The room hummed with tension. Blue light from dozens of monitors painted ghostly shapes across Angelo’s office. Cables tangled like veins across the floor, machines blinked like they were breathing. The sharp scent of hot metal, sweat, and cigarette smoke hung thick in the air. “Everything’s set,” Kai reported, voice clipped. “Cameras, medics, chopper in the air. Our men are spread across the asylum. She's walking into the lion’s mouth.” Iden stepped into the room, slow and silent. This was the war room. It looked like one. A place where lives were traded, decisions signed in blood. He moved to the center of the chaos, eyes drawn to the wall of screens. Every angle of the massive asylum flickered in shaky grain. Corridors lined with flickering lights. Rooms filled with twitching shadows—patients, doctors, ghosts. The asylum was a tomb disguised as a hospital. Built on illegal records and rotting experiments. A hellhole. A cover for human trafficking, organ harvesting, un
Ellaya didn’t remember when they moved her. One moment, she was in her cell—cracked walls, the stench of sweat and rusted iron, a tray of untouched food rotting in the corner. The next, she woke in hell. Not the metaphorical kind. The real one. The kind where screaming and silence existed in the same breath. Where punishment wasn’t given for madness—it was fed to it. You weren’t treated. You were drowned. The asylum was never quiet. Men laughed at the ceiling. Women whispered to the walls. Eyes followed her—hungry, hollow. Human only in name. She didn’t scream. Didn’t fight. She just watched. Watched them drag limp bodies behind rusted doors marked “TREATMENT.” Watched them come back quieter. Emptier. Sometimes not at all. They said she was dangerous. Deranged. A monster in a pretty shell. She didn’t correct them. Let them think she was mad. Let them forget she existed. At least then, no one expected her to survive. She’d already buried herself inside. What was left to
The room was breathtaking—paneled in dark mahogany, steeped in the scent of old paper and aged wood. Floor-to-ceiling shelves held leather-bound books, their spines gilded and cracked with time. But it was the massive oil painting that stole Ellaya’s breath. A woman with wild purple hair and luminous skin smiled down at them. Her eyes—familiar, haunting—seemed to follow Ellaya across the room. She froze. The resemblance was undeniable. Same striking bone structure. Same purple irises. But the woman in the painting looked lighter—freer. Her smile held none of the weight Ellaya carried. None of the pain. Photos cluttered every surface. In one, the woman stood beside a tall, devastatingly handsome man—mid-laugh, hand wrapped around her waist. Their wedding photo. They looked hopelessly in love. Another showed them cradling a baby. The man's eyes brimmed with pride. The woman’s arms curled around the infant like a shield. The baby… was her. There was no mistaking it. Ellaya stagge
Days passed like smoke—slipping through fingers, vanishing before they could be held. Time didn’t move forward; it bled. Minutes dragged like hours, and weeks collapsed in on themselves. Iden didn’t sleep. He didn’t eat. He sat in silence, trapped in his own mind, spiraling deeper into a storm of memories and questions. The moon became his only witness. Some nights, he watched the stars, others, the rain. Most nights, he simply stared into the void, heart thundering beneath skin that no longer felt like his own. A storm churned in his chest—loud, endless, and hungry. He saw her face in every shadow. Heard her voice in every silence. Her scent still clung to his lungs like smoke from a fire he could never put out. It had been a week since the blast. A week of searching. A week without answers. She wasn’t listed among the dead. But she wasn’t among the living either. She was missing. And Iden knew—deep in the part of his soul that still burned for her—she was alive. Hidi
She smirked as she shoved a stray book off her lap. “You know… you don’t have to be the Don. You can just be who you are.” Iden tilted his head slightly, lips twitching into a faint smile—small, but real. “You’re the only one who gets to say that.” And in that moment—grief shadowing his eyes, the scent of blood still faint on his shirt—he smiled. He rubbed her hair playfully, gently mussing the strands like he used to when they were kids. “Really?” she grinned, sitting cross-legged on her bed. “Okay… if you say so. But I can tell you mine.” She beamed, reaching for a thick leather diary. “I used to keep memos, you know? I’d write down everything I enjoyed. The places I loved, food I liked, people I met. Kinda old school.” Iden sat down beside her, intrigued despite himself. Her glittering eyes—so full of life—reminded him of someone else. Someone who once laughed shyly and smiled like an idiot. Ellaya. His gaze drifted from his sister to the window, where night pressed it
“This is the video we pulled,” Angelo said, turning the laptop toward Iden. He hit play. Young Ellaya hurled a glass of wine at Leo. Her voice sliced through the air like a blade. “You sewer rat! You don’t belong here! You should’ve died in the gutter you crawled out of!” Her finger jabbed toward his face, trembling. “You’re dirt-poor—and that’s exactly what you deserve! You should die like the scum you are!” Then, louder—each syllable laced with venom: “You’re poor—and that’s all you’ll ever be. Die in it.” Iden’s jaw locked. He didn’t blink. Couldn’t. His stomach twisted into a slow, suffocating knot. He’d seen this video so many times, it was seared into his memory. Burned in rage. It was the reason he hated her—or tried to. Failed to. But this clip, this moment... it was the beginning of everything. He had sworn over his friend’s grave to destroy her. And he did—masterfully. “She’s yelling at Leo,” Angelo said. “That’s what the clip shows. And we all believ
