CHAPTER 142 — THE DEVIL’S NEW PLANThe elevator doors had barely hissed shut when Patrick’s voice cut through the stunned silence.“You’re really just gonna let them walk away after that circus?”
He didn’t move from his spot near the bar, arms folded, that charcoal coat still perfect despite the chaos. His grey eyes were locked on Kelvin like he was studying a bomb that had just decided to tick louder.Kelvin stood at the edge of the rooftop, city lights glittering far below, knuckles still dripping red onto the marble. His chest rose and fell hard, shirt torn, blood smeared across his cheek like war paint. For a long second he didn’t answer—just stared out at Sunset City like he was trying to burn it down with his eyes.Then he laughed.
Low. Bitter. Broken.“Of course not,” he said, voice rough, scraped raw. “I’m not stopping until they feel every single thing I’m feeling right now. Until they choke on it. Until they wake up at 3 a.m. screaming my name because they finally understand

CHAPTER 144 — DINNER, STORIES, AND QUESTIONS UNASKEDThe roast chicken smelled like home before Kelvin even entered the dining room. Warm, savory, familiar—the kind of smell that clawed at memories he hadn’t realized he missed until now. Mia sat at the table, legs swinging from the chair, curls bouncing as she poked at her plate with a small fork, crumbs dotting her cheeks like tiny stars. Kelvin’s ribs still throbbed from the fight hours earlier, and every movement reminded him of the bruises blooming across his body, but seeing his daughter safe, happy, alive, dulled the pain almost entirely.“Eat up, princess,” he said softly, sliding a plate of buttery potatoes toward her.Mia hummed in agreement, her little mouth stuffed with chicken. “It’s yummy, Daddy.”Kelvin tried to focus on her, on the way her laughter spilled and the small expressions that made up her little world. Outside, the city could burn, chaos could rule, enemies could circle—threats he couldn’t name—but inside the

CHAPTER 146 — HERE AGAIN The grand ballroom of the Elite Auction House buzzed like a hive on steroids, crystal chandeliers dangling overhead like frozen fireworks, casting shimmering lights across the sea of tuxedos and glittering gowns. Diana adjusted the strap of her sleek black dress, the one that hugged her curves just right, making her feel like she could conquer the world—or at least this room full of pretentious elites. She wasn’t here for the art or the overpriced trinkets; no, this was about networking, sealing deals, and maybe spotting a weakness in the competition. Harry stood beside her, his usual cocky grin plastered on, but there was a tightness around his eyes that screamed he was still stewing over that disaster of a collaboration ceremony a couple days back.“Look at this place,” Harry muttered under his breath, scanning the crowd with a mix of awe and disdain. “Feels like everyone’s got more money than sense. You sure we belong here, Di?”Diana shot him a sidelong g

CHAPTER 148 — SHATTERPOINTSDiana didn’t expect the world to tilt the way it did. One second she was stepping out of the ballroom hallway, still breathing hard from the confrontation behind the curtain, and the next—Kelvin was standing right there in the corridor like he had been waiting for her.Except he didn’t look amused anymore.
He looked like he hated her.Really, truly, violently hated her.For a heartbeat, neither of them spoke. The corridor was cold, quiet, and too brightly lit, as if the chandeliers wanted to watch them tear each other apart. Diana’s pulse hammered in her throat, her knuckles still tingling from where she’d grabbed his lapel and shoved him into the wall twenty minutes ago.“Kelvin,” she started, voice already edged with venom.“Shut the fuck up,” he said, low and vicious.Diana blinked. “Excuse me?”“You heard me.” His eyes were black with disgust. “I’m done listening to your hysterical bullshit.”Her spine snapped straight. “Hysterical? You walk in wearing

CHAPTER 150 — FOUR MONTHS OF CUP NOODLESEleven years ago… before he got a job in military.
Kelvin was young, broke as hell, and living off sheer spite and black coffee.He’d been walking past the same tiny antique jewelry shop on 47th every day for three months on his lunch break. The place smelled like old velvet and regret, windows fogged up from the steam table next door. And every single day, that necklace sat in the fuck there, taunting him from the middle display.Art-Deco platinum. One fat oval sapphire the color of Diana’s eyes when she was pissed, surrounded by a sunburst of tiny diamonds. The tag said “Circa 1925 Cartier-inspired piece – $18,500.”Eighteen-five.
He made maybe four grand a month back then, before taxes. After rent and her mom’s medical bills, he was lucky to have bus fare.But every time he pictured Diana wearing it, laughing that loud, messy laugh she only let out when she forgot to be perfect, he felt something stupid and reckless ignite in his chest.So h