The Dusk estate's inner chamber was filled with whispers.
Allies. Pretenders. Power brokers pretending to sip champagne while measuring her throat for a knife.
Isabella sat at the head of the long obsidian table, fingers laced, expression unreadable.
To her right: Emilia.
To her left: a seat left intentionally empty.
For Katerina.
Let them feel the weight of the missing wolf.
A man cleared his throat at the far end.
"The fire last week… there are rumors. That you caused it."
Isabella lifted her eyes.
"I did."
Murmurs exploded around the table.
The man blinked. "You admit it?"
"I own it."
She rose from her seat, the black of her dress catching the low candlelight.
"This family is not in hiding anymore. If you don't want blood on your hands, you shouldn't be at this table."
She let the silence stretch.
One by one, no one stood.
Good.
Later that night, in Alexander's study, she opened the last of her sister's sealed boxes.
It smelled of lavender and mold.
Inside: old ballet shoes. A folded photo. A velvet ribbon stained at one edge.
And a single note, tucked between pages of an old diary.
It wasn't her sister's handwriting.
It was Katerina's.
"She was never meant to be yours. And yet you still don't understand, do you? She belonged to us first."
The words made Isabella freeze.
She rifled through the diary, breath catching as she found page after page of her sister… meeting someone in secret. A woman.
A protector? A captor? Someone with a name blotted out by ink.
Isabella's heart thundered.
Someone had been in her sister's life. Hidden from her. Tied to Katerina.
And maybe… tied to the orders that led to her death.
The next morning, Isabella called in a favor.
It came in the form of a man with grey eyes and too many scars.
"She used to meet someone here," Isabella said, gesturing to a derelict studio by the riverside. "I need to know who."
The man smirked. "If they were discreet, it'll cost you."
She handed him a ring. Platinum. One Alexander gave her the night of their fake wedding.
"Bring me her name," Isabella said, "and the next ring you get will be gold."
That evening, Alexander returned from a private meeting to find Isabella waiting in his study, candlelight framing her like a saint… or a sinner.
"You look like you want something," he said, tossing his coat onto the desk.
She walked up slowly.
"I want you to tell me about the Velvet Order."
He stilled.
The name didn't just make him freeze. It wounded him.
"That's not something you should be digging into," he said tightly.
"So it's real."
"It's dead," he growled.
"Not to me."
She tossed the diary down on the desk.
His eyes scanned the page — and darkened.
"That's not yours to read."
"It's about my sister," Isabella snapped.
They stared each other down — lovers again on opposite sides of a new war.
"Tell me what they did to her," Isabella whispered, voice cracking.
Alexander's jaw clenched.
"They trained her," he finally said. "They owned her. And when she tried to leave… they gave Katerina the order."
Everything inside Isabella went cold.
"My sister didn't just die," she whispered. "She was executed."
Alexander didn't deny it.
And in that silence, something inside her broke — or ignited.
Far across the city, in a room draped in red velvet, the older woman Katerina had knelt before now smiled at a new letter.
"She knows," the woman said to no one in particular.
Then she took a small silver knife… and added a new name to the list carved into her desk.
Isabella Dusk.