A gust of wind tore through the room, sweeping papers off the desk like shreds of the past being ripped into the present. Kai stood in the doorway, chest heaving, drenched in sweat. One hand dragged a man by the collar—a mangled heap of flesh and bone. The man's face was grotesque, beaten to a pulp, barely conscious. Blood dripped steadily from his nose, painting a red trail behind them like a signature of vengeance. Arthur followed, silent as thunder before the strike. His fists were clenched so tightly the knuckles bled white. His eyes—cold, ruthless—locked on Iden like a scope lining up its mark. Without a word, Kai kicked the man’s legs out. He collapsed at Iden’s feet in a graceless heap. Silence held its breath. Then a weak, hoarse cry spilled from the man’s throat. He trembled, unable to meet Iden’s eyes. “Having fun, Danny?” Angelo’s voice sliced through the stillness, low and mocking as he crouched beside the man. A cruel smile twisted his lips. “Didn’t expect t
Ellaya lunged, her kick slicing through the air toward her grandfather’s chest. But he was faster. His weathered hands snapped forward, catching her ankle mid-strike. In a single motion, he twisted and flipped her—her back hitting the mat with a bone-rattling thud. Before she could react, a brutal fist drove into her stomach. Pain detonated in her core. Her lungs collapsed inward. Breath scattered like broken glass. She doubled over. But he didn’t wait. He pinned her to the ground, calloused fingers digging into her wrists. Her body thrashed, muscles screaming, wrists raw beneath his unyielding grip. Ellaya cried out—sharp, guttural, alive. “That’s enough for today.” His voice cut cold through the haze. “You’re still weak. Like a toddler grasping at strength that isn’t yours. Push yourself harder.” She scrambled upright, shame searing hotter than any bruise. Her ribs ached. Her knuckles bled. But her mind? Steel. Survival wasn’t a choice. It was her god now.
Ellaya hesitated at the doorway, inhaling deeply. The house still clung to her—whispering ghosts through dust-laden air, pressing its past into her skin. Every shadow murmured stories; memories coiled in the wood and stone, weaving a tapestry of love, deception, and ruin. Her fingers trembled as they brushed the door. It creaked open with a reluctant groan. Silence devoured her whole. She stepped inside. The wooden floor groaned beneath her boots—each step a slow echo, like the thudding heartbeat of the house itself. The air was thick, stale, carrying the weight of forgotten arguments and kisses that had long since turned cold. Then— “Why?” The word sliced through the silence like a blade. She froze. That voice—deep, steady, sharpened by restrained rage—hit her like a gunshot to the soul. Her head snapped to the left. Iden sat on the single worn-out sofa. Legs sprawled. Fingers steepled. Shadows sliced across his face, obscuring the storm underneath—a mixture of grief an
The overweight, middle-aged man pulled Ellaya closer by the waist, reeking of sweat and stale cologne. He leaned in, breath hot against her ear. "It’s time to taste my favorite drink," he whispered, his voice thick with sleaze. Ellaya giggled, head thrown back in mock delight. “Mmm, lucky me,” she purred, her fingers brushing his bloated stomach. Her neck-length short red hair bounced with the motion, and when she smiled, her snow-white teeth framed by blood-red lips seemed almost too perfect—almost dangerous. His eyes drank her in with animalistic hunger.“God, you’re a piece of work.” He shoved the door open and tossed her onto the plush bed. She bounced twice, landing with deliberate grace. Her eyes flicked to the hidden camera inside the ornate painting. She smiled—seductive, knowing. --- Iden sat in silence, watching her every move. Every glance. Every breath. His hand clenched around the armrest, knuckles white. His chest burned, rage simmering like wildfire under h
The air turned suffocating the moment Iden stepped inside the house. The walls pulsed with the echo of raised voices—harsh, fractured, and unforgiving. “As far as I remember, I made myself clear years ago,” Mayor Ruan said coolly, wiping his glasses with slow precision before slipping them back on. His fingers trembled—just enough to betray the storm beneath his calm. “We are done with them.” Across the room, Kai sat with deceptive ease, spine straight, jaw clenched. His voice cut through the static like a blade. “And as far as I remember, they’re still her blood.” The tension snapped into silence. Then came a sound like a splintering bone—a choked sob. Iden turned sharply. His mother was hunched on the couch, her face crumpled in tears. He rushed to her side, kneeling, his hand enveloping hers. “Mom, what happened?” The softness in his tone barely masked the urgency pulsing beneath it. Luna sniffled, voice breaking through the tremor of her grief. “Your uncle’s family
