Isaldora sat before a sea of reporters, cameras flashing nonstop, the whole room buzzing with curiosity.
To the world now, she was known as Isla Aether—the elusive heiress of Aether Enterprises, whom no one had seen until now.
In just three years, the company she had laid the foundation for had exploded into an empire
becoming a name people couldn't stop talking about.
It had skyrocketed, climbing to heights no one saw coming. And yet no one had ever seen the mastermind behind it, Renna Vane, her secretary and legal guardian on paper, had been the one handling all the public work in her stead.
The truth? Isaldora had been too busy. at that moment to publicly involve herself as the CEO. She had to prepare herself, train, and learn. So she decided to be the elusive, unknown heiress instead.
But today she had finally stepped out of the shadows with elegance and authority.
She didn't have to put effort into her looks—as she was already breathtaking. The kind of beauty that silenced a room without asking for attention.
She'd dressed with the same ease she carried herself with. Black tailored pants. A fitted high-neck top. A crimson blazer draped carelessly over her shoulders. Her long hair was pulled into a sleek ponytail, silver-gold thread earrings catching the light whenever she turned her head.
Her face was almost unreal—sharp, soft, balanced like it had been carved with patience.
And though her expression stayed calm, almost unreadable, there was an aura about her—quietly dangerous, impossible to ignore enough to keep one on edge.
For two hours now, the questions have come nonstop. About Aether's perfume line, about the hotels, about how the company had risen so fast, so effortlessly. Her answers were calm, clean, precise—every word controlled.
"Ms. Aether, you've avoided the spotlight for three years," a female reporter began, "Why now have you decided to make a public appearance?" She asked, amusement curling her lips.
Isaldora gave a small, knowing smile. "I was busy personally. "That's why Ms. Vane handled things for me. And as for showing myself now—well…" she tilted her head slightly, her lips curving into a smirk, "let's just say I thought I'd do you all a favor to finally end your anticipation."
A ripple of laughter swept through the room, some entertained, some unsettled.
"Ms. Aether," a male voice cut through. "James Holton, City Herald."
Her eyes flicked over the crowd, locking on the person who was smirking at her.
"I think no one dared to mention before," James continued, smirking, "but none of us expected the heir of Aether to be this young—and dangerously breathtaking."
A few chuckles rippled through the room, but Isaldora remained silent, with her 'Don't you dare get on my nerves' look. Carelessly, she looked over the reporter, who looked average, trying hard to look boyish, the kind who lived off charm and cheap thrills. She ignored the way his eyes were glued to her and just gave him a simple stare down.
She saw this James person feeling embarrassed as he cleared his throat. "Right. Um—what I actually meant was—how does it feel to finally step forward and claim your place as head of Aether?"
Isaldora tilted her head slightly, the silver-gold threads dangling. "It feels," she said calmly, "exactly as it should. This is what I was meant to do."
However, James, ignoring the memo in her tone, pushed forward with his cheap smirk. "Ms. Aether… for someone so young, so striking—you wear authority well. Some might say too well. Makes the rest of us wonder if it's really business brilliance behind Aether's success… or just another one of your charms."
The remark created a ripple of discomfort through the room.
Isaldora leaned forward, her voice smooth but sharp enough to cut. "Mr. Holton," she said evenly, "Aether's rise isn't built on charms. It's built on vision, strategy, and work that speaks for itself. If that unsettles you…" her lips curved in a sly, dangerous smile, "…then I'd say that says more about your expectations than it does about me."
The room fell into silence for a moment.
Another reporter jumped in to break the tension. "Miss Vane," he addressed Renna, "records list you as Ms. Aether's guardian as you have been taking care of her company, but there is no mention of a blood relation. What do you have to say about that?"
Isaldora saw Renna stiffen in her spot from the corner of her eye, looking dumb—before the silence could stretch too long,
"She's my aunt," she said lightly, as if it were the most obvious truth in the world. Her eyes flicked toward Renna, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "And someone I trust implicitly. She's more family than anyone."
She could see Renna blink, startled by her words, and rolled her eyes. "Yeah, she's my beloved niece," Renna said smoothly, her hands folding neatly on the table. "Whom I care deeply for."
Another reporter rose. "Ms. Aether, your company is flourishing faster than anyone anticipated. Its success has been… remarkable. What comes next? And will your aunt continue to play a role?"
Renna leaned toward her microphone first, her laugh soft, a little self-deprecating. "I'll be staying on as my niece's secretary. She still needs me around—or at least she thinks she does."
The room broke into polite laughter.
Isaldora's lips curved in a smile. "And yes," she said, "we are preparing to launch a new branch of our perfume house—a luxury fragrance line called La Dora. You'll be hearing much more about it soon."
A ripple of speculation ran through the room.
And with that, Isaldora concluded the end of the conference as she rose from her chair, smoothly. Renna followed suit, matching her composure.
The cameras flashed wildly as the two of them walked toward the exit.
Behind them, the room broke into a storm of whispers and camera flashes.
