Isabella sat with her head bent low, fingers trembling as they tapped on the edge of the table. Rage radiated from her in suffocating waves.
The phone rang. Its shrill cry broke the tension like glass shattering. Isabella snatched it up, her voice sharp.
"What?"
Her brother's calm voice slid through the line.
"You wanted to handle it your way, sister. You insisted. You bled men, burned resources, and what do you have left? Nothing but graves."
Her grip tightened on the phone. "Don't lecture me, boy. You're just a shadow riding on my name."
A pause—then his voice dropped lower, colder.
"Father made a mistake appointing you. He saw fire in you, but fire without control only destroys its own house. And now—look around. Your empire is ashes because of your pride. Let me right that wrong."
"You dare speak to me like this?" she hissed, standing, her nails digging into her palm.
"I don't just dare," he said, tone sharp as a blade. "I will. Because someone has to clean up your mess before Dominic crushes us both. You've lost the right to lead, Isabella. You're reckless. Blinded."
"Careful," she whispered dangerously. "I am still your sister."
"And I am still the better heir," he cut in, voice steel. "This family doesn't need your fury. It needs my order. Step aside before I make you."
The line clicked dead.
Isabella stood frozen, chest heaving, fury boiling over until it turned her lips into a twisted smile. She hurled the shattered phone across the room, laughter breaking through like glass shards.
"Little brother thinks he can leash me? Oh no. He has no idea who he's dealing with."
Somewhere in a dark room ....He ended the call and lowered the phone slowly, his reflection caught in the dark window of his office. His lips curved—not a smile, but the faint trace of satisfaction.
She's spiraling," he murmured, voice flat. "Just as I knew she would."
Around him, the room was empty except for two men in suits, standing silently in the shadows. They waited for his orders.
"Isabella believes war is won with noise and fire," he continued, his gaze distant. "But war is won with silence. With patience."
He finally turned, eyes sharp as a predator's.
"Begin the cleansing. Quietly. Her most loyal men—make them disappear. Accidents, ambushes, poison—I don't care. By the time she realizes, she'll be standing on quicksand."
One of the men bowed. "Yes, sir."
He clasped his hands behind his back, pacing slowly.
"She thinks father gave her power because she was fierce. No… he gave it to her because he pitied her. He knew she'd burn herself out. But me—" he stopped at the window again, watching the city lights burn in the distance, "—I'll inherit what she ruins. Dominic, Elena, even Isabella… none of them will see it coming."
The faintest chuckle escaped his lips. Cold. Calculated.
"Family first… isn't that what father used to say? I'll keep the family. Even if it means burying my sister to do it."
The two men left silently to carry out his orders. Alone, he poured himself a glass of wine, lifting it like a toast to the night.
"To order," he whispered. "To the new heir."
The news didn't stay in the hospital walls for long. In the underworld, secrets were currency, and this one was too heavy to be hidden. Elena...the untouchable, Dominic's shadow, the woman with blood on her hands was pregnant.
It moved like smoke through the streets. Whispers in bars, murmurs in gambling dens, rumors traded between hired guns. By the time the sun set, everyone knew.
Isabella knew too.
She stood at her balcony, a glass of whiskey in her hand, the city beneath her glowing like embers. Her lips twisted into a cruel sneer.
"Pregnant," she spat the word like poison. "That bitch is carrying his heir."
Her mind worked fast, her rage faster.
"If I kill the child… if I break her… Dominic will fall with her. His empire will rot from the inside."
Her voice rose, sharp as a blade.
"Prepare everything. I don't care how—poison, knives, fire. She dies. The baby dies."
Her men hesitated, exchanging uneasy glances, but none dared to question her. Isabella's fury was legend, and crossing her was a death sentence.
Far away, her younger brother leaned back in his chair, listening to the distant echo of her orders through a bug he'd planted long ago. A glass of red wine rested in his hand, untouched. His lips curved slightly.
"She's predictable," he murmured. "All rage, no foresight."
He turned to the man beside him.
"Send the information to Valerie."
The man blinked. "Valerie? Won't she—"
"That's the point." His voice was calm, smooth, calculated. "Valerie despises Dominic , but she values innocence. And there's no purer innocence in this rotten world than an unborn child. If I give her this… she'll strike. Not for me. Not for Dominic. For the baby."
He leaned forward, eyes cold.
"And when she strikes, Isabella weakens. And when Isabella weakens… I rise."
Valerie received the message at dawn. It came in an unmarked envelope, slipped under her door, sealed with no name. Just a single sheet inside:
"Isabella is planning to kill Elena and her child. Move before it's too late."
Valerie's hand tightened around the paper. For the first time in years , her face betrayed emotion—something like fury, but laced with purpose.
She whispered to herself, almost like a vow.
"I'll never forgive Isabella for many things. But this? Going after a child?" She crushed the paper in her fist.
"No more. She dies."
Her eyes burned with conviction as she called for her weapons. The war wasn't just about territory anymore. It was about ending Isabella once and for all.