KISS POV
The room was silent except for my breathing.
Slow.
Measured.
Controlled.
The mirror stared back at me, unblinking.
So did the woman in it.
I lifted my chin slightly, studying every detail—not with vanity, but with control.
The gown clung to me like a second skin, dark and daring, carved perfectly to reveal the curves I had once hidden, the body that had survived fire, blood, and loss. The slit ran high, unapologetic. My shoulders were bare, my collarbones sharp, elegant. Power wrapped itself around me more tightly than the fabric ever could.
The gown hugged my body like it knew me
—deep midnight black, slit high enough to whisper danger, neckline daring enough to demand attention. My waist curved sharply, my hips unapologetic, my shoulders bare but unbowed.
I reached up and touched my collarbone.
I wasn't dressing to be admired.
I was dressing to be remembered.
My stylist's hands trembled slightly as she fastened the last clasp.
I had done enough of that in my past life—when I needed approval, when I needed protection, when I needed permission.
Not tonight.
Tonight, the woman staring back at me didn't ask for anything.
She took.
This body had carried life.
Had bled.
Had survived betrayal.
It deserved to be seen.
My assistant cleared her throat nervously. "Mrs… Miss Wilson—"
I lifted my gaze slowly.
Her words died.
"You look…" she swallowed. "Like someone people shouldn't cross."
A slow smile curved my lips.
"They already did," I said quietly. "This is the consequence."
I turned away from the mirror.
Every step I took toward the door felt like reclaiming a piece of myself.
City V.
Adrian.
My children.
I'm coming.
ADRIAN POV — GOODWILL MANSION
The nursery was the only place where the noise in my head ever stopped.
I sat on the carpet, jacket discarded, sleeves rolled up, watching them.
My son pushed his toy car forward, then back, again and again, humming softly to himself. Focused. Serious. Just like me.
My daughter, however, had different plans.
She climbed onto my lap with clumsy determination, her tiny hands grabbing my shirt as if afraid I might disappear if she let go.
"Dada," she whispered.
"Yes, princess?"
She tilted her head, studying my face the way children do—like they see things adults don't.
"Dada… eyes sad",she muttered innocently.
My chest tightened.
I swallowed. Hard.
"They're not sad," I said gently. "Just tired."
She frowned, unconvinced, then reached up and patted my beard, her fingers tangling in it.
"I smiled".
I laughed despite myself. A real sound. A broken one.
"For you?" I murmured. "Always."
She leaned forward and pressed her forehead to mine, giggling when my breath tickled her nose.
My son finally looked up, brows knitting together.
I sighed. "Oh, don't give me that look."
I reached out and pulled him into my other arm, kissing his cheek.
He blinked, startled… then smiled.
That smile cracked something open inside me.
I looked at both of them—my heart walking outside my body.
"Your mother would've loved this," I whispered before I could stop myself.
Silence answered me.
I checked my watch.
Time was cruel.
I carried them downstairs.
Grandma sat waiting, regal as ever, but her eyes softened the moment she saw them.
"Come here, my angels."
I handed them over reluctantly.
Augustina appeared with a tray. "Coffee for the tortured soul," she teased gently.
I took it, barely tasting it.
"Watch them for me," I said quietly.
She nodded. "Find her."
I bent and kissed my children's foreheads.
"Be good," I whispered. "Dada will be back."
My daughter waved.
My son just stared.
I turned away before they could see the fracture in my face.
THE GRAND HALL — LATER THAT NIGHT
Crystal chandeliers glowed overhead.
Money. Power. Influence.
I moved through them automatically.
"Adrian."
"Goodwill."
"Congratulations in advance."
I nodded, shook hands, smiled when expected.
But something was wrong.
I felt it in my bones.
I took my seat as the ceremony began.
Awards came and went.
Then—
"And the second position goes to… Mr.
Adrian Goodwill."
The room applauded.
I froze.
Second?
That had never happened.
I walked to the stage, accepted the plaque, spoke without hearing my own voice.
"This award belongs to my team."
I stepped aside.
My heart pounded.
"And now," the host announced, "the winner of this year's Global Business Award—"
The pause stretched.
My breath caught.
"—Miss Kissabel Wilson Goodwill."
The doors opened.
Slowly.
The air changed.
She walked in.
Time shattered.
Every step echoed like a heartbeat.
Black gown. Bare shoulders. Chin lifted.
Power wrapped around her like a crown.
Kiss.
Alive.
Untouchable.
She passed me.
Didn't stop.
Didn't look.
I couldn't breathe.
She reached the podium.
Turned.
"Good evening," she said calmly. "Ladies and gentlemen."
Silence swallowed the room.
"I'm honored my empire achieved this," she continued. "And I'm finally back…"
Her gaze swept the room.
"…to reclaim what is mine."
Applause thundered.
I couldn't hear it.
She turned.
Her eyes found mine.
And she smiled.
Not cold.
Not distant.
Home.
My knees almost buckled.
She was here.
And the war for her heart—
Was over.
Or just beginning.