Alexander didn't sleep. He didn't pace. Didn't drink.
He sat in the dark, staring at the paused image of his mother's face on Yuna's phone screen.
Alive.
Laughing.
With the very man who'd gutted her company and profited from her grief.
The Eastins.
Yuna stood by the window, phone pressed to her ear.
"I need answers," she said quietly. "Real ones."
On the other end, Austin spoke with a hint of restraint. "We're pulling everything we can. If Alexander's mother really is alive—and cooperating with your father—this goes deeper than anything we've guessed."
"It's not a guess anymore," she whispered.
When she hung up, the silence between them stretched.
Alexander finally spoke. "She lied to me. Faked her death. Let me become a monster in her name."
Yuna turned to him. "You weren't a monster."
"I turned revenge into oxygen," he said. "That's not normal."
"No," she replied. "But it is honest."
That made him look at her.
Really look.
"You don't flinch when I admit these things," he said.
"Why would I? I'm building my vengeance cathedral," she muttered. "You just got the permits faster."
He gave a short, bitter laugh. "Cathedral?"
She shrugged. "If I'm going to burn everything down, I might as well make it look like art."
Three hours later, they sat in the underground bunker of Wolfe Tower—an off-the-books space used only when things got volatile. Tonight qualified.
Austin brought printed reports, surveillance footage, financial records—all pointing to one shared thread:
Eastin Holdings was suddenly liquidating assets—fast.
"You think they're running?" Yuna asked, flipping through a list of shell companies.
"No," Austin said. "I think they're positioning. Your father's not known for surrender. If he's liquidating, it's because he's preparing for something big."
Alexander's jaw clenched. "He's going on the offense."
"But why now?" Yuna asked. "He already won. He took my wedding, my reputation—"
"He didn't take your power," Alexander said quietly. "That's what he wants next."
Austin added, "And maybe it's not just about you anymore. With your connection to Alexander, you're not just a nuisance. You're a liability to their future."
"Which means," Alexander finished, "they won't settle for humiliation this time."
By sunset, they had a plan.
They would attend the Legacy Foundation Ball—an elite annual event that gathered the city's most powerful players, including the Eastins.
Alexander's team would bait the trap.
Yuna would spring it.
They'd test who blinked first.
But as she prepared—slipping into a skin-tight silver dress, her hair swept up in a braided crown—she couldn't ignore the tremor in her chest.
Not fear.
But the weight of what it meant to finally fight back against her own blood.
Alexander met her at the elevator.
His gaze lingered. "You look lethal."
"Good," she said, forcing a smile. "I intend to be."
The ballroom sparkled with chandeliers and deceit.
Everything smelled of champagne and corruption.
Yuna's heels clicked like gunfire as she walked beside Alexander through the arched entrance, heads turning as whispers bloomed in their wake.
She spotted her father immediately.
Clutching a drink. Laughing too loudly. Pretending he wasn't bleeding influence behind the scenes.
And then Elsa.
Dripping with gold and smugness.
David followed two steps behind her like a ghost.
Yuna caught Elsa's eye and gave a smile that promised blood.
"Stay close," Alexander said low in her ear.
"I'm not scared," she replied.
"I didn't say you were," he murmured. "But tonight, they won't strike from across the room. They'll strike up close."
They didn't wait long.
Halfway through the night, during a seemingly harmless toast, Elsa slid beside Yuna with a champagne flute and a syrupy voice.
"Sister," she purred. "You look... sharp."
"Careful," Yuna said, turning slightly. "You're within slapping range again."
Elsa laughed, but her eyes glittered. "You're still bitter. That's so tragic."
Yuna tilted her head. "And you're still afraid. That's even worse."
"I'm not afraid of you," Elsa said.
Yuna leaned in. "You should be."
She walked away before Elsa could reply—knowing the moment would replay in headlines by morning.
Power wasn't in words anymore.
It was in the timing.
While Yuna stirred rumors on the ballroom floor, Axander cornered an old ally-turned-foe near the cigar lounge—Edward Marrs, a board member who'd flipped on the Wolfe family years ago.
"You know who sent the cracked rook," Alexander said bluntly.
Marrs flinched. "I don't get involved in revenge games."
"You were born in one," Alexander shot back. "So stop pretending."
Marrs hesitated.
Then: "There's a new player in town. Calls himself Rook. No real name. But he's buying silence and trading secrets like stocks. Word is, he has leverage on your mother. And your girl."
Alexander froze.
"What kind of leverage?"
"I don't know," Marrs muttered. "But I heard something. One word."
"…What word?"
Marrs looked around. Whispered:
> "Concord."
Alexander's pulse slammed.
That word hadn't been spoken aloud in over a decade.
Back at Wolfe Tower, hours later, Yuna peeled off her heels and collapsed on the bed.
Alexander didn't speak as he poured two glasses of whiskey and handed her one.
Then he said, "Do you know what Concord means?"
Yuna shook her head. "A plane?"
"It was a code name," he said. "A covert project. A financial manipulation plan started between my mother and your father before either of us were born."
Her glass paused halfway to her lips.
"You're saying… they've been linked to this whole time?"
"Not just linked," Alexander said. "They built something together. Something global—buried the moment it became too dangerous."
Yuna's mouth went dry. "Why would my father keep that from me?"
He met her gaze. "Because you weren't supposed to know."
She stood, pacing. "This goes beyond scandal. We're talking legacy warfare—reputation, bloodlines… everything.
"Bloodlines and blackmail," Alexander finished.
Then his phone buzzed.
One new message.
No text.
Just a photo.
It was a shot from a hospital security cam. Grainy. Colorless.
It showed a young woman.
Bruised.
Bleeding.
Strapped to a gurney.
The timestamp: seven years ago.
And her name on the file folder:
> Yuna Eastin.
Yuna stared at the screen in silence.
Frozen.
Alexander looked at her, eyes narrowing. "What is this?"
But Yuna didn't answer.
Because she remembered.
And suddenly, everything—the lies, the deals, the betrayal—wasn't just about her family's greed.
It was about something she'd buried.
Something someone was now digging up.
And the knife?
It had her name on it.