In California, inside Stonia's grand mansion, Rafael stood in the kitchen, ignoring the maids' pitiful glances as he prepared tea and honey cookies on his own. It had been a year since Ixora vanished from her prison cell, and the toll on Rafael was plain—his beard unshaven, his hair unkempt, his body thinner, his face older. The sadness in his eyes seemed to swirl in the teacup as he stirred, before carrying the tray upstairs to Stonia's room. She was in an even worse state than him. After two months in a coma, she awoke only to fall gravely ill, bedridden ever since. The government had imprisoned the guards on duty that day, but punishing them didn't bring Ixora back. Hope withered daily, and Stonia was visibly dying. Rafael set the tea and cookies by her bedside. The once-proud woman now looked broken, her eyes feverish and yellow. "Eat something, take your medicine. If you don't want honey cookies, I can make cream puffs," he murmured. She reached for his arm, trembling. "Where is she? Where's my daughter? Another school year begins at ILC, she should be there with her mates." Rafael sat beside her, holding her shoulders, voice heavy with regret. "I'm sorry… I couldn't save her." Stonia broke down, tears soaking her cheeks as he spoon-fed her tea. "Serena won't come back from Serbia. I've called her endlessly, but she refuses," he added, offering her a cookie. "I don't care about her," Stonia sobbed. "I only want my daughter." Rafael brushed her hair back, wiping her tears as he continued feeding her. She ate with sorrow, while his dry expression masked an inner storm of grief.
At Cali Core Prison, Chicago was shoved out through the gates, her black bag tumbling to the ground. "Watch it, dîck!" she snapped at a guard, raising her fist, but his warning made her back down. "You should've been freed last year, but you couldn't resist fighting that Ixora girl," he mocked. She smirked, patting his shoulder. "Take care of my father in there. Hawke's not seeing daylight in twenty years, but I'll miss tormenting him. Maybe I'll be back sooner than expected—if I get my hands on runaway Ixora, she's dead." She dragged her bag onto her shoulder, bouncing on her sneakers as she caught a cab. "Rehabilitation Center," she told the driver sharply.
At Peace Rehab, calm waters of a fountain soothed the air. Inside the nearest ward, Warren Creed stood at a window, blonde hair dyed over his dark roots, his eyes still cold, his posture straight, his chest hollow. He'd been here a year, reliving the chaos at the prison. Back then, after Elder Creed confirmed that Matron's pendulum was a hypnotist's tool, Warren stormed into the prison. Rafael followed. Guards chased them, but they kept running until they reached Ixora's cell—only to see a body hanging. Rafael nearly collapsed, whispering her name, while Warren, about to break down, noticed the truth. The mark he had left on Ixora's neck was missing. The corpse wasn't her. It was another inmate. Now, in the present, he sighed by the window, clutching Ixora's pendulum, her flame pendant, and her meteorite bracelet. Despite every effort, she remained untraceable—vanished without a trace. His sanity frayed, his overdoses frequent, Capri and Lydia had dragged him here to recover. But healing was impossible. When Capri entered, Warren didn't turn. "Ash returns tomorrow. Konstant? I'm not sure." Finally, he grabbed his leather jacket and left with Capri—just as Chicago arrived at the center, demanding his location, only to find she had missed him by moments.
Back at the Creed family estate, new cameras and halogen lights stood guard. Elder Creed, now fully grey-haired, sat among blooming blue flowers, sipping chocolate from a tray delivered by Beatrice, the new maid. Lydia reported Warren's release, assuring the elder that rehab staff had kept him clean. But Elder Creed's concern was sharper: "Why does he still carry that pendulum? Was Stonia's daughter truly hypnotized?" Lydia confirmed. Before they could speak further, an intruder alert shrieked. A gunshot rang out. Lydia shielded Elder Creed, taking a bullet to her arm, then pursued the fleeing shadow through the forest. She knew it was Maureen—Warren's mother's twin sister. Maureen had taunted them with letters and arrows, but now she had escalated to bullets. Lydia chased her to the barbed-wire fence, glimpsed her figure, fired, and missed. Maureen vanished into the night.
Meanwhile, at Imperial Levels College, the first day of term buzzed with energy. ILC had transformed—gangs flourished, sororities grew, and at the top stood The Four Horsemen: infamous, dangerous, and seductive, blending crime with erotic, taboo music. Among the freshmen chaos, Evelyn—sharp, mean, and impatient—stormed into the amphitheater, where she found not Bronx but a striking new student with a gleaming guitar. Irritated at being ignored, she snapped at him until Monty and Tina intervened, warning her never to disrespect Mykel—the legendary mute guitarist of The Four Horsemen. Realizing her mistake, Evelyn left fuming, but Mykel quietly pocketed a scrabble piece marked with "I" on one side and "Xora" on the other, smiling faintly.
Elsewhere in Tennessee, Bronx and Ashton prepared to return to Cali. Their abusive father handed them Amex cards; Ashton rejected his, while Bronx, now healed and handsome, mocked the man and left. But Bronx's phone carried a chilling reminder: the Brotherhood demanded he kill the girls this semester—or both brothers would die. Mr. Smith groaned alone, regretting ever killing their mother.
At Rugg Port that night, under the bright moon, Romeo and Clover handled a drug deal while Bethel guarded. Romeo had expanded his empire, building wealth and influence, with Ixora's face still on his phone screen. When Bethel spotted a spy with a camera, she cornered him and shot him dead, muttering about the thrill.
Far away in Moscow, the Barinov Guild loomed. Galina ruled ruthlessly over her husband Kol, holding Nadine captive as repayment for her parents' betrayal. In her doorless room, Nadine resisted food and lashed out at Konstantin, who bore her rage with cold detachment until Anfisa intervened. Nadine collapsed into Anfisa's arms, whispering how much she missed Ixora.
Back in California, at Stonia's mansion, night fell quiet until a car pulled up at the gate. From it stepped a girl, smiling at the house. The doorman's eyes widened. "Young Miss?!" he cried. "Miss Ixora!" His shout brought maids rushing, their disbelief turning into stunned joy. Stonia, barefoot and trembling, stumbled outside, while Rafael dropped his phone in shock. "Baby," he breathed. Tears spilled down Ixora's face as she ran into her parents' arms. "I missed you so much. I was kidnapped, trapped somewhere unknown—I suffered!" she wept. They covered her with kisses, clinging to her. Then another figure emerged from the car. A girl with cold eyes, oversized clothes, and half her face veiled in black. She scanned the mansion before a maid approached cautiously. "Who are you?" The girl's voice was icy. "I'm Elsa, her maid. I followed her from France."