Diane closed her eyes, fragments of memory pulling her backward. Year one. St Heliera. That was when everything began to shift.
She remembered the acceptance letter—topping every other applicant, her score higher even than the previous year's prodigy, Alexander. News had spread like wildfire. She had been ready to start fresh, but nothing in her life ever stayed simple. Not with her father in the picture.
Draven. Mafia boss. King in the shadows. Father.
He had called her into his study the night before she left. Cigars curled smoke into the air, dim light falling over his raven-black hair and predator's eyes rimmed red like Dracula.
"You want me to charm Steven? If that's what you mean, then it's a big no," Diane had said flatly.
Draven's smirk deepened. "You think your old man would sell his daughter off to an old man? Just what do you take me for in that head of yours?" His eyes glinted dangerously.
"A psychopath." Diane didn't flinch.
Draven's laugh filled the room. "You do know how to compliment me, I'll give you that. But you misunderstood me this time. Your target isn't Steven." He dropped photographs on the desk, smoke trailing from his cigar. "It's his first son. Alexander."
Diane picked up the photo, brows arched. A tall, broad-shouldered young man with his hair tied neatly in a bun, his confidence practically leaping off the page. "That's the bait?"
"Charming, isn't he? A real lady killer. Almost on par with me."
"Does he womanize?" Diane asked coolly. "What type of lady does he roll with? Tall, short, fair, dark, busty—"
"Okayyy, that's enough," Draven cut her off, suddenly uneasy. Diane smirked, waving the photo like a trophy.
"Yiii, nothing good comes when you smile like that," he muttered.
"Well, it's nice doing business with you," Diane replied sweetly. "I look forward to more details—if you come out alive."
The words had barely left her lips before the door opened. Their butler stepped in, head bowed as if in pity. Behind him swept Stephanie, her beauty burning like fire, her cheeks flushed with rage.
"Shapes. Sizes. Busty? Really, Draven?" Her voice was a whip, slicing the smoke in two.
Draven closed his eyes. "Son of a—"
"Mom," Diane greeted awkwardly, still holding Alexander's photo.
Stephanie stormed closer, glaring at her husband. "You're dragging our daughter into your mafia games again? And discussing women like categories?!"
"Now, now, my love," Draven tried, smirk tugging at his lips, "you're misunderstanding—"
"Oh, am I?" Stephanie snapped.
"Technically, Mom," Diane cut in with a snort, "I was the one asking."
"Not helping," Draven hissed.
Then Diana's voice came from the doorway, flat and unamused. "She's right though. Diane may be the flirt, but throwing her into Dad's games? Stupid."
"See?" Stephanie whirled on Draven. "Even Diana thinks this is insane!"
Draven smirked again. "Diana's loyalty is to her twin. She'll follow anyway."
"Stop speaking for me," Diana said coldly. "If Diane jumps into fire, I'll drag her out. Not in with her."
The argument thickened until a small voice piped up. "Um… Mommy? Why's Daddy in trouble again?"
Everyone turned. Little Destiny stood in pajamas, clutching her stuffed bunny, blinking innocently.
Stephanie groaned. "Because your father can't separate family from mafia, that's why."
Destiny tilted her head. "So… is Diane going to St. Heliera or the mafia?"
Silence. Then Diane burst out laughing. "Best little sister ever."
Stephanie snapped, "Not funny!" though her lips twitched.
Draven crouched, ruffling Destiny's hair with a grin. "Don't worry, princess. Your sister's going to Heliera." His eyes flicked back to Diane. "The mafia part is just… extra credit."
---
Later that night, Diane slipped quietly down the hall, laughter still echoing faintly behind her. But once alone, her smile vanished.
She pulled Alexander's photo from her pocket, studying it in silence. Her gaze hardened, sharp and calculating.
"Steven's son," she whispered. "If you're the key to my father's plans… then I'll make you mine. Whether you like it or not."
Her lips curved in something far darker than humor.
Because Diana could break bones and leave blood on the floor. But Diane? Diane could bend a man's heart until he couldn't tell if it was love or ruin he'd fallen into.
That was what made her the sharper blade.
---
"You're serious about this," a voice cut through her thoughts.
Diane turned. Diana stood in the shadows, arms crossed, eyes unreadable.
"You were listening again," Diane teased, though her voice lacked heat.
Diana's gaze didn't waver. "Don't put your life on the line for this. Alexander isn't just some rich boy. And Heliera isn't just a college for rich brats, a hard life awaits you, If it gets too heavy—come to me."
For once, Diane hesitated. "You'd really step in?"
"Always," Diana said simply. "We're different swords. But the same steel."
