(Calista's POV)
"And somehow, it was tied to me."
The words echoed in my mind long after the lights in my new bedroom dimmed. The mansion around me was silent, yet my thoughts refused to settle. The walls felt too polished, too clean. They suffocated me in a way the orphanage never had. At least there, the peeling paint and creaky floors were honest about what they were.
Here… every polished corner whispered secrets I wasn't ready to hear.
Sleep didn't come. Instead, the familiar restlessness stirred inside me — the one I had buried for years under layers of fake smiles, wigs, and colored contacts. The one that reminded me who I truly was: not a simple high school girl, but the queen of shadows.
And tonight, shadows were calling me again.
I rose from the bed, pulling open the drawer I had hidden earlier. Inside, neatly folded, lay the outfit that had carried me through countless nights in the underworld: the black combat hoodie, the gloves, the mask that veiled everything except my eyes. My second skin.
"This house doesn't change me," I whispered to myself. "Not yet. Not ever."
As I pulled the mask over my face, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror. For a brief second, I saw not Calista Aurelia D'Arcanis — daughter of the most feared clan — but Cali, the girl who had clawed her way to survival alone. I clenched my fists. That girl wasn't gone.
I pulled the black hoodie over my head, tugged the mask into place, and strapped my custom-made gloves onto my hands. Hidden blades lined the inside — my own design. One flick of the wrist and steel whispered free.
While the rest of the household slept under velvet skies, I slipped through the corridors like a phantom. The wig lay discarded on my vanity. The lenses rested in their case. No more masks inside masks. Tonight, I wasn't the lost daughter who had been brought home. I was the queen of a darker world.
My phone buzzed with a coded message.[New shipment. Port 9. Handle interference. Usual payment. Don't be late.]
I smirked. "Right on schedule."
With silent steps, I moved toward the balcony. Of course, my father had guards stationed around the estate. He wouldn't make the mistake of leaving his precious daughter unprotected again. But they weren't watching for someone leaving.
They were watching for someone coming in.
And I… I had always been better at escaping than arriving.
The mansion was silent.Too silent.
I stood by the tall window of my new room, staring at the city lights glittering in the distance. Chandeliers flickered faintly down the halls, the heavy ticking of the grandfather clock echoing through the night. For the first time in years, I wasn't in my tiny orphanage room. I was surrounded by velvet curtains, silk sheets, polished mahogany furniture — the trappings of wealth, luxury, and a life I'd supposedly belonged to since birth.
And yet, I felt caged.
And somehow, it was tied to me.
That line repeated in my head like a curse, the echo of the dream I couldn't forget. My mother's blood, her fading voice, the shadows of men who wanted something from her — from me. No matter how much I tried to shake it, the image of her eyes locking onto mine burned behind my lids.
I dragged my fingers through my wig — long, silky black locks that hid what truly grew underneath: silver streaks, hints of violet catching in certain light. A disguise, just like the tinted contacts that dulled my eyes to ordinary brown. My father might have forbidden me to show the truth, but he had no control over what I did in the dark.
Because tonight wasn't about being the long-lost daughter of Damian Duskborne.Tonight, I was Phantom Queen, ruler of the shadows.
Slipping into motion, I moved quietly, each step a ghost against the marble floor. My hoodie was stuffed in my duffel bag, along with a plain black mask, gloves, and a small set of tools that would terrify anyone who didn't know how to use them. I strapped a dagger to my thigh — habit, not necessity. My power wasn't in blades. It was in knowing how to control the board before anyone realized they were pawns.
The corridor outside my room was dim. Guards were posted at the far end, stationed like statues — loyal, silent, breathing the air of warriors who thought they were invisible. I smirked. For them, maybe. For me? Child's play.
I timed their pacing, slipped through a servant's passage I'd noticed earlier, and descended into the cold belly of the house. Every estate had its blind spots. My father thought he could cage me here, but I'd been slipping in and out of tighter nets since I was twelve.
By the time I emerged into the garden, moonlight bathed me like an accomplice. I exhaled, pulling up my hood, mask sliding into place.
Calista Duskborne was left behind in that mansion.Tonight, only Phantom walked.
*****************
The city felt alive in a different way at night. Not the polite chatter of businessmen or the laughter of elite families dining under chandeliers — but the growl of engines, the hiss of smoke curling out of underground bars, and the faint crackle of guns echoing somewhere too far to care about.
I moved like I belonged, because I did. My contacts in the underworld had sent a message earlier: Shipment interference. Rival clan. Dock 39.
A smirk tugged at my lips. Some things never changed.
The docks were perfect for dirty business. Dark water lapped against rusted steel, crates stacked like towers of secrets, men pacing with cigarettes hanging from their lips. I stepped into the shadows, observing. My crew was already here — men and women who knew my face only with a mask. To them, I was untouchable, a phantom risen from nowhere, a queen who ruled not with her name but her cunning.
But tonight wasn't just about my job. Fate had other plans waiting in the dark.
Because that's when I saw them.
Seven figures stepped into the dockyard, moving as one. Not ordinary men. Their presence was too sharp, too sure. Even in the gloom, I could feel their aura pressing against the night.
The infamous Seven Sons.
