MasukPOV: Ronan Klein“You know,” Brutus said, watching me pour the brandy, “most kings celebrate the day they win the crown.”I handed him a glass. “Most kings don’t inherit their throne over their father’s dead body.”The courtyard breathed around us. The stone walls, iron trellises and the ivy curling like old secrets that refused to die were familiar to us. The fountain whispered steadily, water striking marble with the patience of time itself. This place had always been ours. It was a refuge and a confessional. It was a place where lies were unnecessary to be said. We were two cousins who were sincere.Brutus took a slow drink. “The council knows Hartley killed your father. The treaty is signed. Eve Peron is officially your wife.” He paused. “So tell me....what does a king do next?”I stared into my glass, watching the amber liquid catch the light.“A King moves forward. He takes possession of his territory. ”His jaw tightened. “That’s not an answer. That’s a slogan.”I smiled fai
POV: Ronan Klein“You know,” Brutus muttered beside me, adjusting his cufflinks, “if this goes sideways, I’d like it noted for the record that I advised postponing it until after lunch.”I glanced at him. “Your concern is touching.”“I’m serious,” he said. “People make terrible decisions when they’re hungry or emotional. Today we’re dealing with both.”That earned a low breath of amusement from me, but the tension never left my chest.Klein Towers hummed with the change that was coming. Many decades of warring between the Klein and Peron house was coming to an end because of this treaty. This was modern warfare in tailored suits, shirts and of course, ties. The hall filled quickly. There were council members, corporate advisors and security chiefs. Screens mounted on the walls displayed the Klein and Peron insignias side by side, rotating slowly like a warning. I scanned faces out of instinct checking out supporters, skeptics and opportunists. It had become my constant practise.
Catherine Hayes — POV The city was loud that evening. Cars hissed past. I was halfway to the bus station when the black sedan slid into my path, smooth and deliberate, like it had been waiting for me to breathe before moving. The window rolled down. Eve Peron didn’t look at me at first. One manicured hand rested on the steering wheel. She was calm and commanding. “Get in,” she said. It wasn’t a request. It was an order. My feet felt rooted to the pavement. Every instinct told me to run. Every mistake I had ever made whispered that I should obey. I opened the door and stepped inside. The locks clicked. The car pulled away before I could speak. She drove without music and without explanation. I watched her hands, steady, and unshaken. Hands that had killed offenders in minutes and signed corporate deals at varying points. She was still wearing the clothes she had worn to the office that morning. The dress was so short , you could see the lacy panties she had on. “Don’t lo
POV: Ronan Klein The council chamber had not felt this alive in decades.The walls themselves seemed to vibrate with the energy within its walls. The old stone absorbing anger the way it once absorbed blood. The long banners of Klein House stirred slightly, though no wind moved through the room. Men shifted in their seats like coiled springs, hands flexing and jaws tight waiting eagerly to throw the blows if and when it called for it. This was not a meeting. It was a collision waiting to happen.Rage moved faster than reason, leaping from man to man like burning woods. Voices clashed before I finished speaking and boots were scraping the marble floors. Their chairs shoved back hard enough to tipple them down. The long table that had once held treaties and blood oaths now trembled under fists.“You expect us to swallow this?” Lord Brecht snarled, rising halfway from his seat. “Hartley is no saint, but murder.....”“He was summoned....,” another shouted. “....By you, Ronan... extrem
POV: Ronan KleinHartley came to Klein House because I asked him to.The message was simple and urgent. Lucien wanted a private meeting with no staff present or no delays. That alone should have warned Hartley that it was a freaking trap but my uncle trusted summons from powerful people like Lucien the way a gambler trusts loaded dice. He arrived confident, rehearsing whatever smile he planned to wear. He didn't know that today things were going to be different. From the great hall window, I watched his black jeep roll through the gates, polished till it glittered. It cut a clean line through the gravel. The house adjusted around his arrival the way a body tightens before impact. Tobias had already done his work. Doors opened more slowly. Voices dropped to a low and eyes watched observed more closely and calculative. By the time Hartley stepped inside, the house was ready to judge him. He looked immaculate, as always in a well tailored coat. The silver threaded neatly thro
"I’ll say it. Her voice was hoarse when she whispered it, her body leaning into mine. Her fingers clutched my shirt like I was the only thing keeping her upright. “I’ll say Hartley did it. I’ll say I hid.” I felt the hitch in her breath, felt the way her body reacted to me even as fear shook her. She was breaking which was right where I needed her. “And I’ll let you take me..... Now.” I stepped back, just enough to give her space to stand, but my hand stayed on her hips. A reminder that there was no undoing this. “Good,” I said, my voice low, dark. “Because when we walk out of here, you’re mine...... In every way imaginable.” I reached for the attic door. The old hinges groaned as it opened, harsh and exposing light spilling in from the hallway. She hesitated. I felt it in the way her body stiffened, her fingers trembling at her sides. Then she followed me anyway. The stairs creaked beneath our weight. My hand never left her. Every step, my thumb brushed her skin, a silent wa







