The safehouse was quiet, the tension heavy like a storm waiting to break. Dylan sat at the head of the long conference table, his injured arm wrapped in gauze. Jayden stood at his side, bruised but breathing. Across from them, detailed maps and photographs were spread out—plans for retaliation.
"Richard is getting bolder," Jayden muttered, tracing a red marker across the city map. "He's cutting off our ports, intercepting our shipments. And now he's using snipers in broad daylight?"
Dylan's jaw clenched. "He wants to provoke me. He thinks I'll lose control."
"Will you?"
Dylan's eyes flicked to him. "Not yet."
---
HEAVEN'S ROOM – SAFEHOUSE
Heaven sat cross-legged on the bed, Michael fast asleep beside her. His breathing was steady now, and the fever had finally broken. Relief filled her chest—but only for a moment.
The events of the warehouse haunted her—the gunshot, the recoil, the look in the man's eyes before he fell.
She didn't regret saving herself. But she regretted that she had to.
There was a soft knock. Dylan stepped in.
"You didn't have to knock," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
"I didn't want to startle you."
She gave him a look. "I shot someone, Dylan."
"I know."
Silence filled the space between them before Dylan walked over and sat on the edge of the bed. He looked at Michael for a second, then back at her.
"You were brave."
"I was scared."
He leaned forward. "So was I."
Their eyes locked—no words, just an understanding. Then, he gently took her hand.
"I'm sorry you were dragged into this."
"I was dragged into your world the moment you took me from mine," she whispered, "but I stayed… because I saw a man underneath all that darkness. And I think you're worth fighting for."
Dylan closed his eyes for a moment, the weight of her words sinking in.
"Then I need to end this," he said quietly. "Because I don't want to lose either of you."
---
RICHARD'S COMPOUND – NIGHT
Richard sat by the fireplace, twirling a crystal glass of whiskey. Beside him stood Eva, his cold and calculating second-in-command.
"He pulled back," she reported. "But he won't stay quiet for long."
"Good," Richard smirked. "Let him come. The trap is already set."
He stood, walking to a hidden vault in the wall. From it, he pulled out a photograph—one of Dylan as a child, standing beside their grandfather.
"That old man chose him… the bastard child. And now he thinks he's untouchable."
Eva tilted her head. "You still want the throne?"
"No," Richard replied, eyes burning with hate. "I want to burn it all. And I'll start with everything Dylan holds dear."