When the syndicate’s traitor pulled the trigger five years ago, Corinne threw herself in front of the bullet for me. She wrapped her arms around the gunman and dragged him off the edge of the pier, plunging them both into the churning, icy black water below. The day her battered body was dragged from the harbor, I dropped to my knees so hard the crushed gravel dug deep into my flesh. Right there, choking on bile and seawater, I swore a blood debt against every single person responsible. It took me three brutal years to hunt down the remnants of that faction. When it was done, I hung the heads of all ten conspirators above the iron gates of the shipyard as a warning to the city. People feared me. They whispered that I had turned into a soulless monster who ruled the coastal underworld without a shred of mercy. On the fifth anniversary of Corinne’s death, I bought a dark bottle of industrial pesticide. I walked down to the edge of the exact same pier where she had drowned, unscrewing the cap, ready to swallow it whole and follow her into the dark. Just as the rim touched my lips, a chartered luxury yacht drifted into view through the coastal fog. Music and laughter spilled across the water. To my shock, I saw my own men—the very crew who had sworn their lives to me—boarding the vessel with gift boxes in hand. I set the bottle down and slipped quietly onto the lower deck. I never could have prepared myself for what was waiting on the sunlit upper deck. Standing there in a flowing white bridal gown was Corinne. Not dead. Radiantly alive. And standing beside her in a tailored suit was Wesley—the boy I had pulled out of human trafficking years ago, the kid I had treated more like a brother than a subordinate. Surrounded by the rowdy cheers and applause of my most trusted lieutenants, the two of them leaned in and shared a deep, breathless kiss. My blood turned instantly to ice. Mick, who had backed me on the streets for twelve straight years, turned around and caught sight of me. The color drained from his face until he looked like a corpse. "Boss... please, don't do anything crazy! Corinne is pregnant!" Uncle Frank, the elder who had looked after me since I was a boy, stepped forward and positioned his body directly in front of Wesley. "Jim," Frank said, his voice heavy with weary resignation. "I was the one who told them it was safe to come back. You’ve always been ruthless, uncompromising. You couldn't tolerate a single flaw, so they had no choice but to fake their deaths just to escape your shadow. You run the entire waterfront now. For my sake, let them have their peace." I stared at the circle of men surrounding the couple. Every single gun hand I had trained was shielding them from me. I didn't utter a word. Instead, I raised my firearm and put three rounds clean through the yacht's engine compartment. Sparks showered the deck; the motor groaned and died, leaving the boat dead in the water. "There is only one ending for traitors," I whispered, the sound scraping up from a hollow chest. "Over the railing into the deep, or a bullet between the eyes. Who wants to go first?" … I leveled the barrel directly at Corinne and Wesley. In the next heartbeat, the metallic click of dozens of safeties snapping off echoed behind me. Gun barrels pressed hard against the back of my skull. "Boss, you can't force love," one of them muttered. I slowly looked around the circle, a bitter, burning ache clawing at the back of my throat. The jagged scar across the webbing of my right hand was from when a chamber exploded while I was pulling Toby from a burning warehouse. The deep, purple tissue running from my shoulder down my arm was the souvenir from three days of being beaten half to death in an underground den just to buy Mick his freedom. And now, every single one of them was standing on the other side of my gun. Ace, Red—familiar faces, men and women whose lives I had saved, whose pockets I had lined with gold, who had once sworn on their mothers' graves to follow me into hell. I wiped the cold mist from my face and swept my gaze across them. "Why?" My voice shook. "What did I ever do to wrong a single one of you?" For five agonizing years, they had watched me expand our territory with self-destructive fury. They had watched me slash my own wrists in the dead of night, tearing myself apart with grief until I was barely recognizable as a human being. And not one of them had possessed the decency to tell me that Corinne wasn't dead. "That's enough," Corinne sighed. She parted the wall of men and walked toward me. "Today is my wedding day, Jim. I don't want to turn this into a scene." Her eyes were glacial. She looked at me the way someone looks at an unwelcome stranger blocking the sidewalk. "No explanation?" I stepped forward, my eyes locking onto Wesley trembling behind her. "You lied to me for five years. That's all I get?" Corinne moved with sudden, vicious speed, drawing a snub-nosed revolver from beneath her shawl and pressing