THE UNDERESTIMATED UNDERWORLD KING

WHEN THE PHANTOM STOPS HIDING

Dante pressed play.

The video loaded—Marcus Reid's penthouse, timestamp five hours ago. The camera angle suggested hidden placement, probably Vincent's surveillance team working from the building across the street. The image was crystal clear.

Scarlett walked through Marcus's front door using her own key.

She was still wearing the white dress from earlier, the one she'd claimed was for a business dinner with clients. Marcus appeared in the frame, two champagne flutes in hand, and kissed her. Not a friendly peck. Not professional. The kind of kiss that said they'd done this before.

"Did the fool suspect anything?" Marcus's voice came through tinny but clear.

Scarlett laughed, the sound light and careless. "Dante? Please. He's too busy being grateful we let him sleep in the attic. He probably thinks I'm at a board meeting."

Dante's jaw tightened. That was all.

Marcus pulled her closer, his hands familiar on her waist. "I can't believe your father made you marry that worthless nobody. Three years of your life wasted on a man who can't even afford to take you to dinner."

"Don't remind me." Scarlett took the champagne, sipped, and settled into Marcus's arms like she belonged there. "At least it's almost over. The contract expired last month. Mother's just waiting for the right moment to throw him out."

Marcus set down his glass cheerfully. "That's great! Because I can't keep doing this secretly, I've waited too long."

"Yes, you have, my love." Scarlett admitted shamelessly, tracing lazy fingers accross his bare chest. "I also can't wait to marry you officially. You're nothing like my useless househusband who only knows to wash toilets and serve disgusting teas. You've been helping my family with your connections for years."

"It's nothing to mention, my love. You know I'll do anything for you." He kissed her forehead, then suddenly pulled out a tablet. "Less I forget, I've wanted to show you this. All these 'miracles' that keep saving Hayes Corp—mysterious investors, last-minute contracts, hostile takeovers that suddenly fail. I'm the one that's been pulling all the strings, I planned not to tell you until today which marks three years of our secret love."

Scarlett's face lit with grace and joy as she stared at the screen. "Awwn, I always knew you were an angel sent to me by the heavens. You did all these behind my back?"

"I did, sweetheart." Marcus scrolled through financial documents, his tone smooth as silk. "I purposefully routed them through complex channels to hide my involvement from competitors. I'm just saying just so someone won't later mistaken my hard works for someone else's."

Someone else's. He paused, letting the words hang.

Scarlett's lips curled into a flirtatious smile."Wait, don't tell me you're jealous right now. Who else could dare claim to have orchestrated everything you've done for me?"

"I don't know." Marcus shrugged it off. "But really, who else could it be? Certainly not your useless husband." They both laughed. Marcus leaned in and kissed her again. "Soon, darling. I’m done seeing that fool stand between us. I hate sharing you with someone so pathetically beneath you."

The video ended.

Dante's phone screen had cracked. He looked down at the spiderweb of fractured glass spreading from where his thumb had pressed too hard. He hadn't even felt it happen.

His phone buzzed—Vincent calling.

"Boss, say the word." Vincent's voice was tight with controlled fury. "I can have Marcus Reid disappear tonight. Fifty different ways, all untraceable."

"No." Dante's voice came out flat, empty. "I want to watch him destroy himself. But first, I need absolute proof that Scarlett chose this. That it wasn't manipulation. That her heart is truly gone."

"Boss, you just watched—"

"I need to see it with my own eyes, Vincent."

He ended the call and moved to the small attic window. The angle was sharp, but if he stood in exactly the right spot, he could see into Scarlett's bedroom window across the garden courtyard. He'd discovered this accidentally two years ago and hated himself for ever using it. Tonight, he stood there and waited.

At midnight, Scarlett's light came on. She entered her room, checked her appearance in the vanity mirror, and froze. Her hand went to her collar, rubbing at something. A lipstick mark, faint but visible. She grabbed a makeup wipe and scrubbed it away, then checked herself from every angle before heading downstairs.

Dante heard her voice drift up through the old house's thin walls.

"Mother, I'm back. The clients were exhausting—you wouldn't believe how tedious those negotiations were."

