Tracy's eyes met Alfreda's, and the sheer panic behind them split something in her wide open. Celia circled like a lioness around her kill, the steel of her boots echoing off the dungeon floor.
"She begged me to let her cook your last supper," Celia said coldly, "like a good little house help. But now she's your weakness, isn't she?"
Alfreda didn't answer.
Nathaniel strained against his chains. The veins in his arms bulged, his voice low and venomous.
"You touch her, and I will bury your entire bloodline."
Celia's smile never wavered. "You already did, darling. You just didn't know it."
She lifted her gun and aimed it—not at Tracy.
At Alfreda.
"She's not your shield," Celia said, cocking the hammer. "She's your punishment."
But she never pulled the trigger.
Because at that moment, Lachlan burst in—hands bloody, jacket torn, dragging a man behind him.
"Nathaniel," he panted. "We've got a problem."
Nathaniel blinked. "We are the problem."
"No," Lachlan said. "He is."
He threw the man to the ground.
And Nathaniel went still.
Because it was his father.
"Is this a joke?" Nathaniel hissed.
Lachlan shook his head. "No, brother. This is your family's true legacy. He's been working with Celia from the start."
The room fell into chaos. Celia didn't flinch, but a flicker of discomfort crossed her eyes.
"You were supposed to be dead," Nathaniel growled, stepping toward his father, chains dragging behind him like hell's own leash.
His father looked up. "And you were supposed to be better than me."
"Why?" Alfreda snapped. "Why would you betray your own son?"
"Because I knew what he would become. I saw the monster before it grew teeth." His father looked at Nathaniel. "And I wasn't wrong."
Nathaniel moved so fast the chains snapped like brittle bones. In one movement, he tackled his father to the floor and drove a knife into his gut.
Blood gurgled.
"You made me," Nathaniel whispered, eyes black with rage. "Now unmake yourself."
Tracy sobbed in the corner, trembling.
Celia raised her gun again. "Now we've all made our choices."
But this time, Alfreda was ready.
She lunged, using her chained hands to disarm Celia in one brutal twist. They fell to the floor, grappling—two women born of violence, love, and broken legacies.
Celia kneed her. Alfreda headbutted her. Blood flew.
Nathaniel shot the chain from Alfreda's wrist just as Celia got her hand on a blade.
"End it!" he shouted.
Alfreda grabbed the knife and shoved it into Celia's side—deep. Slow.
"I loved you," she whispered.
Celia choked, eyes wide. "Then you should've killed me faster."
And then she passed out, bleeding into the cold dungeon floor.
They didn't wait for the next ambush.
Lachlan carried Tracy. Nathaniel grabbed Alfreda's hand. They escaped through a tunnel that hadn't been touched since the war days.
Outside, the estate burned.
Flames licked the sky like angry gods. Widowmaker soldiers ran screaming as the underground armory exploded.
Nathaniel turned to Alfreda.
"You said you wanted revenge."
"I did," she breathed.
"What now?"
She looked at the inferno behind them. "Now I want power."
He smiled—dark, dangerous.
"Then let's take it."