the cold muzzle against my forehead. I stared into her eyes. A broken, humorless laugh escaped my chest. "Is this your answer?" Without blinking, Corinne shifted the angle of the gun, pressed it against her own left shoulder, and pulled the trigger. "Bang." The sharp smell of cordite filled the air. She clutched her bleeding shoulder, a sneer twisting her pale lips as blood seeped through the white lace of her gown. "That bullet pays back whatever debt I owed you," she hissed. "Now we're even." Wesley threw himself over her, sobbing hysterically. "Corinne! Why did you do that?!" He snatched at the weapon on the deck, pressing it against his own chest. "I'm the one who betrayed him! Let me pay for it!" Corinne kicked the gun overboard with a sharp kick and pulled Wesley behind her, shielding him with her uninjured arm. "This has nothing to do with you!" She turned back to me, her eyes burning with pure venom. "Jim, we were only engaged. We weren't married! You were obsessive, controlling, and terrifying. You never gave me a reason to walk away, because you would have hunted me down. How else was I supposed to get rid of you except by dying?" My fingernails bit into my palms until they bled. I had truly believed our love was forged in fire. On the night of our engagement, she had looked me in the eye and whispered that she would stay by my side forever. I had believed her so completely that I had been ready to end my life just to join her in the grave. It was all a lie. Every single second of it. Wesley held her tightly, looking at me with red-rimmed eyes. "I'm sorry, Jim... but I truly love her." He looked just as fragile and tearful as the day I pulled him out of that locked container years ago. "Wesley," I choked out. "After everything I did for you?" Corinne scoffed, resting her head against Wesley's chest. "If we're being honest, I should thank you." A cruel, nostalgic smile touched her lips. "If you hadn't constantly sent Wesley to check on me, I never would have realized what real tenderness felt like. He is a thousand times the man you are, you bloodthirsty monster." My lips trembled. But Corinne wasn't finished twisting the knife. "You knelt in the dirt at my empty grave for three straight days and nights," she whispered softly. "Did you know Wesley and I were in the penthouse right across the harbor? We watched you through binoculars. Every single night, watching you weep like a broken dog. It felt fantastic." A hot tear finally spilled down my cheek. "Get off my boat," she said coldly, turning to lean against Wesley as they headed for the upper cabin. "Don't ruin his proposal." Behind them, my own men formed a solid wall across the stairs. "Boss," Mick said softly, avoiding my eyes. "Just walk away." Someone grabbed my wrist from behind, stripping my weapon, and shoved me hard over the railing. I hit the freezing ocean with a violent crash. The salt burned my eyes, and the icy water soaked through my clothes. When I finally dragged myself back onto the empty dock, shivering violently in the rain, I looked down at the countless self-inflicted scars lining my forearms. I pulled out my burner phone and dialed a secure line. "Tonight," I said, my voice dead and level. "Level the central shipping yard. Burn the entire harbor to the ground." ... When the explosions tore through the warehouses and vessels, I stood on the distant shoreline. I watched the multimillion-dollar piers we had bled to build turn into a towering mountain of ash and smoke. Mick and Uncle Frank came sprinting down the road before the flames were even contained. "Boss! What did you do?!" Mick shouted, pointing an accusing finger at me. "If you destroy the docks, how are the guys supposed to put food on the table? How could you be so reckless?!" Uncle Frank shook his head, letting out a long, disappointed breath. "No wonder Corinne chose Wesley. Doing something like this... you've broken everyone's trust." I stared at the two men standing in the glow of the fire. One had grown up alongside me; the other had raised me. Neither of them cared that I was the one who had been ripped apart. "Why didn't you tell me?" I whispered, my voice cracking with five years of suppressed agony. "Five years. You watched me tear myself to pieces. You knew. You both knew!" Mick rubbed the back of his neck defensively. "Boss, you have the docks, you have the money, you have power. You had everything! Wesley only had Corinne!" He glared at me, righteous indignation burning in his posture. "If you weren't such a controlling sociopath, she never would have left you in the first place. Maybe you should look in the mirror for once!" Uncle Frank nodded in agreement. "Every time Wesley came by my place, he brought groceries and medicine. When I was sick in the hospital, he stayed by my bedside for weeks. Keeping their secret was our way of repaying his kindness." Mick chimed in, "When you disciplined me and put me in the clinic, Wesley was the one who nursed me back