The guards dropped before they realized death had slipped through the gates.
Alfreda moved like a shadow laced with vengeance. Rain slicked her leather coat, lightning lit the sharp line of her jaw, and every step was silent, precise, final.
Two down by the main gate.
One in the hallway.
Another outside the west wing door.
No alarms. No noise. Just bodies cooling under the storm.
She didn't break a sweat.
She didn't blink.
She was here for blood.
Inside the west wing study, the fire crackled lazily, oblivious to the chaos slithering toward it. The air smelled of aged scotch, expensive cigars, and arrogance.
Nathaniel stood with his back to the door, one hand cradling a drink, the other tucked in his pocket.
"You're late," he said without turning.
Alfreda didn't answer.
She just stepped in, rain dripping from her fingertips, gun cocked and steady.
"You always did love a dramatic entrance."
"I'm not here for theatrics," she said coldly. "Where is Mara?"
He finally turned, the fire painting golden shadows across his sharp cheekbones. His shirt was open halfway, revealing a fading scar just beneath his collarbone. Her eyes flicked to it. Then away.
"She's safe. For now."
"You'll lose your tongue if you don't answer properly."
He smirked. "Is that what you're taking first?"
She moved like lightning, slamming the butt of the gun across his face. He stumbled back, blood spilling from his mouth, but he didn't retaliate. Just looked at her like a man savoring pain.
"Still as ruthless as I remember," he murmured, wiping his mouth. "Maybe more."
"You don't remember me at all," she snapped.
Nathaniel's eyes searched her face, his brow creasing ever so slightly.
"I do. I just didn't believe you were real."
"I stopped being real when you left me to die in that fire."
His voice dropped to a murmur. "I didn't leave you."
She scoffed. "You always were good at lying with a straight face."
"I pulled you from that house."
Her stomach twisted.
"I saw your body in my arms," he continued. "You weren't breathing. I stayed until the flames touched my skin. Until I was shot trying to get you out again. You think I left you? I died that night too."
"No." Her voice cracked. "No. Don't do that. Don't make yourself the victim."
"I'm not. I'm just telling you the truth."
Alfreda backed away slightly, gun still trained on him, but her hands trembled now. The storm outside rattled the windows. Her pulse pounded in her ears.
She couldn't believe him.
She wouldn't.
She'd built this entire identity—this entire war—on the truth that he had betrayed her. Left her.
The boy she once loved became the monster she came back to destroy.
He couldn't ruin that.
"I buried you in my mind," she said. "And I swore if I ever saw your face again, I'd end you."
"Then do it," he said, stepping forward. "Put one between my eyes, Alfreda. Do it, and be done with this."
Her finger hovered over the trigger.
But she didn't shoot.
Instead, she moved. Fast. The dagger came out of her sleeve, slicing across his side.
He gasped, stumbling back, blood blooming on his shirt.
"That's for Mara."
She kicked his knee in, sending him crashing to the floor. Before he could recover, she straddled him, blade against his throat.
"You think I won't finish this?"
"I think…" he said, barely breathing, "…you still don't know the whole story."
The fire flickered behind them. Rain slammed the windows harder. Somewhere, lightning split the sky like an omen.
"What story?" she hissed.
"You want the truth?" he rasped. "Ask your sister."
She froze.
Her hand went slack against the blade.
"My what?"
"Celeste."
Alfreda blinked.
Impossible.
"Celeste died years before the fire," she whispered. "She—"
"She didn't," he cut in. "She's alive. And she's the one who wanted you dead."
"You're lying."
"She paid off the hit. I found out too late. And when I tried to stop it, they shot me and left me for dead."
Alfreda stared at him like she'd never seen him before. Her mind whirled, images crashing in like waves—Celeste crying at the hospital, begging for justice, swearing vengeance for her sister.
Was it all a show?
"No," Alfreda muttered. "No, no, no—"
She stood up abruptly, backing away, shaking her head.
He coughed and sat up slowly, pressing a hand to his bleeding side. "You want revenge, Alfreda? Start with the one who truly betrayed you."
She turned, storming out of the study.
He didn't follow.
He knew she wouldn't go far.
She never did.
Back in the car, Alfreda sat in the dark, hands still trembling. Aurelio sat beside her in silence.
She didn't speak for a long time.
Then finally, her voice came low, shaken.
"She's alive."
Aurelio looked up sharply.
"Celeste?"
Alfreda nodded.
"She's alive. And she set the whole thing up."
"You're sure?"
"She tried to kill me."
"And Nathaniel?"
She closed her eyes.
"I don't know."
"Do you still want him dead?"
Alfreda hesitated.
Then whispered, "I don't know that either."