Richard's laugh dies into a low and sneers, loud enough for everyone to hear.
"So what are you, Kayla? Some kind of a vigilante? Mafia in drag, pretending to be righteous?
Kayla doesn't answer at first. Her eyes sweep the hall, both Matthew Lee on the floor and his wife, barely conscious.
She kneels by Matthew, checks his pulse, then stands and looks up at Richard with a cold, steady and calm gaze.
"You must remember," she says, voice low and clear,
"power is not only owned by one. If you're holding a prey, there might be a predator for you as well. " That is the last courtesy Richard will allow.
He spits the word "Kill her," and the command slaps the air.
The hall erupting into chaos.
The first shot cracks like thunder. Bullets rip into marble and gold, shards of glass raining down. Kayla slides behind a column and leans out with a compact assault rifle, its kick steady in her grip. Her men scarred, tattooed shadows surge in from the sides, a dozen strong, and hemming.
Rafe , Rafael Cruz, her right hand , moves with the calm violence of a man who's lived in blood too long to fear it. Gunfire beats like a drum. Men stagger and drop, boots slipping on slick marble.
Richard's henchmen try to regroup. A thug lunges at Kayla with a knife, she twists his wrist and slams him into a crate. Rafe steps in behind her, smashing another man into the shadows beneath the chandelier before firing two sharp shots.
Her rifle roars, dropping targets in rapid bursts. When one closes in, she pulls a blade from her belt and drives it deep, dropping him cold.
In an instant, a steel pipe slams against her head. Her vision slowly blurring. She sways, legs buckling, and the floor tilts beneath her. Darkness swallows her as she crashes down, unconscious.
Richard drags Matthew's wife by the hair, sneering.
"Watch," he tells his men. "This is how you get to the throne."
As Kayla is about to lose it completely, a faint memory flickers through her mind. Gone before she can grasp it. Richard halts by his actions, eyes widening , "she's moving again".
Kayla coughs, spiting blood onto the marble. Her hand shakes, but she claws her way toward Matthew, fingers brushing his chest. He's alive, barely. Richard signals sharply, his men rushing in to finish her.
Knives gleam as they close around Kayla. One raises his blade high and drives it down toward her side—
SCHHNK!
The sound cuts through the chaos, metallic and final. The attacker stiffens, eyes wide, then collapses, blood spreading fast across the floor. The knife clatters from his hand.
He looks at Kayla, as she slowly moves with a sword, its steel gleaming in the flicker of broken light. Blood streaks her face, her steps shaky but relentless. Richard's men hesitate. At his sharp signal, they rush forward.
Kayla's sword slices through the first, a clean, brutal strike. Another lunges with a knife, she pivots, the blade flashing in a swift arc that drops him instantly.
Rafe steps in beside her, gathering his strength. His own weapon cutting a deadly path. The hall becomes a battlefield of steel and blood. Kayla moves like the sword itself, precise and merciless,
Soon, the hall lies in shattered stillness. Kayla steps forward with sword in hand. Richard drags himself back, pistol still shaking in his hand, blood dripping from a gash on his forehead and his shoulder. His clothes are soaked, breaths ragged, and chest heaving with eyes wide with panic.
"You… you're getting yourself into big trouble,"
he gasps, voice cracking, blood dripping from his lips.
"You have no idea… what you're doing… You still have a chance… join me… we could—"
Kayla doesn't speak. She doesn't flinch.
The sword rises once, and then falls.Richard goes still. Blood pools beneath him. Finally the hall fades into silence…
----
Hours later — Upper East Side, New York
The room is dim, the glow of the television casting shadows across the walls. Kayla sits back on the couch, a glass untouched at her side. The news anchor's voice cuts through the silence:
"…Richard Graves, the notorious kingpin, found dead inside his East Side estate. Authorities suspect internal disputes, though details remain unclear…"
The door opens. Kayla's assistant moves out quietly as Rafe steps in. He shuts the door behind him, his presence being steady.
"Everything's been taken care of," Rafe says, voice calm. "There's nothing to worry about."