to health day and night!" I stood frozen. A wave of nausea hit me so hard I nearly vomited. Every single basket of groceries Frank received, every medical bill paid, every night Wesley spent in that clinic—it had all been done on my orders, with my money, under my explicit instructions. Wesley hadn't done a damn thing except deliver my care under his own name, stealing their loyalty with my resources. A wild, hollow laugh tore from my throat. "I ordered him to do every single one of those things. I paid for all of it." Mick blinked, momentarily caught off guard, before scowling. "So what? Intent doesn't matter, actions do. In our eyes, Wesley was the one who showed up!" Uncle Frank grabbed my hand, his tone patronizingly earnest. "Jim, for our sake, let it go. Wesley spent five hard years taking care of Corinne in hiding. It hasn't been easy on him. Besides... she's carrying his child now." My jaw locked. Not a single word would come out. Mick reached into his jacket and pulled out a gold-embossed envelope, shoving it into my chest. "Wesley says the only way the city won't brand him a homewrecker is if you personally officiate the wedding." I looked down at the pristine card. A strange, total numbness washed over me. "Fine," I said softly. "I'll be there." ... Three days later, the news dominated every society page in the state: [Back from the Dead? Heiress Faked Death to Escape Mob King for True Love.] I wore a tailored black suit as I stepped into the cathedral. The moment the heavy oak doors opened, the room fell dead silent. Whispers rippled through the pews. "The butcher actually showed up..." "Keep your head down. If he pulls a gun, stay out of the crossfire." Corinne and Wesley walked toward me down the aisle. She offered me a thin, mocking smile. "At least you know how to follow orders." She shoved a sheet of paper containing the wedding blessing into my hands. My fingers didn't move, and the paper fluttered to the marble floor. "Jim!" she snapped. Then she caught sight of my bloodshot eyes, tracking my gaze down to what Wesley was wearing. A tailored navy silk suit. Five years ago, Corinne had flown to Milan to personally design that exact tuxedo as an engagement gift for me. And on Wesley’s left ring finger gleamed the flawless, eight-carat emerald I had spent millions to win at an underground auction to propose to her. The final ember of warmth in my heart turned to cold, gray dust. Corinne cleared her throat, clearly uncomfortable for a fraction of a second. "The ceremony is starting. Get up to the altar." I stared down at the dusty sheet on the floor. "To have and to hold, from this day forward..." My stomach churned with pure disgust. I clenched my fists. "I'm not doing this." I turned on my heel to leave. Corinne stepped forward and slid a glossy photograph into my palm. In the picture, my younger sister, Mia—who was supposed to be safely studying in London—was tied to a wooden chair, a combat knife pressed against the soft skin of her throat. "Are you sure you want to walk away?" Corinne whispered softly. I stared at her in sheer horror. After my parents died, Mia was the only family I had left in the world. Corinne knew better than anyone that I would burn the earth to keep Mia safe. "Go up there," Corinne commanded, hooking her arm gently around Wesley's, flashing me a brilliant, triumphant smile. "And read the vows." My fingernails cut so deeply into the photograph that the paper tore. I stepped onto the dais, gripped the podium, and spoke into the microphone. "I... Jim Morgan... offer my blessing to the union of Corinne Winslow and Wesley Parrish..." I don't remember how I walked out of that cathedral. All I remember were the flashing cameras and the mocking headlines plastering the internet that evening: [Underworld King Reduced to Coward: Betrayed by Brother, Forced to Bless the Bride.] Corinne’s PR team worked overtime, flooding every comment section: "She had to fake her death just to escape him—any sane woman would run." "He's nothing but a violent thug. True love conquered the beast." I didn't sleep a single wink. The next morning, when I returned to the seaside villa I had purchased years ago, I found all my personal belongings thrown out on the lawn, thoroughly ruined by the overnight storm. The front door opened. Wesley leaned casually against the doorframe, sipping coffee. "Sorry about the mess, Jim," he said smoothly. "Corinne said it was all junk, so we cleared it out." "What are you doing in my house?" I tried to step past him, but Corinne appeared, blocking the entryway. "This property was put under my name five years ago," she said, her voice dripping with irritation. "It belongs to me now." I blinked, dazed. "I bought this for us. As our marital home." "What marital home?" she snapped. "My husband is standing right here. I've already transferred the deed to Wesley. Take your trash and get off our property." She gave me a hard shove. I stumbled back onto the wet grass, catching