The private jet descended over the velvet skyline of Prague like a silent predator.
Elena stared out the window, her fingers tapping a restless rhythm on the armrest. Below, the city sparkled with the romance of ancient cobblestones and the darkness of secrets buried deep beneath them. Somewhere within that maze of alleys and centuries-old buildings, her mother was being held—treated like an experiment.
Henri hadn't spoken for most of the flight. He sat beside her, jaw set, eyes scanning the dossier again and again as if he could will more answers out of it.
"You okay?" she asked softly.
"No," he said flatly. "Because if what this says is true, your mother's not just a hostage. She's the key to whatever hell Matteo is planning."
Elena turned toward him. "And if she's already broken?"
Henri reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, fingers lingering. "Then we unbreak her. Together."
That word—together—wrapped around Elena like armor.
She wanted to believe it. But somewhere in the back of her mind, a voice whispered:
How long until he chooses his family over you again?
The plane landed in a secured hangar. Within minutes, they were inside a bulletproof SUV with Rhea driving and a new asset in the front seat: a tech prodigy named Jonah, who looked barely old enough to vote but hacked government satellites for breakfast.
"We've tracked digital pulses from the chip that was embedded in your mom's file," Jonah said, pulling up a 3D map on his tablet. "It leads to a psychiatric facility in the Old Town District. Officially abandoned. Unofficially?" He smirked. "It's a black site."
Rhea glanced at Henri. "You're not gonna like this part."
Henri's voice was a growl. "What part?"
Rhea hesitated. "The asylum's chief of security… is your ex."
Elena blinked. "I'm sorry—your what?"
Henri swore under his breath. "No. It can't be her."
"Oh, it's her," Rhea said, handing Elena a dossier. "Meet Ivy Lang. Former MI6. Codename: Widowmaker. Psychologically brilliant, physically lethal, and still has a soft spot for the man who left her in Marrakesh without saying goodbye."
Elena's stomach twisted. She flipped open the folder.
There she was—tall, raven-haired, eyes like shattered glass. Dangerous. Beautiful. The type of woman who didn't just break hearts—she dismembered them.
Henri rubbed a hand down his face. "This complicates everything."
Elena snapped the folder shut. "Why? You think she won't shoot you? Or are you afraid she still might kiss you?"
Henri met her gaze, jaw clenched. "It was ten years ago."
"Time doesn't kill history," she said coolly. "It just hides it."
Silence crackled like electricity in the car.
Rhea cleared her throat. "Ivy's guarding the asylum with a private army and facial scanners. We need a distraction to get inside."
Elena smiled, cold and calculated. "I'll give her one."
Later that night, Elena stepped out of the shadows dressed as the devil herself.
Tight leather pants. A black trench coat. No jewelry—just a pair of red-tinted glasses and the kind of swagger that made men flinch and women look twice. She approached the gates of the asylum under the guise of a weapons broker named Zara Bane—one of Ivy's former clients.
"I'm here for a meeting," Elena said to the guards in Czech. "Tell your Widowmaker the Bane has returned."
The message was sent.
Five minutes later, Ivy appeared at the gate—flanked by two men and carrying a sleek firearm like it was an accessory. Her eyes met Elena's with instant suspicion.
"You're not Zara," Ivy said coldly.
Elena smirked. "Neither are you the kind of woman who plays fair. Shall we skip the lies?"
Ivy signaled her guards to lower their weapons. "Talk."
Elena stepped forward, every move deliberate. "I've come to propose a deal."
"And I should care… why?"
"Because I have something you want," Elena said smoothly. "Henri Castellanos."
That name sliced through Ivy's icy mask like a dagger. Her lips twitched.
"Henri," she repeated. "Well, well. The boy with the mouth and no conscience."
Elena didn't flinch. "He's nearby. Watching. Waiting. I know you still care, Ivy. Otherwise, you wouldn't have stayed behind to guard a ghost."
Ivy took a step forward, dangerously close. "You think you know me?"
"I know what it's like to be betrayed by someone you loved."
Their eyes locked—two women on opposite ends of the same battlefield.
"You want the woman in Room 19," Ivy said eventually. "But getting her out? That's suicide."
"Then maybe I'm suicidal."
Ivy turned away. "You've got one hour. After that, I report the breach and tell Santiago you're on his land."
Elena didn't thank her. Didn't blink.
She just vanished into the dark.
Inside the asylum, Henri met her at the emergency stairwell, jaw tight, eyes filled with twenty questions.
"What happened?" he asked.
"She still loves you," Elena said bitterly. "So she gave us a window. But next time, she won't."
They moved through the corridors, silent as ghosts, until they reached Room 19.
Elena's hands trembled as she slid the keycard Ivy gave her through the lock.
The door clicked.
And there—sitting on the bed in a white gown, eyes vacant and beautiful—
Was her mother.
"Mom," Elena whispered, stepping forward, voice cracking. "It's me. It's Elena."
The woman looked up.
But it wasn't recognition in her eyes.
It was confusion.
And then, terror.
"Run," she whispered. "He's watching. He's always watching."
Henri froze. "Grant, we have a problem."
The room lit up in red.
A voice echoed through the speakers.
"Welcome home, Elena."
It was Matteo.
And now... he knew everything.