Kayla's eyes stay on the screen. "The family?"
"They're still being treated," Rafe answers. "And since they were unconscious… they don't know it was us."
Kayla nods once, her face unreadable.
The screen flickers, the same news playing somewhere else. A different pair of eyes watches, sharp and burning. Brows furrowed and jaw clenched. The man smashes his glass against the floor, whiskey spraying across it.
"Who is it?" he demands.
His assistant, standing just behind, keeps his voice low.
"We're looking through it, sir. We'll know soon."
The man stays silent for a long moment, gaze fixed on the screen.
Finally, he nods once, slow and deliberate.
----
The Next Day
10:45 AM — Investigation Room, Legal Office
The room buzzed with tension. Chief Officer Marcus Lane stood at the center, his face red with anger. Around him, the investigation team sat in silence, eyes fixed on the screen displaying the headline:
CASE FILE: RICHARD GRAVES — DEATH / MURDER INVESTIGATION
"It was a planned murder," Marcus said sharply, slamming his palm on the table. The sound echoed through the room.
Robert cleared his throat and began,
"We've collected some leads so far. The evidence points to a calculated setup. We need to run a thorough search over the next few days."
Marcus nodded curtly.
"Robert, Daniel, Claire, and Mason, you'll be on this case. Miss Kayla will lead the team."
Kayla gave a short nod, eyes scanning the projected clues.
Daniel: "Looking at the recent court hearing, the prime suspect is Matthew Lee."
Kayla: "He won't do it. He's too fragile for something like this. It has to be someone else. Someone…" She paused, her tone turning sharp.
"Check his recent history, people he have met, calls, movements. Everything."
Marcus shifted uneasily in his chair, clearing his throat.
"Well, as of now, the only suspect we can confirm is Matthew Lee and his family, and—"
Catherine: "They're innocent!" she burst out. "He could never do that! We saw how devastated they were!"
Marcus cut in firmly, "They were present at the location, Catherine! Why would they be in such a restricted area if they had nothing to do with it?"
Catherine: "What if it was Richard? What if he kidnapped them?"
Marcus: "Yeah? And then what, he killed himself out of guilt?"
His tone carried both annoyance and mockery.
Catherine: "No—"
Marcus slammed the file shut. "Enough! We already have a lead, and I want everyone to stick to it. Understood?"
Everyone nodded silently.
"And next time anyone cuts me off while I'm speaking,"
Marcus added coldly, eyes fixed on Catherine,
"consider this your last warning."
Catherine clenched her jaw, eyes narrowing, clearly furious but holding her words. The meeting dispersed.
Kayla walked back to her cabin, the weight of the conversation pressing on her. She opened a small bottle, took a pill, and leaned back. This isn't what she wanted. They were innocent. Just as she was thinking, the door opened. Catherine stepped in, still seething.
"I don't believe them," she said, pacing.
"As much as I wanted him dead, this wasn't the way. This is someone els, someone beyond our reach. Someone who played the game perfectly, left no trace."
She stopped, voice steady now.
"Whatever the chief says, I'll find the one behind it."
Kayla said nothing. Her expression stayed calm, but her mind absorbed every word, every hint. This wasn't the first time she had faced a storm like this.
But deep down, she knew this was far from over.
----
A Week Later
05:24 PM — Mercer Street, New York City
Daemin leaned back in the leather seat of the car, his eyes glued to his phone as it scrolled endlessly through messages and notifications. Beside him, his girlfriend sat in a shimmering mini dress and heels, hair perfectly styled, makeup bold and flawless all eyes on her, every gesture designed to grab attention.
"I want dessert," she demanded stubbornly, lips slightly trembling in a bratty pout. Daemin rolled his eyes, not looking up.
"Get her whatever she wants," he said to the driver without a flicker of emotion. She huffed, clearly wanting it immediately, and kept whining.
The driver pulled over at a random café they found nearby. She leaned in suddenly, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. Daemin barely registered it, eyes still locked on the screen, scrolling, swiping, unfazed.