A sharp spin— Cold lips crashed against hers, slamming her back into the jagged brick wall. The scent hit her first. That same deep cologne—smoke, cedar, danger. Then came the ghostly chill of his skin, colder than memory. Her eyes flew open. His were shut, lost in the kiss. His mouth moved over hers slowly, deliberately, tongue tracing hers like a scar reopening. His palm gripped her waist, thumb circling in soft, possessive motions through the thin fabric of her dress. His other hand cupped her jaw with something like reverence. She was caught—breathless between flesh and stone—heart thrashing, body frozen. Heat bloomed in her chest. The kiss drugged her for a heartbeat—seductive, toxic, cruel. Tears burned the corners of her eyes. Nostalgia, sharp and brutal, surged up her throat— Then— A brutal knee to the gut. A groan tore the silence of the alley. Ellaya shoved him off her. He stumbled back, stunned by the force behind her strike. Straightening slowly, he clutched his s
Ellaya crouched behind a crumbling wall, her breath slow, deliberate—the kind you take before a kill. She lit a cigarette with steady hands, the flare briefly illuminating her sharp features. She inhaled the smoke with calm, predatory ease. "Time to say hello to dear daddy," she whispered, flicking the cigarette into the darkness. Her fingers closed around a jagged stone, its rough edges biting into her palm. With a sharp flick, she hurled it deep into the woods. Ahead, a cluster of gangsters lounged around a battered table, their laughter rolling like distant thunder across the night. The heavy air reeked of sweat, gun oil, and cheap beer—thick enough to taste. A heartbeat— Silence. Then— Alarms shrieked, cutting the night like wounded animals. Chairs scraped. Men cursed. The lazy haze of gambling shattered into frantic motion. She moved. A whisper in the dark. The warehouse swallowed her whole. Inside, the smell of gasoline and rust curled around her
Ellaya’s fists clenched, the muscles in her arms coiling with the familiar anticipation of combat. Across from her, the man charged — a wall of fury, his rage radiating like heat off an open flame. She didn’t move. Not yet. Every second stretched into infinity. Her breath was steady, slow. Then — with a snap of motion — she twisted sideways and drove her elbow into his ribs. The sickening thud cracked through the air. He folded instantly, crumpling like a broken doll. Before he even hit the floor, she moved again, hooking his ankle and sending him crashing onto the cold, blood-slicked concrete. The crowd erupted around her — a roar thick and frenzied — but it felt distant, muffled, like noise behind glass. Her world had narrowed to a sharp, merciless focus. Another fighter lunged at her from the side, a blur of desperation. Ellaya caught him mid-strike, pivoting smoothly, her body a blade honed by violence. With a brutal twist, she snapped his arm. The crack echoed louder th
Ellaya lunged, her kick slicing through the air toward her grandfather’s chest. But he was faster. His weathered hands snapped forward, catching her ankle mid-strike. In a single motion, he twisted and flipped her—her back hitting the mat with a bone-rattling thud. Before she could react, a brutal fist drove into her stomach. Pain detonated in her core. Her lungs collapsed inward. Breath scattered like broken glass. She doubled over. But he didn’t wait. He pinned her to the ground, calloused fingers digging into her wrists. Her body thrashed, muscles screaming, wrists raw beneath his unyielding grip. Ellaya cried out—sharp, guttural, alive. “That’s enough for today.” His voice cut cold through the haze. “You’re still weak. Like a toddler grasping at strength that isn’t yours. Push yourself harder.” She scrambled upright, shame searing hotter than any bruise. Her ribs ached. Her knuckles bled. But her mind? Steel. Survival wasn’t a choice. It was her god now.
A gust of wind tore through the room, sweeping papers off the desk like shreds of the past being ripped into the present. Kai stood in the doorway, chest heaving, drenched in sweat. One hand dragged a man by the collar—a mangled heap of flesh and bone. The man's face was grotesque, beaten to a pulp, barely conscious. Blood dripped steadily from his nose, painting a red trail behind them like a signature of vengeance. Arthur followed, silent as thunder before the strike. His fists were clenched so tightly the knuckles bled white. His eyes—cold, ruthless—locked on Iden like a scope lining up its mark. Without a word, Kai kicked the man’s legs out. He collapsed at Iden’s feet in a graceless heap. Silence held its breath. Then a weak, hoarse cry spilled from the man’s throat. He trembled, unable to meet Iden’s eyes. “Having fun, Danny?” Angelo’s voice sliced through the stillness, low and mocking as he crouched beside the man. A cruel smile twisted his lips. “Didn’t expect t
“This is the video we pulled,” Angelo said, turning the laptop toward Iden. He hit play. Young Ellaya hurled a glass of wine at Leo. Her voice sliced through the air like a blade. “You sewer rat! You don’t belong here! You should’ve died in the gutter you crawled out of!” Her finger jabbed toward his face, trembling. “You’re dirt-poor—and that’s exactly what you deserve! You should die like the scum you are!” Then, louder—each syllable laced with venom: “You’re poor—and that’s all you’ll ever be. Die in it.” Iden’s jaw locked. He didn’t blink. Couldn’t. His stomach twisted into a slow, suffocating knot. He’d seen this video so many times, it was seared into his memory. Burned in rage. It was the reason he hated her—or tried to. Failed to. But this clip, this moment... it was the beginning of everything. He had sworn over his friend’s grave to destroy her. And he did—masterfully. “She’s yelling at Leo,” Angelo said. “That’s what the clip shows. And we all believ