The city never slept.
Neither did the devil when he realized his angel had come back for more than vengeance.
Nathaniel paced the velvet-drenched halls of his penthouse, shirt bloodied from Alfreda's blade, pain thrumming through his ribs—but it wasn't the wound that was killing him.
It was the truth.
She was alive. And now she knew everything.
Almost.
A knock shattered the silence.
Dano entered, soaked in sweat and nerves. "She made contact with Celeste. Barely made it out."
Nathaniel stopped pacing. His jaw flexed. "And?"
"Celeste has an army. A real one this time. She's no longer just the sister playing the shadow. She's got men, drugs, weapons. Rumor is, she's aligned with the Russians."
Nathaniel's eyes darkened. "She always wanted power. Now she thinks she's earned it."
Dano nodded toward Nathaniel's hand. "You're still wearing it."
Nathaniel looked down at the silver band on his finger—tarnished, hidden beneath blood and time.
Alfreda's ring.
"I never took it off," he murmured.
"She saw it?"
"She didn't notice."
"She will."
Nathaniel turned toward the window, staring down at the city that owed him blood.
"She was never meant to find out the truth. Celeste was supposed to rot in her lies, and Alfreda was supposed to be free."
Dano scoffed. "That's not how our world works, boss."
No. It wasn't.
And now it was spiraling.
Elsewhere, Alfreda stumbled through the ruins of her childhood home.
The house Celeste had left to rot.
The house that burned.
She traced her fingers along the cracked wallpaper, the faded photographs, the place where her mother's piano used to sit. Her vision blurred as memories crashed into her.
Then—something glinted under a pile of ashes.
She bent, brushing it off.
A box.
Inside… a photo.
Her. Nathaniel. Celeste.
Smiling. Happy. Young.
But what broke her heart wasn't the picture.
It was what was behind it.
A letter.
Scrawled in Nathaniel's handwriting.
"If you're reading this, it means I failed. I tried to save you. But if you're alive, please know—I loved you. I still do. And I always will."
Alfreda's legs gave out. She sank to the ground, the paper crumbling in her hands.
He tried to save her.
He never stopped wearing her ring.
And yet—
He never came for her.
She didn't know what hurt more.
Meanwhile, deep beneath Celeste's new empire, in the shadows of a luxury club that doubled as a weapons vault, the real twist unfolded.
Celeste lit a cigarette with shaking fingers.
Behind her, a man emerged from the dark.
Sharp suit. Cruel smile.
Lucien Valez.
Nathaniel's cousin.
The one presumed dead.
The one who started the fire… with Nathaniel's name on the kill order.
"You played your part well," Celeste whispered.
Lucien smirked. "And now it's time to finish what we started."