His secretary had already gone inside to fetch the dessert for the girl. While waiting, Daemin's gaze drifted to the large glass window.
Through the glass, he saw her. The girl from the nightclub, a few nights ago. She was laughing, carefree, moving with an easy joy, completely unaware of the eyes on her.
His eyes darkened. He watched her closely, and then he saw why, the girl at the counter. Simple, almost innocent-looking, completely opposite of the other one.
Daemin smirked faintly, as he noted the name of the cafe: Maple Haven Café, 142 Mercer Street…
He filed it away in his memory. The car engine rumbled, and they drove off. Behind the tinted glass, the scene of laughter and innocence disappeared, leaving only a quiet shadow of observation in Daemin's mind.
---
Few Days Later
12:10 A.M — The Imperial Crown Ballroom, New York City
The grand hall shimmered under a thousand crystal lights. Gold-lined pillars framed the marble staircase. A night that gathered big investors, business tycoons, and the city's most influential faces under one roof. Soft music played in the background, glasses clinked, and faint laughter floated through the air.
"This would work," Kayla said, her voice steady yet laced with quiet satisfaction, before taking a slow sip of wine.
She looked breathtaking tonight, dressed in a strapless ombré gown that faded from black to deep crimson, hugging her silhouette perfectly. The slit at the side gave just the right glimpse of grace and allure. Her dark hair fell in soft waves against her bare shoulders, the soft red tint on her lips matched the wine in her hand.
Every movement she made carried a quiet confidence the kind that came not from attention, but from knowing she already had it. Beyond her government work, she also ran a successful business, a quiet venture she built herself.
She stood beside Adam, her long-time business associate and confidant, as he introduced her to a few new investors. Her tone was polished, every word precise the kind that left people listening just a little longer than they meant to. The faint background music swelled as she smiled faintly, her diamond bracelet catching the light.
Across the hall,
At the other side of the hall, Riven and Edwin were caught up in discussions about their upcoming project. Or at least, Riven was. Edwin's eyes were already drifting away, scanning the crowd with mild boredom. Business talks were never his thing. Meeting new people "especially women" was more his kind of networking. He was almost ready to sneak out and find better company when a sudden hush swept through a small corner of the room.
Mrs. Veynar, Riven's mother walks to them.
She walked in with the same expression she carried everywhere, calm, unreadable, and serious enough to make even confident men stand straighter. Her presence had weight, people automatically adjusted their tone when she joined a conversation.
Riven greeted her warmly, and Edwin quickly abandoned his plan of slipping away. He leaned closer to Riven with a small grin, whispering, "Well, there goes my fun for the night."
Riven tried not to laugh. Edwin sighed, pretending to fix his tie before standing still like a scolded schoolboy. For a while, the night moved in rhythm. Deals, laughter, the swirl of perfume and ambition.
Then Riven's phone buzzed. He excused himself, took the call, and on his way back , a faint scent brushed past him. Familiar, too familiar...
He turned his head slightly, scanning the crowd. A table. A flash of red. A curve of dark hair. And for a fleeting second, time folded. It wasn't the first time I'd felt this pull. The same fragrance, the same stillness before a storm.
The memory of a night at Midtown Café flickered in his mind.
This time, he didn't look away.
She was there, sitting at a table among the others, her profile half-turned as she spoke to someone. The sound of laughter and music faded in the background for a brief moment. As she turned slightly, revealing her full view. The same face. The same quiet intensity.
A small smile touched his lips, almost involuntary.
He didn't know why he waited for this moment,
or what he expected, only that it mattered.
Kayla excused herself from the cluster of people around her, slipping through the crowd toward the grand balcony overlooking the city lights. She needed air, a moment away from the hum of ambition.
Kayla's POV —
The night had gone better than expected. Deals closed, hands shaken, polite laughter exchanged. Yet, somewhere between the success and the noise, my mind wandered. I leaned against the balcony rail, a half-finished glass of wine resting loosely in my hand.
My reflection faint against the glass.
Just then, a gentle voice from behind, calm but somewhere familiar.
"Hey…"