230. Petra sat in her father’s study, her fingers drumming on the arm of the chair. She could hear the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner, remembering how she had always hated the sound and likened it to dreadful things. Her father sat on the other side of the desk, scribbling something down as if she wasn’t even there. “Enough, I’m here.” Petra said, tired of being ignored. Her father lifted his head slowly, his dark eyes narrowing. “Excuse me, dear?” “I said enough, papa.” Petra repeated, louder this time. “I’m here because I’m done following your orders. I’m not your soldier, I’m not your dog.” The room grew still as she said that. Her father put his pen down carefully, as though her words had been a personal insult to him. “You’ve lost your mind, dear.” He said in a calm voice. “I’ve never sent you to do anything for me.” “No, not directly.” Petra snapped, leaning forward. “For the first time in my life, I’ve found it. I’m sick of you, papa! You made

The grand ballroom shimmered like a diamond-encrusted palace, its chandeliers casting an ethereal glow on the polished marble floors. The night air pulsed with the rhythm of a grand piano and the polite laughter of the city's elite, all dressed in their finest attire, their smiles as polished as the silverware. Beneath the surface, however, Devin Stone's carefully laid plans were set to unfold with the precision of a Swiss watch. His eyes scanned the room, his gaze lingering on the faces of the power players he'd invited to this charity gala under false pretenses. The wine in his glass remained untouched, a prop to enhance his image as the perfect host. As the senator's wife approached him, her diamond necklace glinting under the lights, Devin forced a smile, playing the part of the benevolent philanthropist. "This gala is such a noble cause, Mr. Stone," she cooed, her voice dripping with insincerity. "I've decided to donate a few million to our home." Devin inclined his head, his voi

233. Devin still stood there, his chest rising and falling, his hand slowly lowering after throwing Eva’s redheaded girl against the wall. He hadn’t meant to throw her that hard, but that was all in his wrist he guessed. The woman groaned on the floor, coughing, but no one dared to move towards her. “What did you say to me?” Devin asked, frowning. Eva chuckled. “I said that my sister was married to a fucking coward!” Eva’s eyes shone, ready to start a fight. Suddenly, a shrill voice rang out “Stop!” Heads turned to see Yvonne Hall. She pushed her way through, and her hair was messy. She stopped between them, her arms spread as if she could somehow keep the two predators apart from tearing each other. “Devin, please!” She begged, her voice trembling. “Don’t do this. Don’t fight her, not here, and especially not tonight.” Devin’s brows drew together, his eyes narrowing on her. “Yvonne, what the fuck are you doing?” “I’m saving you from yourself.” She said desperate

235.The silence lingered long after Eva was gone, a suffocating weight that pressed against the walls and seeped into Devin’s lungs. He could hear the faint drip of blood hitting the marble, each note a reminder of what had been stolen from him. His fingers flexed unconsciously, as if they still clutched Yvonne’s hand, though she was already beyond his reach.He forced himself to stand, muscles screaming, knees heavy. The hall looked different now—emptied of its grandeur, reduced to ruin. The chandeliers swayed faintly, shadows crawling across broken glass. In the wreckage, Devin saw more than a battlefield; he saw a graveyard. And in that moment, he realized that Yvonne’s death would echo far beyond this hall.The war Eva had promised wasn’t coming. It had already begun.⸻Marcus was waiting outside the doors, his back pressed against the wall, eyes wide and restless. The younger man flinched when Devin emerged, as though he expected to be struck. But Devin walked past him without a

235. Petra walked into her father’s living room, looking around the place. Nothing had changed save for their estrangement, and when she entered, she found him sitting on the edge of a leather chair with his papers spread out on the table and a glass of something in his hand. “Petra, my dear.” Her father said without looking up. “You came.” She folded her arms. “Of course I came. You asked me to.” He finally raised his head, looking at her with those stubborn eyes. “I’m glad you did, dear. Sit down, we need to talk about Devin.” Petra shook her head, lips pressing into a thin line. “I didn’t come here to listen to more of your bullshit about him. I came to warn you about this thing you’ve got going on.” He looked at her, wondering where she got the audacity to speak tp him like that. “Warn me? Against what? That boy? He’s nothing compared to what I have on my side.” Petra dropped onto the couch opposite him, glaring. “Dad, you don’t get it, do you? This war