The private jet cut through the night skies like a dagger slicing through velvet.
Inside, Amelia sat by the window, her face pale but eyes burning with a fire that even the coldest winds couldn't extinguish.
Her hands rested on the seat armrests, clenched tight, nails biting into the leather.
Outside, the storm clouds gathered, as if nature itself prepared for the war about to unfold.
Damian stood nearby, his expression unreadable, but his eyes betrayed the storm raging beneath his calm surface.
"Are you sure about this?" he asked quietly.
Amelia turned her head slowly, her lips curving into a bitter, haunting smile.
"I wasn't sure about anything before, Damian. But this… this is the only thing I'm sure of. If I don't end this now, the cycle will continue. My son will never know peace."
Her mind drifted to the boy in the photograph.
The forgotten son.
Ethan's hidden heir.
His face haunted her, those storm-gray eyes identical to the man who had both loved and destroyed her.
What had that child endured? Was he another pawn in Ethan's endless game?
The thought made her chest tighten painfully, as if icy hands squeezed her heart.
The jet touched down on a secluded airstrip.
The Blake fortress loomed ahead, an architectural monstrosity carved directly into the mountain cliffs—cold, imposing, and utterly unwelcoming.
It stood like the last surviving monument to a legacy drenched in blood and betrayal.
Amelia stepped out into the freezing wind, the snow biting at her exposed skin, but she walked forward without hesitation.
Her heels clicked against the stone path with a defiant rhythm.
Every step closer to the end.
Or a new beginning.
Inside the fortress, the grand hall was already prepared—lit by dozens of iron chandeliers, their flames casting monstrous shadows along the high, arched walls.
At the far end, seated on a towering obsidian throne…
Ethan Blake.
He looked every inch the king he believed himself to be.
Dressed in black, his cold eyes bored into her soul.
And beside him stood the boy.
No older than seven.
Sharp-featured, eyes full of something far too dark for a child that age.
He watched Amelia with a strange, detached curiosity, like a prince inspecting a prisoner.
Amelia's voice rang through the grand hall, sharp and cutting.
"This ends tonight, Ethan."
Ethan stood, his long shadow stretching toward her like the claws of a beast preparing to strike.
"On the contrary, my dear," he said smoothly, his voice low and dangerous, "it's just beginning."
With a flick of his hand, the massive iron doors slammed shut behind her.
The sound echoed like the final toll of a death knell.
Amelia took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders.
Her voice never wavered.
"You used me, you destroyed everything I loved… but you will not corrupt my son. Or his future."
Ethan laughed, a dark, hollow sound that bounced off the stone walls.
"You still think you're fighting for a future, Amelia? No… You're just fighting to delay the inevitable. That boy—" he gestured toward his hidden heir, "—is the future. The true Blake legacy. And soon, your son will kneel beside him."
Amelia's heart cracked.
But she stood her ground.
"Never."
Suddenly, the boy took a step forward.
He stared directly at Amelia, his expression unreadable.
"Why do you fight so hard, Mother of Storms?" he asked quietly.
His words hit her harder than any blade.
He was too young to understand the weight he already carried.
And that title…
Who taught him that?
She knelt down to his level, her eyes filling with tears she refused to shed.
"Because I want you to know freedom, little one," she whispered.
"Not chains disguised as crowns."
Before Ethan could react, the boy reached out and took Amelia's hand.
The hall fell silent.
Ethan's eyes darkened, his voice a low, dangerous growl.
"What have you done?"
And as the wind howled outside, the boy turned back to Ethan, his young voice cutting through the storm—
"I choose my own future, Father. And it begins… without you."