I narrowed my eyes, hidden behind my mask. I'd heard whispers — a group tied to one of the most powerful clans, feared for their talent, respected for their bloodline. And now they stood here, facing the same shipment, the same threat.
One of them, tall with dark hair and eyes like cold steel, scanned the area with a predator's precision. Another leaned lazily against a crate, smirking as if the danger was entertainment. Their leader — Kael Nightbane, if the rumors were true — moved like he owned the air itself.
I should've walked away.But destiny doesn't let you walk. It drags you by the throat.
The first clash came fast.Gunshots cracked the silence, men shouting as the rival clan ambushed. I slipped through chaos like a shadow, hacking into the shipment's lock system with a flick of my wrist. The boys fought brutally, each in sync — fists, blades, calculated strikes that screamed of years of training.
I was inches from securing the target when I felt eyes on me.Sharp. Curious.
Kael's voice cut through the noise."You. Mask. Who the hell are you?"
I didn't answer. I twisted the lock open, the crate sliding free. One step more and I'd be gone.
But then — a stray bullet sliced through the air, grazing my hood. It slipped, just for a moment. Enough for the moonlight to catch.
Silver strands. Violet glimmer.And my eyes — glowing faint amethyst through the smoke.
The world stilled.
I yanked the hood back up, but it was too late.I heard their whispers, sharp and stunned.
"Her hair…""Those eyes…""It can't be— the Purple-Eyed Princess?"
My breath caught. That name. A ghost from the past I hadn't even uncovered myself. My mother's voice whispered again in my skull, a warning.
The boys weren't just staring. They were shaken. The kind of shaken that comes from legends colliding with reality.
And I hated it.
"Keep your mouths shut," I hissed, voice low, sharp as a blade. "You didn't see me."
Then I vanished into the smoke, leaving seven stunned heirs behind.
But I knew.This wasn't over.
Because destiny had just introduced me to my enemies… or maybe, my only allies.
I moved fast, slipping back into the shadows, my boots barely whispering against the cracked cement. The dock stretched out like a labyrinth, smoke clinging low to the ground, crates forming broken walls between fire and chaos. My heartbeat was steady, trained. My plan was simple: vanish before anyone caught up.
But destiny doesn't give you clean exits.
A figure stepped out from behind a stack of containers, blocking my path.
Tall. Broad. His suit was sharper than the rest of the hired thugs, his movements colder, controlled. The way his eyes narrowed told me immediately — this wasn't some disposable underling. This man carried weight.
"Well, well," he drawled, his voice cutting through the night. "The so-called Phantom Queen. I've been dying to meet you."
I stilled, my hand brushing against the hidden dagger at my thigh. "Move," I said flatly, my voice distorted under the mask.
His smirk deepened. "Or what? You'll scratch me with your little toys? No, no… you're going to listen. Because I think I know exactly who you are."
Before he could finish, I struck.
A quick kick to his chest shoved him back against the crate. He grunted, not from pain but from surprise. His men, alerted by the scuffle, closed in fast. I was outnumbered — but outnumbered was where I thrived.
One swung a pipe. I ducked low, sweeping his legs out with precise force, the crack of bone echoing as he hit the ground. Another lunged with a knife; I twisted, caught his wrist, and slammed him face-first into the container wall. His blood smeared across the steel.
The rival leader laughed."Sharp. Dangerous. Just like your mother."
The words froze me for half a second. Just half.But half a second in a fight was too long.
He lunged, his blade grazing my shoulder, slicing through fabric. I hissed, twisting, driving my dagger toward his side — only for him to block it with unnerving strength. His eyes — ice-cold gray — locked onto mine with recognition.
And then, it happened.
My hood slipped again.
Moonlight spilled across my face, catching the cascade of silver strands beneath the wig and the unnatural glow of amethyst in my eyes. For the first time, the rival leader's composure cracked.
His jaw tightened. His pupils shrank."You— Impossible… She lives."
The words tore out of him like a secret that shouldn't have been spoken.
I reacted instantly. A sharp elbow to his jaw, a knee to his gut, and a final twist of my blade sent him sprawling into the dirt. He wasn't unconscious, but he wouldn't be chasing me again anytime soon.
I bent low, voice cold in his ear."Remember this — the dead don't rise. And you never saw me."
With that, I knocked him out cold.
Chaos had erupted everywhere. The rival gang was scattering, either fleeing or falling, and the Seven Boys were still in motion. Kael's blade gleamed under the moon as he cut down two men in a blur. Another — the one with lazy confidence earlier — had a gun, picking off targets with terrifying accuracy.
But their eyes weren't only on their enemies.They were on me.
Because they'd seen.
The purple. The silver. The impossible truth whispered about in old underworld legends.
I didn't stop to explain. Didn't dare. My chest burned with the rival's words, with the crack in his voice when he saw my eyes. She lives. He wasn't talking about the Phantom Queen. He was talking about… me.
And the boys knew it too. I could see the way their formation stuttered, their expressions shadowed with something far more dangerous than curiosity — recognition.
I pulled my hood low, tightened my mask, and let the smoke swallow me whole.By the time their enemies hit the ground, I was gone.
Somewhere far behind me, I imagined Kael's voice cutting through the night, sharp and commanding:"Find her. Now."
But I was already nothing more than a ghost in the dark.