Diane breathed in deeply, then smirked, holding up Alexander's photo. "Then I'll need your steel sooner than you think. I can't just stroll into Heliera and make him fall. He has to think fate played a hand."
Diana's brow lifted. "So what's the plan?"
"A bar," Diane replied, her eyes glittering. "Upscale. The kind he'd go to. We 'accidentally' meet. Fate does the rest."
Diana gave the faintest nod. "Leave it to me. I'll set the stage."
Diane slid the photo back into her jacket with a mischievous grin. "And I'll steal the show."
Draven leaned against the window, his expression softer than usual.
"Stephanie, let it go. This isn't about power. I just want to help Steven."
Her eyes narrowed in disbelief. "You? Help someone else without gain? You expect me to believe that?"
The words struck deeper than she meant. Draven's jaw tightened, hurt flickering in his gaze.
"Anyone can doubt me in this world," he said quietly, "but not you."
Stephanie's lips parted. The weight of his disappointment sank into her chest. For a moment, the devil looked fragile. She exhaled slowly. "Fine. But on one condition—nothing must happen to you or the children."
Draven nodded, relief hidden beneath a faint smile. "Deal. But answer me this… why stay with a devil, knowing exactly what I am?"
Her lips curved sadly. "Maybe because I'm the only companion made to fit the devil's way… and tame him."
They both laughed, though the sound carried a bittersweet edge. The plan was set.
---
The night of the party arrived.
Diane descended like a queen draped in midnight—her fitted black dress shimmered with silver sparks like constellations stitched into fabric. A sheer net, glittering with the same silver dust, cascaded from her waist to the floor. The front cut short, flaunting her long legs and curves. Crimson lips, wavy black-and-red hair falling to one side, revealing her snake tattoo and dangling silver earrings.
A sight to die for. Men turned instantly, their gazes devoured her. Ancient beauty mixed with modern allure—Caucasian features sharpened by something darker, untamed.
At her side was Daniel—no longer a humble butler, but a striking man with his hair slicked back, a black diamond stud glinting in his ear, broad chest peeking from an unbuttoned purple shirt. Years under Draven's training lent him the aura of a dangerous playboy.
"Guess we owe you one for the disguise," Diana's voice teased in their shared comms.
Daniel smirked. "With Master all these years, you pick up a skill or two."
"Still, your charm speaks for itself."
"Don't tease me, young lord," he muttered, cheeks tinting red.
Diane rolled her eyes. "Flirt later. Focus now."
"I'd never—" Daniel sputtered, his blush deepening.
"Wow, you look like a cooked shrimp. Guess not even Daniel would date you, bro," Diane said dryly.
Daniel froze, caught in her trap. "Th-that's not… I mean, who wouldn't—?"
"There, sister, you have your answer," Diane smirked. Diana's lips twitched mischievously.
"Don't tease my prey, sister. Besides… it's my time to shine."
Diane gave Daniel a look. "En, come take your prey before he burns."
And then Diana stormed in—dramatic as ever.
"Mi amor! So this is where you are… with a new toy?" Her voice cut through the crowd.
Daniel stammered perfectly, his fear convincing. "It's not what you think—"
"What else am I to think?" Diana snapped, her beauty radiant and furious in her white jeweled dress. Where Diane's aura was sharp and dangerous, Diana's was gentle yet commanding.
"Babe, who is this? And why is she calling you mi amor?" Diane feigned shock.
"Uh…" Daniel faltered, but Diana cut in smoothly.
"Excuse me? You can't call him babe—we've been together three years!" She raised her hand, showing a ring. "Engaged last month."
Diane gave her sister a subtle side-eye. You're really milking this. But she played along, her voice breaking perfectly with feigned hurt. "So you do know her. You've been lying to me."
Then—smack. Diane's slap echoed, catching Daniel off guard.
Before he could recover, Diana retaliated—flinging her drink into Diane's face and slapping her just as hard.
The crowd gasped.
Diane staggered, hair clinging to her wet cheek, then smiled inwardly at the sting. Pain and adrenaline thrilled her veins. Perfect.
Daniel, torn between panic and awe, watched as Diana stormed off. With a signal from Diane's eyes, he chased her, leaving whispers swirling.
Diane turned back, her expression dark. The bartender slid her a glass. "Long Island iced tea?"
She downed it in one gulp. "Keep them coming."
---
Hours, thirteen drinks, and countless dances later—Diane had transformed. Her sheer net ripped away, sleeves tugged down into an off-shoulder cut. The dress now clung like a nightclub flame. She twirled under the neon, skin glittering as men swarmed to her. Their hungry eyes followed every sway of her waist.
She was intoxicating. Untouchable. Enchanting.
