The night was cloaked in a heavy mist, the kind that seemed to whisper as it moved across the streets. Elena stood on the balcony of her penthouse, looking down at the city. Below, the lights flickered like dying stars, unaware of the chaos that simmered just beneath the surface.
Her father's death had changed everything. Now, it was her kingdom to rule—and every decision felt like a blade at her throat. But it wasn't just the family business that kept her up at night. It was Lucien. His presence haunted her thoughts, his arrogance, his raw power. She could still feel the heat of his gaze from their last encounter—unsettling and undeniable.
Her phone buzzed, the screen lighting up with a message from Matteo. "We need to talk. Something's wrong. Call me."
Elena's stomach tightened, and she turned back into the room. She grabbed her coat, heading for the door.
The private club was empty when she arrived, save for Matteo, who stood by the bar, a glass of whiskey in hand. He looked up as she entered, his eyes filled with unease.
"You're late," he said, though there was no bite to his words. He was on edge.
"Don't tell me," she replied, crossing the room. "Another shipment gone missing?"
He nodded. "Not just that. There's something bigger going on, Elena. A rogue group. They're pulling strings from the shadows. And I think they're working with Blackthorn."
Her heart skipped. "Lucien?"
"I don't know," Matteo said. "But there's more than one wolf at play here. And we're being set up."
Elena's eyes narrowed. "Set up for what?"
"An all-out war."
The air between them crackled with tension. Elena knew the risks of playing this game. She had lived it all her life. But now, she could feel the walls closing in, the threat no longer just whispers in the dark but something real, something she could touch.
"I need to talk to him," she said, resolve hardening her voice.
Matteo's gaze sharpened. "You sure that's a good idea?"
"I don't have a choice."
Lucien Blackthorn was waiting for her.
He stood in the shadows of the abandoned warehouse, his arms crossed, eyes glinting with the same quiet confidence she had come to expect. But tonight, there was something darker behind those eyes—something dangerous.
"Elena," he said, his voice low and deliberate. "You're here. Surprised?"
"No," she replied, her tone icy. "I needed answers."
He stepped closer, his presence filling the room. "And you think I have them?"
"I think you know something," she shot back, her eyes never leaving his. "I think you're playing both sides. And I'm done being your pawn."
Lucien's smirk was sharp, dangerous. "You think I'm playing you? You're mistaken. I've always told you where I stand. It's you who doesn't know which side you're on."
Her pulse quickened. "Don't make this personal."
He took another step, closing the distance between them. "It already is, Elena. It's always been personal."
Her breath caught. She should have stepped back. She should have retreated to safety. But instead, she stood frozen, caught between fury and something else—something she couldn't name.
Lucien's eyes flickered to her lips. The tension between them was palpable, like a wire pulled too tight.
And for a moment, Elena wondered if the real war was not just with enemies from outside but the battle raging inside her