Serena's POV

She shrugged, smug. “Still more than you.”

That was it.

I slapped the phone out of her hand.

It hit the marble floor with a sharp crack that echoed through the guest wing like a gunshot in a quiet room.

Natalie barely flinched before I was on her.

My hand closed around her throat.

Not enough to kill.

Enough to remind her what world she was standing in.

We slammed into the bedside table. A glass vial rolled off, hit the floor—

Then shattered.

The smell hit me first.

Gasoline.

My stomach dropped.

“Natalie—what the hell did you do?”

She smiled.

That same calm, sick little smile.

Then she flicked a lighter.

One spark.

That was all it took.

Fire didn’t grow.

It answered.

It burst across the carpet like it had been waiting under the surface the entire time, climbing the curtains, eating the walls, turning the room into a burning cage.

“Stop—!” I coughed, stumbling back as smoke filled my lungs.

Natalie grabbed me, shoving hard. We both hit the floor, scrambling as the fire split us apart like a blade.

Heat bit into my skin instantly.

The air turned sharp. Poisoned.

Somewhere in it, she screamed.

And then I fell.

---

“Serena!”

The voice cut through the chaos.

Nico.

At the doorway.

Black suit, smoke already curling around him, security men behind him trying to hold him back.

“Don’t go in, Don—!”

“Get off me!”

My chest tightened.

For one stupid second, I thought—

He came for me.

I pushed myself up, choking on smoke. “Nico!”

My voice cracked.

“I’m here!”

Natalie’s voice followed immediately behind me, soft, broken, perfectly timed.

“Nico… please…”

And everything in him shifted.

I saw it.

The switch.

He didn’t hesitate.

Didn’t look at me.

Didn’t even search the room.

He ran straight past me.

To her.

---

After that, everything blurred.

Smoke. Heat. Screams. The estate burning like a funeral pyre for something that was already dead long before the fire reached it.

I don’t remember deciding to move.

I just did.

Survival isn’t a choice in this world.

It’s instinct.

Pain hit first—then something deeper.

Not transformation.

Not magic.

Just the body refusing to die when it wasn’t finished yet.

My senses sharpened through the smoke. Every exit. Every draft. Every crack in the structure.

I grabbed my bag with shaking hands and ran.

Glass exploded as I threw myself through the window.

It tore into my side.

I didn’t stop.

I hit the ground hard, rolled once, coughed until my lungs burned raw.

Behind me, the estate roared.

The Don’s house.

The Vescari Syndicate’s pride.

Now just fire and collapsing lies.

I didn’t look back.

I ran through the service path. Through darkness. Through pain that didn’t matter anymore.

Until I found the gate.

Unlocked.

Left open like someone had already decided I didn’t need to be caught.

And I kept going.

Even when my legs gave out.

Even when my breath turned shallow.

I didn’t stop until the estate was gone.

---

The terminal was too quiet.

Like the world didn’t know I was supposed to be dead.

I sat in a corner seat, wrapped in a borrowed coat, blood dried at my side, hands still shaking slightly from adrenaline that hadn’t fully left.

My phone buzzed.

Nico.

Don’t play games, Serena. I don’t have time for hide-and-seek.

I stared at it.

No tears.

No rage.

No heartbreak left to spend.

Just emptiness where everything used to be.

Then I powered the phone off.

And for the first time in nine years—

Nico Vescari didn’t have a signal to reach me.

Nico’s POV

[Tomorrow at 10 AM, Natalie’s prenatal exam. You’ll accompany her. And get your lungs checked while you’re at it.]

No reply.

Not even a read receipt.

At the time, I didn’t think much of it.

Serena had always been like that when she was upset—quiet, distant, then she’d come back around like nothing ever happened.

But this silence… felt wrong.

Not emotional.

Final.

---

The next morning, Vescari Medical Clinic was already cleared by Syndicate order.

No civilians. No press. Just trusted doctors and armed men in plain suits posted at every corridor.

Natalie clung to my arm the moment we stepped out of the car.

“Nico… is the baby okay?”

“Stable,” I said. “No damage from the fire.”

She exhaled like she’d survived a war.

I should’ve felt the same.

Instead, my mind kept slipping.

Serena’s face.

That last moment in the smoke.

Not fear.

Not pleading.

Just… that look.

Like she had already accepted something I hadn’t.

---

After lunch, I dropped Natalie back at the estate and headed straight to the council hall.

Steel doors. Fingerprint locks. Armed guards at every checkpoint.

The kind of place where decisions got made that never made it to the news.

My phone stayed silent the whole drive.

Too silent.

My beta met me at the entrance.

“Sir. Chairman Morgan’s returned. Summit starts tonight.”

I nodded, but my focus wasn’t there.

“Serena still unaccounted for,” I said.

My beta hesitated. “No clinic record. No gate exit. No surveillance hit.”

I stopped walking.

“No trace at all?”

“None, Don.”

That shouldn’t have been possible.

In my world, people didn’t disappear.

Not unless someone made them.

I exhaled slowly. “Check every Syndicate checkpoint. Every port. Every private strip.”

“Yes, Don.”

I started walking again.

Then, without thinking, I added, “Send gifts to Norththorn Holdings.”

My assistant blinked. “For Mrs. Natalie?”

A pause.

Something about the question felt wrong.

“…Send it to the Sterling estate,” I corrected.

Because that’s where Serena always returned to when she was angry.

At least, she used to.

---

A week passed.

Business didn’t stop.

The Syndicate never did.