But one pair of eyes didn't leer.
Alexander Prince.
From the shadows, his gaze burned, cold and magnetic. Watching. Waiting.
"Couz," Jackie plopped beside Kiel at the bar. "Woah. Who's the goddess?"
Alex finished his drink, not looking away. "Don't know. But I intend to."
Jackie groaned. "No fair. I saw her first."
Kiel smirked silently, his gaze sharp.
On the floor, Diane twirled, laughter spilling past her red lips. Then—
A hand. Large. Steady. Commanding.
It caught hers, pulling her from the crowd. The music shifted—deep, sharp, intoxicating. A tango.
The world fell away as she collided into Alexander's arms.
Alexander cut through the crowd—dark shirt rolled to his elbows, posture controlled, dangerous calm in his eyes. When his gaze locked on her, it wasn't attraction. It was calculation. The same way predators measured predators.
He stopped before her, hand extended. "May I?" His voice was deep, casual, yet laced with command.
Diane's lips curved, sly. "Only if you can keep up."
He took her hand. She let him. The music sharpened—low, sultry, dangerous. Tango. Couples spun into place, the bar alive with shifting bodies and restrained heat.
Her body flowed into his lead, but it was no submission—more like two knives brushing edges. Every sway of her hips, a challenge. She circled him like smoke, her long leg sliding between his, brushing dangerously close before retreating with feline grace.
Alexander's jaw tightened. He wasn't used to being toyed with.
Diane leaned back, her spine arched like a bowstring, his hand firm at her waist to keep her from falling. Her eyes never left his. The crowd blurred; the music became their pulse. She spun, one leg hooking over his shoulder for a split second—her heel grazing the line of his jaw. The contrast of silk-smooth skin and her mocking smirk made his breath falter, though he'd never admit it.
Sliding down slow, snake-like, she curled back around him as her hair brushed his chest. His grip tightened on her waist, instinct betraying restraint. The tango snapped forward, their bodies colliding chest to chest, heartbeat against heartbeat. She leaned close, her breath warm on his ear.
"You dance like you kill—precise, calculated. But precision alone… can't win a heart."
Her lips hovered close but never touched. The final note struck.
Diane's last move—a dramatic sweep where she pressed against him, then slid one long leg across his thigh, tracing a line that burned through his self-control.
Suddenly a memory flashed in her head, a man but not this current dangerous mafia she was dancing with but a prince dressed in ancient robes and a golden hair ring holding his pony, pushed roughly even with his clear surrender to an execution ground.
He twirls her again and when their eyes met again, the sharpness in his gaze as he caught her falter during the tango wasn't just recognition of her beauty. It was memory. His own.
Zi Cheng.
The prince in ancient robes. The boy with the zither. The man whose blood once stained the snow.
Their eyes had locked in that bar because, in that instant, her fragment and his past life both stirred awake.
Neither of them fully understood it yet—but fate had already tangled their histories together.
Another image flashed in Diane's eyes as she froze under his questioning gaze
The man in her memory gets kicked in the leg making him kneel as he looks up one more time, his facial structure clear just like Alex's but his face blurred as he smiled then blood splatted everywhere.
Diane lost her composure a bit as she faltered and almost fell but Alex gracefully caught her by hand and spined her back to his body.
A blurry image appeared in his mind also as he saw a little girl playing in the bright sun and a small boy playing the zither gracefully as she danced to his tunes
"You like summer but hate winter why?"
"I don't hate winter, I hate cold days without you"
The memory faded out with both of them taking deep but slow breaths stare at each other for a little longer than normal as the music died.
Applause thundered through the bar, whistles rising, glasses clinking. But Alexander stood frozen.
His hand was still clamped around her wrist—iron, unyielding, thumb pressed against her pulse. Too long. Far too long. The crowd began to murmur, whispers feeding on the tension of two predators locked in place.
From the bar, Jackie's brow arched. "Well, well… look who forgot the dance ended."
Kiel smirked in the shadows. "Not like him to hold on to anyone. Interesting."
Diane tilted her head, her smile wickedly soft. "Careful, Alexander… hold on too long, and people might think you've fallen."
His jaw flexed, but he said nothing. His hand tightened, unwilling to release her. For a heartbeat, it looked as though he might claim something more.
Then, deliberately, she pulled her wrist free. His fingers resisted—just enough for the crowd to notice the strain—before the heat of her skin slipped away like smoke.
She leaned in one last time, her whisper brushing his ear. "See you around…"
She slipped away, swallowed by the crowd.
But Alexander didn't move. His hand was still half-curled in the air, gripping the ghost of her wrist, his eyes burning with something even he couldn't cage.