The day my father died, my seven uncles died with him. Every last one of them, violently, on the same day. Cole Matthews paid with his legs to make it happen. He waged a one-man war on the syndicate, bled them dry, and put me on the throne. "It's okay, Sloane," he’d whispered, his body broken but his eyes fierce. "The monsters are gone. You're free now." For years, while he was confined to a wheelchair, I searched for a cure. I chased down a thousand experimental drugs, knelt in the cold marble of a thousand chapels, praying for a miracle. I would have traded anything, done anything, to see him walk again. When Cole found out the lengths I was going to, he swallowed a bottle of pills one night. After they pumped his stomach and the crisis passed, he just smiled weakly, wiping the tears from my face. "Sloane," he’d said, his voice raspy. "I don't want to be your anchor. You deserve a better life." We held each other and cried that night, swearing that nothing, not even death, would ever make us leave the other's side. That was seven years ago. Today, a girl who looked like she wouldn’t hurt a fly showed up at my door with a stack of a thousand private photos. "Every month, when you were off chasing some miracle cure, groveling for God to fix him," she said, her voice dripping with venom, "Cole and I were finding new ways to sin." She leaned in, her sweet face twisted into a sneer. "Didn't you know, Ms. Blackwood? Damaged goods hold no appeal for a man like him. No wonder he'd rather pretend to be a cripple than lay a hand on you." I looked through every single photograph, one by one. Then I had my people deliver them to the black-market auction house. 1 When Cole arrived, the bidding for picture #999 was in full swing. "Damn, she looks so innocent," a gruff voice boomed from the crowd. "But look at this last one… the things she’s doing are enough to make a dead man's blood boil." Hearing the filthy whispers, Cole's face went dark. And I watched him walk. He wasn't limping. He wasn't stumbling. His stride was powerful, fast, and flawless. The stem of the wine glass in my hand snapped. He stopped in front of me, his tall frame casting a long, oppressive shadow. Seeing the look on my face, the raw violence in his posture softened, and his voice dropped to the low timber I knew so well. "Sloane. She's just a kid, she doesn't know what she's doing. I'll explain everything, I promise. Just call it off." I stared at him, saying nothing. The silence stretched, thick and heavy. Finally, he bent his knees and knelt before me, his handsome face lowered. "If you let her go, I swear she will never cross your path again." He looked up, his eyes pleading. "Sloane, I'm begging you. Call off the auction." The last time they’d tried to break him, when my uncles’ men shattered his legs, he hadn’t uttered a single plea. Now, he was begging me. For another woman. The sight of his desperation was unbearable. I hurled my glass to the floor, where it shattered into a thousand pieces, and slapped him across the face, the sound cracking through the room. He didn't even flinch. He just took it, letting me unleash my fury. When I was done, he gently took my stinging hand and blew softly on the reddened skin. "Sloane, you can hit me, you can scream at me, whatever you want. But Lana… she’s not like us. She can't handle this kind of punishment. It will destroy her." I pulled my hand back, a humorless smile playing on my lips. "Fine." The moment the photos were withdrawn, a visible wave of relief washed over Cole. But before he could speak, a new, more ferocious roar erupted from the crowd below. The main event of the evening was unveiled. Lana, the innocent little rabbit, was curled up inside a massive glass display case, wearing the same uniform from the final, most explicit photograph. The men in the audience, who had been left wanting more, now stared with the eyes of starving wolves. The sound of winner-takes-all private bids echoed through the hall, one after another. I watched Cole’s eyes, saw the red creep into them, inch by inch. But I felt nothing. No satisfaction. Nothing at all. "Sloane, make them stop!" "Mr. Matthews," my butler, Arthur, said from behind me, his voice firm. "It was this woman who chose to provoke the lady of the house. She knew the risks of challenging you. This punishment is merciful, all things considered." Cole's eyes were bloodshot, his hands clenched into fists so tight they trembled. The gavel fell. A portly, red-faced executive eagerly claimed his prize, carrying Lana into a private room. I held Cole’s gaze. "Cole, if we leave right now, I can pretend none of this ever happened." "Cole, save me—" Lana's fragmented sobs echoed from the room. Before I could finish my sentence, he was gone, moving like a lightning strike. A gunshot rang out, and the chaotic auction floor fell silent. The disheveled executive was kicked out of the room, his lower body a mess of blood. Cole, seemingly possessed, threw himself on the man, his fists meeting flesh with sickening thuds. He beat the man until he was an unconscious, bloody heap on the floor. After the body was dragged away, Cole emerged, carrying a tear-streaked Lana in his arms. His gaze met mine. The cold, familiar malice in his eyes sent a tremor through my soul. It was the same look from the darkest moment of my life, a memory I fought every day to forget. Cole had been my father’s most brilliant protégé. During the syndicate's last internal war, my father had sent him overseas on a critical mission. My seven uncles—none of them my blood, all of them hungry for power—seized the opportunity. They drugged me. For forty hours, I was their plaything. By the time Cole got back, I was in a hospital bed. To maintain stability within the family, my father chose to sacrifice me. From that day on, I was diagnosed with severe PTSD. Suicide became a familiar thought, a constant temptation. The last time I tried, Cole held me close. He took a knife and carved seven lines over his own heart, deep enough to leave permanent scars. His eyes then were just as they were now: terrifyingly calm. "Sloane," he had vowed, his blood dripping onto my hands. "One day, I swear, I will make those animals pay in blood." 