hearing it spoken made it irreversible.

“We have to go,” Stephano said, urgency threading through his voice. “If he finds you here, he won’t hesitate to kill you.”

“We can take him,” I insisted, though my voice sounded distant to my own ears. “If we go in together—”

“He killed Ivan.”

The name struck harder than the gunshots.

Stephano’s breathing was uneven. There was something in his eyes I had never witnessed before.

Fear. I have never seen Stephano scared before

“I barely made it out,” he continued. “He’s not here to negotiate. He’s here to erase us.”

Erase us? Why?

If Stephano who had never feared any living man was shaken, then whatever stood inside that office was not merely an enemy.

It was something worse.

He pulled me backward down the corridor.

This time, I did not resist.

As we retreated, the man inside the office shifted slightly, turning just enough for the light to catch the side of his neck allowing me to see his tattoo. It looked familiar, i have definitely seen that tattoo somewhere. He turned around fully, allowing me to get a clearer view of what was written and my breathe hitched when i realized who it was…..

It was Grey De Luca.