The chandelier sparkled like stars frozen in time.
Velvet curtains. Classical music. The scent of ambition and sin filled the air. It was the kind of night where high society wore their best lies.
Alethea stepped into the ballroom like she owned it.
In a custom blood-red gown that hugged her curves, her lips painted the same shade as revenge, she moved like a ghost of desire. The dagger Julian gave her was hidden beneath the slit of her dress.
"Remember," Julian's voice echoed in her ear through the comm. "You're not here to survive. You're here to dominate."
She scanned the room.
Dominik Kael, the man who betrayed her family. The first target.
He laughed among the elite, unaware that the girl he once tried to destroy had become a storm dressed in silk.
Alethea approached him, her voice a melody.
"Mr. Kael. Mind if I steal a moment?"
He turned, surprised. Eyes tracing her like prey—but something in her stare unsettled him.
"Have we met?"
"Not yet," she said, offering her hand. "But I never forget a face."
---
From across the room…
Julian watched, hidden in the shadows of the upper floor.
"She's good," muttered Zayden Frost, his ally. "Too good."
Julian's jaw tightened. "That's what scares me."
---
Back at the ballroom floor…
Alethea danced with Dominik, their bodies close. Her hand grazed the knife.
"You have power," she whispered. "But even kings fall."
He laughed, oblivious. "Then may the gods protect the weak."
She leaned in, her breath brushing his ear. "There are no gods here."
Just before the music ended, she slipped a tracker into his inner pocket.
Step one: complete.
---
As she walked away, Dominik turned to look at her again. But she was gone—vanished into the crowd like a phantom of vengeance.
Upstairs, Julian met her behind the curtains.
"Well?" he asked.
She handed him a tiny screen. Dominik's location was now theirs.
"I've danced with the devil," she said. "Now it's time to burn his kingdom down."
The private lounge above the ballroom smelled like leather, aged wine, and secrets.
Alethea slipped inside, uninvited.
The music from below throbbed like a distant heartbeat. But in this room, the real game was about to begin.
She turned—and there stood Cassandra Myles, one of her oldest "friends."
Still elegant. Still cruel. And still dangerous.
"Alethea Vione," Cassandra said with a smirk, swirling her wine. "Alive, after all these years. I thought you'd be buried beneath broken dreams by now."
Alethea didn't flinch.
"Disappointed I came back prettier?"
Cassandra laughed, but her eyes narrowed.
"I heard whispers. That you're working with Julian Blackwood. Dangerous move. He only keeps women he can control."
Alethea stepped closer.
"Then maybe it's time someone reminded Julian that some women don't wear leashes."
Their eyes locked. Behind Cassandra stood two guards—silent, trained, ready. But Alethea's fingers brushed the thin blade strapped to her thigh.
Just in case.
Cassandra leaned in. "You're stirring a storm, darling. But don't forget... the people you're trying to destroy? We made you."
Alethea's voice dropped to a whisper. "And now I'm going to unmake all of you."
---
Meanwhile, in the surveillance van outside...
Julian and Zayden monitored the audio.
Zayden frowned. "You think she's ready?"
Julian's expression was unreadable. "She's already burning the world. They just don't know it yet."
---
Back in the lounge...
Cassandra smiled sweetly. "You look like a queen, Alethea. But remember—every queen is just one check away from falling."
Alethea moved toward the door, pausing only to say:
"Then let's play chess."
She left the room, heels echoing like war drums.
She had her first threat.
Her first betrayal.
And the first taste of war.
The private villa in Lake Como was far from prying eyes.
Marble floors. Crystal chandeliers. Walls thick enough to silence screams.
Alethea stood in the grand hallway, dressed in black silk like a storm waiting to strike.
Two billionaires awaited her inside.
Vincent Leclair — the quiet predator. Sharp eyes. Sharper mind.
Leonardo Valez — charming, ruthless, and the most dangerous of them all.
They both smiled when she entered.
"Didn't think you'd come alone," Vincent murmured, taking a sip of his whiskey.
Alethea gave a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "I don't need an army to walk into a lion's den."
Leonardo stepped forward, gaze raking over her. "Or maybe you just don't realize yet… we're the lions."
He reached out, brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear—intimate, invasive.
But Alethea didn't flinch.
"I know exactly what you are," she said softly. "And I came to feed you both something you've never tasted—fear."
Leonardo chuckled. "You came to negotiate, sweetheart. Don't pretend it's anything more."
Vincent's eyes glittered. "Or maybe you came to distract us with that pretty face while Julian steals from under our noses?"
Alethea moved like a whisper, suddenly inches from Vincent.
"If I wanted to steal from you, you'd already be bleeding."
There was silence. Then laughter.
Leonardo leaned against the grand piano. "She's got fire. Dangerous women don't last long in our world."
Alethea tilted her head. "Then maybe you should pray I burn quickly."
---
Unseen above them, in a hidden corridor...
Cassandra watched through the security camera feed, sipping red wine with wicked delight.
"Dance, little pawn," she whispered. "The board's only just begun."
The clock struck midnight.
Lake Como's waters shimmered in ghostly silence.
Alethea stepped out of the villa, heels clicking on the marble steps, nerves stretched tight. Her lips still held the taste of lies—and danger.
She shouldn't have come alone. She knew it.
But before she could reach the gate—
A gun clicked behind her.
"Going somewhere, bella?" a low voice whispered in her ear.
She froze.
Then turned.
It wasn't Vincent. Not Leonardo.
Bram Albert.
The coldest one of them all.
His suit was sharp. His eyes? Sharper. And in his hand, a silencer.
"You thought you could play them," Bram said. "But you forgot me."
Alethea's breath caught in her throat.
"Shoot me, and they'll know," she said calmly.
Bram smirked. "Oh, darling. No one hears a whisper when the world is screaming louder elsewhere."
He raised the gun—
And then—
BANGGG!!!
But it wasn't his shot.
Someone else pulled the trigger.
Bram fell.
Shot clean through the shoulder. Not dead—but disarmed.
A figure emerged from the shadows. Dark suit. Gloves.
Emotionless eyes.
Alethea's voice shook. "Who are you?"
The man said nothing. He took her arm gently, leading her away.
"Wait—why help me?"
Only when they reached the black car did he speak.
"Because you're not the only one they want."
---
In the backseat, Alethea stared at the stranger.
His jaw was sharp, but his soul… unreadable.
"What's your name?" she asked.
He finally looked at her.
"Call me—Caden."
TBC..................