myself against a soaked cardboard box. As I looked up, the morning light caught a glint of gold on Wesley's chest. Hanging from his waistcoat was a vintage pocket watch—the only heirloom my mother had left me before she died. Rage erupted through my veins. "Give that back! You don't have the right to touch my mother's things!" I lunged forward, but before my fingers even brushed his lapel, Wesley threw his arms up, twisted his body, and threw himself violently down the stone porch stairs. He tumbled down the steps, crashing into the driveway with a sickening crack. "Wesley!" Corinne shrieked. When she saw the pool of dark blood spreading beneath his hips, she turned to her guards, screaming, "Call 911! Get an ambulance now!" ... Inside the private hospital suite. "Ms. Winslow," the surgeon sighed, shaking his head grimly. "Mr. Parrish suffered a severe compound fracture to his femur, and... there is extensive trauma to the pelvic region. I'm afraid his reproductive capability has been permanently compromised. He will likely never be able to father children." Wesley buried his face into Corinne's chest, weeping uncontrollably. "Corinne... what am I going to do? I'm broken!" Corinne rounded on me where the guards had forced me to my knees. Her expression was demonic. "Jim Morgan! You came there on purpose today just to destroy him, didn't you?!" "Slap!" The blow knocked my head to the side, my cheek instantly swelling. "Looking at your face makes me sick!" she hissed, trembling with rage. "If you hadn't controlled the shipping routes, do you honestly think I ever would have let you touch me?" I looked up at her through the ringing in my ears. "I didn't push him." Wesley’s sobs grew louder. "Jim... are you saying I mutilated myself on purpose?" "It wouldn't be the first time you staged a tragedy," I replied coldly. Corinne lost all control. She kicked me viciously in the chest. I was thrown backward, my head slamming hard against the sharp corner of the marble coffee table. Warm blood instantly spilled down my forehead, blinding my left eye. She froze for a split second, her chest heaving, before her face hardened once more. "Have you ever realized that you brought all of this on yourself?" she sneered. "Every time I asked for a dinner date, you were handling 'business.' Every time I wanted a vacation, you had 'shipments to secure.' You never put me first. Everything happening to you right now is pure karma!" She grabbed me by the collar, dragging my face close to hers. "I am giving you one final chance. Hold a public press conference. Apologize to Wesley. Tell the entire city that you were an obsessive stalker who used your power to force yourself between us." Her grip tightened. "Do it, and I let your sister board a flight home. Refuse, and you can collect her in pieces." The agony in my skull was nothing compared to the slow, suffocating death inside my chest. Thinking of Mia, helpless in a dark room thousands of miles away, I closed my eyes. "Fine," I whispered. "I'll do it." ... The next afternoon, I was shoved onto the stage in front of a battery of press microphones. Camera flashes blinded my swollen eyes. I held the crumpled sheet of paper in my shaking hands. "I apologize... to Mr. Wesley Parrish. I was the one who used coercive means to interfere in his relationship with Corinne..." Every single syllable tasted like broken glass. The room erupted into chaos. "You violent psycho! You crippled a man and now you expect a written apology to fix it?!" "Get out of our city!" "On your knees! Beg him for forgiveness!" A rotten egg struck the side of my face, its foul liquid dripping into my collar. I stood there, frozen beneath the glaring lights, unable to breathe. "That's enough," Corinne’s voice rang out from the side of the room. Her security detail dragged me off the stage and threw me into the back of a black SUV. A heavy duffel bag was tossed in after me. "This car takes you straight to the cargo dock," she said through the tinted window. "Mia is already on the freighter. Take this cash, get on that boat, and never set foot in this city again." She slammed the door shut. Through the glass, I watched her gently push Wesley's wheelchair away, looking down at him with tender devotion. I leaned my head against the cold leather seat and closed my eyes. ... In the penthouse lounge, Wesley was excitedly flipping through travel brochures, planning their honeymoon. But Corinne was staring blankly out the panoramic window. "Corinne? What's wrong?" Corinne blinked, trying to shake the image of my hollow, bloodstained face from her mind. "Nothing," she muttered, rubbing her temples. Suddenly, her private phone began to ring incessantly. She tapped the speaker button. "Ms. Winslow! Something terrible has happened!" her operations manager screamed over the line. "The freighter carrying Jim Morgan... it just suffered a massive explosion three miles off the coast!"
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