The mansion turned into a fortress overnight.
Every window reinforced. Every guard on alert. The scent of war drifted through the marble corridors like perfume—heavy, suffocating, laced with anticipation.
Amira stood before the mirror, adjusting the strap of her black sheath dress. It wasn't armor, but it felt like it. Gone were the soft silks and bashful eyes. She wasn't just the CEO's woman anymore. She was his equal. His partner. His weapon.
"Are you sure about this?" Jordan asked, stepping into the room behind her.
"No," she replied, turning to face him. "But I'm not sitting in the shadows anymore."
He reached for her hand. "You won't face him alone."
---
The Decoy Ball
That evening, the Kingsleys hosted a charity ball—a calculated distraction. Press swarmed the red carpet. Politicians, billionaires, and enemies in designer suits filled the crystal ballroom. All eyes were on the couple at the center: Jordan Kingsley and the mysterious woman on his arm, who had gone from nobody to headline queen.
Cameras flashed.
But behind the glamour, chaos was brewing.
Richard was supposed to crash the party.
They were counting on it.
---
The Mole Revealed
In a dark corner of the mansion, Mila hacked into the security feed, her fingers flying across the keys. Jordan's assistant, Carter, stood beside her nervously.
"Are you sure it's tonight?" Carter asked.
Mila didn't look up. "He's never been one for patience."
Suddenly, static flickered on the screen—and a new image appeared.
A security guard.
One who had passed every background check. One who had served in Jordan's personal security for over two years.
But now, caught slipping a USB into the mainframe.
"Found him," Mila hissed. "And he's not alone."
---
A Dance with the Devil
Meanwhile, on the ballroom floor, Amira's heart skipped as a familiar scent brushed past her. A whisper of danger.
She turned—and there he was.
Richard.
Wearing a midnight suit. Smiling like he belonged.
"I must say, Amira," he said, offering a hand. "You clean up beautifully."
Her smile was razor-sharp. "You shouldn't be here."
He took her hand anyway. "Neither should you. But here we are—dancing at the edge of war."
He led her into a waltz, smooth and graceful. They glided across the marble as if choreographed.
"You really love him," Richard said suddenly.
"I do."
"That makes you predictable."
"That makes me dangerous."
He chuckled, low and cold. "Then let me show you what unpredictable looks like."
From the corner of the room, a flashbang erupted.
Screams followed. Lights cut. Gunfire echoed.
And Richard vanished into the smoke.
---
Lines Are Drawn
Minutes later, the chaos was contained. Security swarmed the grounds. But Richard was already gone—leaving behind a shattered chandelier, wounded guards, and a handwritten note tucked into Amira's clutch.
> You can only run for so long. The bloodline ends with you.
—R
Amira's hands trembled as she read it.
Jordan came to her side, his face hard.
"This ends tonight," he said. "No more distractions. No more games."
She looked at him, eyes blazing. "Then let's burn his world to the ground."