Chapter 48 —
I didn't call the police.
I didn't call Kieller either.
Some truths need silence to surface.
By morning, the villa looked untouched again—no broken walls, no bodies, no symbols. Just polished marble, controlled light, and a calm expensive enough to fool anyone who didn't know where to look.
I knew exactly where to look.
I stood in the security room, hair tied back, sleeves rolled, eyes sharp. Every screen was live. Every corner accounted for. I had reconfigured the system myself at dawn—not to keep him out.
To invite him in.
Men like Aren Blackwood didn't stop after the first move. They returned—to confirm dominance, to test reaction, to enjoy the hunt. And he'd already decided the villa was his stage.
So I gave him better lighting.
I began with patterns.
No names. No faces. Just movements.
The coin symbol had appeared before—years ago, buried in corporate filings, shell companies, hostile takeovers that left nothing but ash and silence behind them. The same method. The same patience.
This wasn't random violence.
It was inheritance.
By noon, I had three names. By evening, I burned two of them myself—false trails, bait designed to look sloppy. If he was watching, he'd dismiss them.
Which meant he'd come personally.
I changed into something deliberate after sunset. Not armor. Not seduction.
Authority.
Black trousers. High-neck blouse. Bare wrist—no bracelet tonight. If he was Kieller's past, I wasn't wearing his reminder.
The villa lights shifted automatically into night protocol.
And I waited.
At 11:47 p.m., the perimeter flickered.
Not breached.
Acknowledged.
A shadow crossed the outer camera—slow, unhurried. Someone who knew exactly where the blind spots lived because he'd helped design them once.
"You're predictable," I said softly, watching him approach.
I didn't move from the center of the living room. I wanted him to find me still—calm enough to irritate him.
The door opened without force.
Aren stepped inside like he'd never left.
"You made changes," he observed, eyes sweeping the space.
"Yes," I replied. "You noticed."
"I always do."
"I hoped so."
He stopped a few feet away, studying me the way men do when they realize the terrain bites back.
"You're hunting," he said.
"I'm confirming," I corrected. "There's a difference."
He smiled faintly. "And what have you confirmed?"
"That you didn't come for power," I said, circling slowly. "You already have enough. You didn't come for revenge either—revenge is messy. You came because something unfinished pulled you back."
His jaw tightened. Barely.
"Careful," he said. "That's close."
"Close enough," I replied. "You're not an enemy born of ambition. You're an enemy born of blood."
Silence snapped between us.
Then—laughter. Low. Genuine.
"Kieller always did underestimate how fast you'd see it," Aren said.
I stopped walking.
"Say it clearly," I said. "I don't like riddles in my house."
His eyes locked onto mine.
"Cousin," he said.
The word landed heavier than any weapon.
I didn't react—not outwardly. Inside, gears shifted, slots realigned, years of absence suddenly reframed.
"Voss blood doesn't erase itself," Aren continued. "It just hides better in some of us."
"So the war wasn't about power," I said slowly. "It was'nt about inheritance."
"It always is.... something unprdictable"
I exhaled once, steady. "You could've stayed buried."
"And let him win everytime ?" Aren asked. "No. That was never the agreement."
"You think this ends with you taking his place?" I asked coolly.
"No," he said, stepping back toward the shadows. "I think it ends with the truth cutting deeper than either of you expect."
"Then don't come back," I warned. "Next time, I won't be testing."
He paused at the doorway.
"Oh, Lyra," he said softly. "I know."
And then he was gone—no alarms, no trace, no proof he'd ever been there.
I stood alone in the center of the villa, the word cousin echoing through every strategic thought I owned.
Kieller's past wasn't chasing him anymore.
It had found me.
And now that I knew what Aren Blackwood really was—
I wouldn't wait to be caught between them.
I would choose the battlefield myself.
Aren — POV ( continuation)
The night accepted me without resistance.
I stood for a moment beside the car, listening—not to the villa, but to the quiet hum of awareness that follows people who know they've been noticed. Lyra would be standing still now. Not afraid. Processing.
Good.
I hadn't wanted disruption. Not yet. Mystery worked better when it breathed.
I slipped into the driver's seat and pulled away slowly, letting distance grow like a held breath finally released. For a while, I let my thoughts drift—neutral, unmarked, almost respectful.
She was sharper than expected.Calmer than rumored.And far more dangerous than Kieller ever admitted.
Then the road straightened.
So did my thinking.
The softness evaporated.
"Thirty days," I said quietly. "You chose distance again."
Kieller always did that—retreat when proximity threatened the illusion he'd built. He believed absence kept things clean.
It didn't.
It only gave me space.
I didn't want his empire. That was a childish misunderstanding of what ruin actually meant. Power could be rebuilt. Reputation could be polished.
But truth?
Truth cracked slowly—and never healed the same way twice.
I knew where to begin.
Not with him.
With what he believed proved he was no longer the man he used to be.
Lyra Vale.
Not as possession.Not as leverage.
As contrast.
I smiled faintly, fingers tightening on the wheel.
"She doesn't belong to you," I murmured, the arrogance settling in comfortably. "And she never existed in a world where your hands were clean."
The next move wouldn't be loud. It wouldn't even look hostile.
It would look like coincidence.
And by the time Kieller understood what was happening—
The fracture would already be visible.