The leather chair creaked beneath Kalen as he leaned forward, elbows on the desk that once belonged to Viper. His eyes scanned the room — dimly lit, thick with the scent of old cologne, power, and blood.
Everything here was his now.
The empire.
The debts.
The silence Ayla left behind.
But not the closure.
His jaw clenched as he scrolled through the news on his screen.
Leon Moretti at Moreau Gala
Seen With Celeste Moreau – A Possible Alliance?
The photo was harmless to the world. Just a man and a woman standing too close.
But to Kalen, it was war.
Later That Night… Leon's Penthouse
Leon walked in, tie loose, the weight of the evening still in his bones. He hadn't been able to shake Celeste's laugh. Her eyes. The way it didn't feel wrong being next to her. In fact, it had felt… right.
He was pouring himself a drink when the door slammed open.
Kalen.
Eyes sharp. Shoulders tensed.
Leon barely blinked. "Don't you knock anymore?"
"You don't mourn anymore," Kalen shot back.
The glass paused midair.
Leon turned, slow. "Excuse me?"
"She died a few months ago," Kalen growled, stepping closer. "She meant everything to us. And here you are—flirting with her double at a goddamn gala like she never existed!"
"She's not her double," Leon said, voice flat but dangerous. "She's Celeste. That's not my fault."
"But how fast you forgot Ayla is." Kalen's voice cracked at the edges. "You're Leon Moretti. You don't just move on. You don't just… replace her!"
"I haven't replaced her," Leon barked. "Don't twist this."
"You're acting like she never lived!"
Leon's fist slammed the table. "She died, Kalen! And it killed me too. But I don't get to stay buried with her — you think this is easy for me? Looking into a face that feels like home and knowing it isn't?"
Silence followed.
Raw. Heavy.
Kalen's eyes shimmered, but his voice was cold. "Maybe you should've stayed buried."
And then he turned… and walked out.