The silence in the mansion was suffocating. Heaven sat on the edge of her bed, her thoughts swirling like a storm. She had tried to sleep, but Dylan's words haunted her.
"You don't belong in my world, but that doesn't change the fact that you're in it."
She hated how true it was.
Sighing, she stood up and walked to the window. The city lights stretched far into the distance, mocking her confinement. She wanted to believe there was still a way out, but deep down, she knew Dylan wasn't going to let her go.
And the worst part?
She wasn't sure if she wanted to leave anymore.
Just as that thought crept into her mind, a soft knock came at the door.
"Miss Heaven," a maid's voice called. "Master Dylan requests your presence in his study."
Her heart skipped a beat. Dylan never requested anything—he commanded.
Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself and followed the maid downstairs.
---
Dylan's Study
Dylan stood near his desk, a glass of whiskey in his hand. His expression was unreadable, his posture tense.
"Sit," he said, his voice low.
Heaven hesitated before taking a seat across from him. "What do you want?"
Dylan studied her for a moment, then sighed, setting his drink down. "You want to know the truth, don't you?"
Her brows furrowed. "About what?"
His jaw tightened. "About why you're here. About why I haven't killed you yet."
A chill ran down her spine. "You think I don't ask myself that every day?"
Dylan smirked, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Then let's talk about it."
He poured himself another drink but didn't take a sip. "I killed your parents, Heaven. But you already knew that."
Her chest tightened, but she stayed silent.
Dylan continued. "What you don't know is that I almost killed you, too."
Her blood ran cold.
"The night I took you, I had every reason to end your life," he said, his tone unreadable. "But I didn't."
Heaven clenched her fists. "Why?"
Dylan leaned forward, his piercing gaze locking onto hers. "Because I saw something in you, kitten. Something I didn't expect."
Her heart pounded. "And what was that?"
A ghost of a smirk played on his lips. "Fire."
He leaned back, taking a sip of his drink. "You remind me of someone I lost a long time ago."
Her breath hitched.
"Samantha," she whispered.
Dylan's grip on his glass tightened. "Don't say her name."
She flinched at the coldness in his voice.
But she had already seen it—the pain buried deep in his eyes.
Dylan Martin, the ruthless king of the underworld, was haunted by a ghost.
And Heaven had just become part of his torment.
---
Meanwhile – Richard's Next Move
Richard stood in front of a large map, his fingers tracing the city's underground network. His men were gathered around him, waiting for his orders.
"Dylan won't see this coming," he said, his voice cold.
One of his men hesitated. "Sir, are you sure about this? Attacking his supply chain is risky."
Richard smirked. "That's the point."
He stepped back, crossing his arms. "We're not just going to fight Dylan—we're going to dismantle him piece by piece."
His phone buzzed, and he answered without hesitation.
"It's done," a voice said on the other end. "The first shipment is already gone."
Richard's smirk widened. "Good. Now we wait for Dylan to bleed."
The war had officially begun.