2 The shadow of that memory washed over me again, cold and suffocating. Before I could steady myself, Lana, still crying, shielded Cole with her body. "Sloane! You think you can control everything, don't you? You're nothing but a broken toy, something everyone's already played with! What right does trash like you have to run the Blackwood family?" The auction house was now dead silent. I could hear the sharp intake of breaths from every corner. Even Cole's face turned white with shock. This was a Blackwood operation. Everyone here knew what my trigger was. And this idiot, this girl, had just dared to pull it in front of everyone. "Cole, I'm not afraid to die. If she has the guts, let her kill—" Before she could finish the word, I put a bullet through her thigh. If Cole hadn't moved at the last second, it would have been her head. Lana nearly fainted from the pain, but she bit her lip, forcing herself to speak. "Cole, don't worry about me. I'm not afraid to die for you, it’s just…" She whispered something in his ear. Cole’s breath hitched. Without another glance at me, he lifted her into his arms and started for the exit. The auction house security moved to block his path. Cole had once been my father's greatest weapon; his skills were legendary. But holding Lana, he was outnumbered. It wasn't long before he was bruised and bleeding. "Ma'am, that woman will be a plague upon you!" Arthur urged, his voice tight with concern. I watched Cole, his eyes feral, a man transformed by rage. And in his arms, the girl whose dress didn't even have a speck of dirt on it. I blinked, my eyes dry and aching. A few tears escaped, tasting like bitter laughter. Whatever last shred of hope I held for him vanished. "Let them go." My voice was flat. "And Arthur? Get me Kian Donovan on the phone. Tell him I accept his offer." … Cole didn't come back for three days. During his absence, news trickled in from Northgate. Every man who had placed a bid on those photos at the auction had met with a… misfortune. Cole was always unhinged. This didn't surprise me. What did surprise me was that Lana still had the nerve to provoke me. She sent a package to the Blackwood estate. Inside was a positive pregnancy test and photos of the bidders, beaten to a bloody pulp. A handwritten note oozed with triumph. "Well, Sloane, what good is all your power now? You’re just the woman who had her womb scraped out. You can never have children." "The baby in my belly is Cole’s only heir. Something you can’t get no matter how many gods you beg." A laugh, sharp and brittle, escaped my lips. I burned the package to ashes. The next day, Cole stormed into the estate. He kicked Arthur into the koi pond, his face contorted with a rage so pure it was murderous. I waved a hand, and my men pulled Arthur out of the water. "What's wrong? Tired of playing attack dog out on the streets?" Cole’s face was a thundercloud. He threw a medical report onto the floor. It was a notice of miscarriage. "Sloane, don't you think you owe me an explanation?" I just scoffed. My dismissal seemed to shatter his restraint. He grabbed my arm, dragged me to his car, and drove like a madman to the hospital. Lana was in a private room, weeping as she clutched a pair of baby dolls. "Because of you, Lana has fallen into a severe depression," Cole said, his voice dangerously low. "The doctors say if she can't get past this, she'll never recover." "You are going to apologize to her." 3 I looked at him, at the utter conviction on his face. I laughed coldly. Me, apologize to Lana? She didn't have the right to hear my apology in her next life, let alone this one. I turned to leave, but a sound from his phone stopped me dead. My blood ran cold. Cole was holding his phone up, a vicious, feral look in his eyes. "Sloane. Don't make me do this." It was the video. The one he swore he had destroyed after he’d killed my seven uncles. The recording of my forty hours of humiliation. Hearing my own screams from that time, a reflexive wave of nausea hit me, and I stumbled to the side, gagging violently. A flicker of pity crossed Cole's face. He started to move toward me, but just then, Lana burst out of her room. The sight of me sent her into a frenzy. "You bitch! You took my baby!" she shrieked. "Cole, our baby is gone! The doctor said I can never have children again!" Her sobs were theatrical, heart-wrenching. "I want her on her knees! I want her to beg for our child's forgiveness!" Cole pulled her into a tight embrace, and any hesitation in his eyes hardened into resolve. "Sloane, you can have the Blackwood empire, I don't care. But Lana and the baby were innocent. You shouldn't have touched them." He looked at his watch. "You have five minutes. After that, this video goes public."
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