——
"Arghhhhhh!" The scream ripped through the dungeon in agony. Silver chains bit deep into the rogue's skin, burning straight through, making him bleed. Melted silver hissed as it sank into his veins, making his body jolt and twist. The air was thick with it—the stench of blood and scorched flesh, so heavy to make one puke it's guts out.
Across the cell, another rogue sat chained to the wall. His breath came fast and shallow, eyes wide, locked on his partner's twitching body. His legs trembled so badly the chains rattled. He'd been forced to watch from the start—every second, every sound, every smell sinking into him like poison.
Standing over him was a man whose presence commanded the room. Power rolled off him in waves. His shirt clung just enough to show the hard, carved lines of muscle underneath, built from years of pure, brutal training—like he'd been built for war and sin in equal measure. Every line of muscle looked carved, like someone had taken their time sculpting him just to make the rest of the world feel underwhelming. His jaw was cut sharp, lips set in a line that hinted at both control and cruelty.
Steel-gray eyes locked on the rogue with an unblinking calm, that dangerous kind of calm—like a storm just waiting to break. And yet… there was a heat to him. The kind of heat that burned slow, dangerous, promising either pleasure or pain—your choice, if he allowed it. A few dark strands of hair had fallen across his brow, making him look even more devilishly perfect, straight out of a sinfully good dream.
Kaelith Duskbane. Damn handsome. Devilishly sculpted. A built like he'd been sculpted by something wicked and proud of it. He wasn't just the Alpha Prince of Duskhowl in title—he was the nightmare you didn't want chasing you. Ruthless, sharp, and dangerously clever, he had a habit of making enemies wish they'd just dropped dead before ever crossing his path.
He stood there like he owned the place—because, well, he did.
He crouched in front of the writhing rogue, one bloodied hand gripping the man's jaw and forcing his head up.
"Why were you in my territory?" His voice was calm—too calm.
The rogue's breath came in ragged gasps, sweat dripping from his temple. "I—I was just passing—"
The chain at his wrist jerked suddenly, tearing deeper into blistered flesh. The man's back arched, a strangled cry breaking free before it swelled into another piercing scream.
"Try again." Kaelith didn't raise his voice, but the coldness in it made the other rogue flinch from across the cell.
"Why were you in my territory? Who sent you?"
The rogue's jaw clenched, lips pressed tight. No answer.
Kaelith sighed, almost like he was disappointed in a child too stubborn to learn. Then his hand reached for the blade on the table. It gleamed under the moonlight, its silver edge faintly stained with green. Wolfsbane.
Without warning, he slashed the blade sinking it just below the ribs, slicing sideways with cruel precision. The wolfsbane burned instantly, sending a fresh wave of agony ripping through the rogue's body. His scream broke into hoarse gasps, chains rattling as he thrashed helplessly.
Kaelith withdrew the blade, wiping the edge on the man's shirt before pressing the tip into another spot—just enough to pierce the skin and let the poison seep in again. The rogue's body convulsed violently, foam flecking at the corners of his mouth.
From across the cell, the second rogue's breathing turned into ragged pants. His shoulders were pressed so far back into the wall.
Kaelith shifted his gaze to him for a moment—and it was enough to make the rogue's head drop in terror. Then he looked back at the prisoner in his grip, tilting his head slightly as if listening for the exact pitch of his pain.
"Still nothing?" he asked with a, what looked like a pout, his voice was quiet. Dangerous.
When the rogue kept silent, Kaelith pressed the blade's edge slowly along his forearm, peeling skin in a controlled line until the man's head snapped back and his scream scraped raw from his throat.
The second rogue broke. "We were just told to scout!" The words came out in a rush, high and panicked. "That's all—we didn't mean harm."
Kaelith's lips curved into a devilish smirk. "See? That wasn't so hard. Now was it?" His tone was mockingly light. "Now… who sent you to snoop around?"
The rogue hesitated, his voice shaking. "If I tell you, will you… will you spare us?"
Kaelith gave a lazy shrug, the kind of answer that wasn't an answer at all.
"We—we never met them," the rogue stammered. "I don't know who they really are."
Kaelith's expression cooled instantly, his eyes narrowing just enough to make the rogue stumble over himself.
"But—" he blurted, "I can give you the coordinates of our base."
That earned him a slow, deadly smirk.
Before Kaelith could speak, his gamma stepped into the cell, bowing his head. "Alpha Prince."
Without looking, Kaelith flicked his fingers toward his enforcer—a silent order to get the location out of the prisoner. Then he turned his attention to the gamma.
"Your father's waiting for you," the gamma said. "And Beta Xavier's returned."
Kaelith nodded once before glancing at the rogue, whose eyes now clung to him with desperate hope.
His gaze shifted to his enforcer, the look in his eyes making his meaning crystal clear. The enforcer's answering nod was sharp before he hauled the rogue to his feet.
"You promised!" the man cried out, voice cracking. "Alpha—you said you'd spare us!"
Kaelith turned, his smile devilishly cold. "And this…" His voice dropped into something lethal. "…is me sparing you."
He didn't bother to look back, wiping his hands clean with a cloth as he strode out, the rogue's pleas already fading into the dark.