Victoria's response was warm, proud. "You work so hard, darling. You're doing your father proud, building Hayes Corp into what it should be."

"Well, Marcus has been a huge help. I don't know what we'd do without him."

Dante turned from the window. Three years of lying to himself ended with a lipstick stain and a makeup wipe.

Footsteps on the main staircase—a servant, probably. Then Victoria's voice again, sharper now, amused. "Oh, what's this? Scarlett, come here."

Dante moved to his door, opened it a crack.

"Your husband got you a gift." Victoria's tone dripped mockery. "A cheap bracelet. Probably cost him his entire month's allowance. How pathetic."

"Throw it away." Scarlett didn't even pause. "I don't want his pity gifts cluttering my space."

Dante watched through the crack as the servant walked past his door toward the trash chute, the small wrapped box in her hand. She saw him standing there, hesitated for a fraction of a second, then dropped it down the chute anyway. The sound of it hitting the bottom echoed up through the walls.

His phone buzzed. Vincent again.

V: Boss, Marcus Reid is planning something for tomorrow night. Hayes Corp's charity gala. He's going to announce a "major business milestone" and take all the credit for the recent successes.

Another message followed immediately.

V: He's invited the city's elite, the press, business magnates. And boss... he's arranged for you to be there too. He wants you serving drinks. He told Mrs. Hayes it would be "poetic" to have you serving the people celebrating "his" achievements.

Dante stared at the messages. For three years, he'd endured everything for a promise to a dead man and a foolish hope that love could be rekindled. He'd watched Scarlett from the shadows, protected her from threats she'd never know existed, built her success on foundations she'd never see. And for what? So she could laugh about him in another man's arms. So she could throw away his gifts without even opening them.

He pulled out the photograph of Leonard Hayes from his pocket—crumpled now, faded, but the image still clear. Leonard in that hospital bed, dying, gripping Dante's hand with desperate strength.

My daughter... protect her... you're the only one I trust...

"Forgive me, old friend." Dante's voice was barely a whisper. "I've kept my promise for three years. I've protected her from every threat, given her every advantage, endured every humiliation. But I can't protect her from herself. And I won't become a fool for a woman who sees me as garbage."

He pulled up his contacts, scrolled past Vincent to a name he hadn't called in months. Alexander. He pressed dial.

"Boss?" Alexander answered on the first ring, surprise evident in his voice. "It's been a while."

"I need you to prepare the Monarch Suite at the Obsidian Hotel for tomorrow night." Dante's voice had gone cold, clinical. "And activate Protocol Severance."

Silence. Then: "My Lord... Protocol Severance? That's the divorce contingency. Are you certain?"

"Tomorrow night, at the charity gala, Marcus Reid wants to humiliate me one final time while stealing credit for my work." Dante moved to the loose floorboard in the corner of his room, pried it up. "Instead, he's going to watch me walk away from everything—and then discover what happens when the Phantom stops protecting his enemies."

He pulled out a black card from the hidden compartment beneath the floor. Not a credit card—something else entirely. Matte black metal etched with a symbol: a phantom's mask, elegant and threatening.

"Consider it done, my lord. The suite will be ready. Protocol Severance is active."

Dante hung up and opened his laptop—a battered old thing that looked like it might die any second but ran on military-grade encryption. He opened a new email, typed Scarlett's address into the recipient field, and began writing.

Divorce papers will be delivered tomorrow evening. Our contract is fulfilled.

His finger hovered over the send button. Three years. Everything he'd built, everything he'd sacrificed, everything he'd endured—ending with one email and a charity gala performance.

He pressed send.

The laptop chimed softly. Message delivered.

Dante closed the computer, pocketed the black card, and looked around the attic that had been his prison for three years. Tomorrow night, Marcus Reid would stand in front of the city's elite and try yet again to claim credit for miracles he didn't create. But then he'd know what it means to take the Phantom for a fool.

Then Dante would walk away, and Scarlett would learn what it meant when the Phantom withdrew his protection.

His phone buzzed one more time. Vincent.

V: Boss, are you sure about this?

Dante typed back: The king has been in chains long enough. Tomorrow, they learn what happens when the phantom stops hiding.