The abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city was silent except for the hum of rain dripping through holes in the rusted roof. Shadows danced along the cracked concrete floor as dawn filtered through broken windows.
Ethan stepped out of the SUV first, his boots hitting the wet ground with a dull thud. Ann followed, her heart hammering so violently in her chest she wondered if he could hear it. He offered her his hand — and she took it without hesitation.
Two black SUVs pulled up behind them, engines rumbling low. Men in dark suits, armed and tense, fanned out behind Ethan like a small army — his loyalists, the ones who would follow him into hell and back if he asked.
Ann clutched the hem of her coat tighter around herself. She could feel the weight of every pair of eyes on her — watching, judging, wondering why the queen had come to the battlefield beside her king.
Ethan glanced at her as if sensing her thoughts. He leaned close, his breath warm against her ear.
"Last chance," he murmured, voice low and rough.
Ann met his eyes, steady and sure. "I already told you. No last chances. Not for us."
Something flickered in his expression — a soft crack in the iron mask. Then it was gone, replaced by the cold, ruthless CEO the world feared.
They stepped into the warehouse together. The smell hit Ann first — stale oil, damp concrete, rust. It reminded her of every nightmare she'd had about Ethan's secrets — except this wasn't a nightmare. This was real.
Victor Hale waited for them near the center of the vast, empty space. He stood with his back to them, staring at an old metal table covered with a stained white cloth. Two men flanked him — hulking brutes with dead eyes and concealed weapons bulging under cheap suits.
Ethan's men stayed back as Ethan and Ann crossed the distance, boots echoing against the floor. Ann's hand brushed his — just once — and she felt him squeeze her fingers so quickly she almost wondered if she imagined it.
When Victor turned, Ann felt the chill that always accompanied him settle deep in her bones. The man looked almost amused, like this was all an elaborate game. His eyes flicked from Ethan to Ann and back again, lingering just a heartbeat too long on her.
"So," Victor drawled, his smile sharp and cold, "the loyal wife really does come when you whistle."
Ethan's jaw flexed, but his voice was calm, smooth as silk over a blade. "Cut the games, old man. You wanted me here. I'm here. What do you want?"
Victor's eyes glittered. "Always so impatient. No small talk for your dear father?"
"You're not my father," Ethan bit out.
Ann felt his rage ripple through him like static. She reached for his hand under the table, her palm warm against his cold fingers.
Victor's smile widened. "How touching. She thinks she can soothe the monster. Tell me, Ann — do you really believe your love makes him less like me?"
Ann met his gaze, her spine straight. "No. I know it makes him more than you ever were."
A flash of something — anger, maybe pride twisted into hate — flickered across Victor's face before he smoothed it away. He leaned forward, bracing his hands on the table. The cloth shifted slightly, revealing the dull glint of something metal underneath.
Ethan's eyes narrowed. "What's under there?"
Victor's smile didn't reach his eyes. "A gift. Proof that I am still a generous man, even after all your disrespect."
He flicked his hand. One of his guards ripped the cloth away.
Ann sucked in a breath — and felt Ethan tense beside her like a drawn bow.
On the table lay a man — bound, gagged, beaten nearly beyond recognition. Blood had dried in jagged streaks down his face and shirt. One eye was swollen shut.
Victor gestured lazily. "Do you know who this is?"
Ethan's voice was low, dangerous. "Who is he?"
Victor chuckled. "Your mother's lawyer. The one who helped her hide money from me before she died. The one who taught you how to bury my trail. He thought he could run. He was wrong."
Ann's stomach twisted. She reached for Ethan's arm, but he didn't move. His eyes were locked on Victor — and they were pure black ice.
"What do you want, Victor?" Ethan said, each word measured like a loaded gun.
Victor tapped the table. "A trade. You walk away. From your company, from your throne, from every little empire you've built. You disappear — with your pretty wife, if you like — and you never step into my world again."
Ann's nails dug into Ethan's sleeve. "He wants you to disappear so he can destroy what you built."
Ethan didn't blink. His eyes never left Victor's. "And if I don't?"
Victor's smile turned razor-sharp. "Then I gut your world open. Piece by piece. And I start with everyone who ever helped you defy me." He tapped the lawyer's battered cheek with mock affection. The man flinched, a broken whimper muffled by the gag.
Ann felt nausea coil in her stomach, but she forced herself to stand taller. "You're bluffing. If you had that power, you'd have used it already."
Victor's eyes snapped to her — cold, vicious. "Careful, girl. I can still use you too."
Ethan moved so fast Ann barely saw it — one heartbeat he was beside her, the next he was across the table, his hand fisted in Victor's expensive coat, dragging him forward until their noses nearly touched.
"You touch her — you even look at her again — I will put you in the ground with my bare hands," Ethan snarled, his voice so low Ann felt it vibrate in her bones.
Victor didn't flinch. He smiled, teeth yellowed and sharp. "There it is. The real you. Just like me after all."
Ethan shoved him back, the older man stumbling against the table. The guards stiffened, but Ethan's men moved too — a silent, tense standoff that crackled like dry lightning.
Ann stepped to Ethan's side, her voice steady despite the quake in her chest. "We're not leaving. We're not handing you anything. Kill him if you want to prove a point — but we'll bury you before you bury us."
Victor's smile faltered — just for a breath — and that tiny crack told Ann everything she needed to know. He wasn't as strong as he pretended to be. He was desperate. Cornered. This was his final play, and they had just called his bluff.
She felt Ethan's hand slide into hers — warm, steady. For a second, they were just them again. Husband and wife. King and queen.
Ethan leaned closer to Victor, his voice a blade dipped in poison. "You have no leverage. You're a ghost. And ghosts don't rule kingdoms."
Then he turned, pulling Ann with him. His men fell in behind them without a word, guns hidden but ready.
As they stepped into the rain, Ann looked back at Victor Hale one last time — a man who had taught Ethan how to be ruthless, but never taught him how to love.
In that moment, Ann realized the one thing that made them truly unstoppable wasn't Ethan's power or her defiance. It was this — the way they refused to let fear choose their future.
The rain soaked her hair, plastering it to her cheeks. Ethan's hand squeezed hers so tightly it almost hurt — but she welcomed the pain. It reminded her they were still alive. Still fighting.
Back in the SUV, Ethan pulled her into his lap, his hand cupping the back of her neck as he kissed her — hard, breathless, rainwater dripping from their skin onto the leather seats.
When he pulled back, his eyes were molten.
"He'll come for us harder now," he murmured.
Ann's pulse pounded. "Then let him. We'll come for him harder."
Ethan's laugh was low, dark, almost feral. "God help him then."
Outside, the rain fell harder — washing the city clean, one secret at a time.