The Blake legacy was supposed to be over.
Yet beneath the perfect facade of peace, shadows were already gathering.
The cold winds of the Swiss Alps carried whispers—rumors of a new heir, one that neither Amelia nor Damian had anticipated.
And at the heart of those whispers…
Ethan Blake.
Alive.
And more dangerous than ever.
Amelia sat by the grand window of her secluded safe house, her fingers gently brushing over the fragile silk blanket covering her son.
The child slept peacefully, oblivious to the storm his very existence had ignited.
Outside, snowflakes fell in a hypnotic dance, each one unique, beautiful… and doomed to melt away unnoticed.
Much like the false peace she was now living.
Her mind refused to rest.
Every breath she took was laced with the bitter taste of uncertainty.
Was this truly the end?
Or merely the quiet before a storm far greater than any she'd survived before?
A soft knock echoed through the silent room.
Damian entered, his usually calm face clouded with worry.
"We have a problem," he said quietly, his eyes never leaving hers.
Amelia's heart tightened painfully, her arms instinctively tightening around her child.
"What now, Damian?" she whispered, her voice raw and fragile.
He handed her a sleek black envelope, sealed with the unmistakable Blake family crest.
Her fingers trembled as she broke it open.
Inside was a single photograph.
It showed a child.
Older than her son by a few years.
With sharp, storm-gray eyes and a hauntingly familiar smirk.
A child she had never seen before…
But whose blood undeniably ran with the cursed legacy of the Blakes.
A note was attached.
"Meet your son's brother. And my true heir. — Ethan Blake."
The world tilted beneath her feet.
Her knees threatened to buckle, but she stood firm.
Damian moved closer, his voice low and urgent.
"He's forcing your hand, Amelia. This isn't just a warning. It's a declaration of war."
Tears blurred her vision, but she blinked them away.
She had no room for weakness.
Not anymore.
Her gaze turned steely, her voice cold as ice.
"Prepare the jet, Damian. I'm going back to end this myself."
Damian hesitated.
"And the child?"
Amelia's hand hovered protectively over her son, her heart shattering with the weight of the decision she was about to make.
"Take him somewhere no one will ever find him. He can't be dragged into this war."
She turned to the window once more, her reflection a ghost of the woman she used to be.
The queen of ice.
The queen of shadows.
And as the snow continued to fall, her final whisper hung heavy in the air—
"It's time the Blakes learned what happens… when a mother becomes a storm."
Far across the icy mountains, Ethan Blake stood in a hidden fortress, a small boy at his side.
His son.
And as they both stared into the burning hearth, Ethan's voice was a low, dangerous whisper—*
"Let her come. The throne is waiting."