Border disputes. Weapons shipments. Council negotiations. Three families trying to test loyalty lines.

Normal chaos.

Except nothing felt normal.

It was just after midnight when I came back from a patrol briefing.

The estate was dark.

Except for one light in the living room.

A silhouette on the sofa.

Silk dress. Bare shoulders. Familiar posture.

For a second—

Relief.

“Serena,” I said, almost under my breath. “I told you… I always come back. You don’t need to—”

I stopped.

It wasn’t her.

Natalie.

She looked up slowly, disappointment flashing across her face before she masked it.

“Nico…”

My jaw tightened.

“She still hasn’t come back,” she said softly. “Not even once.”

I loosened my tie. “She’s being dramatic.”

But my voice didn’t land the way it used to.

Natalie’s eyes glistened. “I apologized. I even tried reaching her. Maybe she just hates me too much now.”

I sat beside her out of habit more than thought.

“Don’t stress,” I said, brushing her hair back. “It’s not good for the baby.”

She leaned into me like it was natural.

“Then… what if she never comes back?” she asked.

A pause.

I didn’t answer right away.

Instead, I said, “This is your home now.”

A beat.

“…Whether she accepts it or not.”

The words should’ve felt like closure.

They didn’t.

---

Later that night, I stood on the terrace.

The city below was lit like a map of everything I controlled.

Everything except one missing point.

I lit a cigarette.

First one in years.

Didn’t help.

Didn’t even take the edge off.

My phone was already in my hand before I realized it.

Serena.

Still saved.

Still there.

Still not erased.

My thumb hovered over the call button.

Didn’t press it.

Instead, I typed:

Tomorrow is Chairman Morgan’s birthday. Stay quiet. Don’t provoke Natalie.

I stared at it.

For too long.

Then sent it.

The wind cut harder across the terrace.

And for the first time in years…

Nico Vescari felt something he couldn’t order, negotiate, or eliminate.

Uncertainty.

Nico’s POV

Chairman Morgan’s 80th birthday was the kind of gathering where nothing was accidental.

Every glass of whiskey was measured. Every handshake was a negotiation. Every smile in the Grand Hall of the Morgan Estate meant something darker behind it.

Old families. Syndicate heads. Business fronts that hid blood money under polished speeches.

And tonight, I walked in with Natalie on my arm.

Her pregnancy had started to show. Enough that eyes followed her instantly—calculating, whispering, measuring succession lines and leverage.

I didn’t react.

In our world, emotion was just another weakness people used against you.

Still… my grip on her felt wrong.

Not because of her.

Because of absence.

Serena wasn’t here.

My grandfather, Chairman Morgan, entered through the main doors like he still controlled half the continent. Even at eighty, he didn’t walk like a retired man—he walked like a man who still signed death warrants with a pen.

His eyes locked onto me immediately.

“Where is Serena?”

No greeting. No pleasantries.

Just that.

I didn’t hesitate. “She’s preparing your gift. She’ll arrive later.”

He studied me for a second too long.

Then he moved on.

But the question stayed behind like smoke.

---

Two hours passed.

Dinner. Toasts. Syndicate families exchanging smiles that didn’t reach their eyes.

I should’ve been listening to the speeches.

I wasn’t.

My gaze kept drifting to the entrance.

Every time the doors opened—

Nothing.

Natalie leaned in slightly. “You’re distracted.”

“I’m fine,” I said.

But I wasn’t.

Because Serena didn’t miss events like this.

Not for months.

Not for anything.

---

When the doors finally opened again, it wasn’t her.

It was a courier.

Black suit. Neutral badge. Morgan logistics seal.

The room shifted instantly.

A Syndicate courier didn’t enter a gathering like this unless it was sanctioned at the highest level.

“Delivery for Chairman Morgan,” he announced. “From Mrs. Serena Vescari.”

My chest tightened.

That name always did that.

Before I even thought, I stepped forward.

“Give it here.”

The courier didn’t move. “Instructions were direct. Delivery to the Chairman only.”

Of course.

Serena always did things properly.

Even when she was cutting you out of her life.

I stepped back.

“Then do it.”

The courier crossed the hall and placed the first box in front of my grandfather.

Silence fell.

“These are from Mrs. Serena,” he said. “Her birthday wishes.”

My grandfather frowned slightly. “She didn’t come?”

No one answered fast enough.

The courier only repeated himself.

“I was instructed to deliver only.”

That’s when I felt it.

Wrong.

Not dramatic.

Not loud.

Just that instinct you develop when you’ve survived enough Syndicate meetings to know when something has already shifted.

The first box opened.

Inside—hand-stitched embroidery.

Not store-bought. Not commissioned.

Made.

My grandfather’s expression softened slightly.

“She made this,” he said.

I knew.

I had seen her working on it at night. Bleeding fingers. Refusing help. Saying it was “just a gift.”

The second box opened.

A velvet case.

Inside—Morgan heirloom jewelry.

My grandmother’s set.

The same one Serena wore on our wedding day.

My throat tightened without permission.

Why would she send that back?

My grandfather’s face shifted. More serious now.

Then the third box was placed down.

I moved before anyone else could.

“Nico—” my grandfather warned.

Too late.

I took it.

Tore it open.

And stopped.

Everything stopped.

Inside—

Serena’s wedding ring.

Cold metal. Familiar shape. Final.

Under it, a folded note.

My hand didn’t move for a full second.

Not because I didn’t want to.

Because something in me refused to accept what it already knew.