The Tenorio Estate in Forbes Park was transformed into a monochromatic fortress. Under the command of Stephen, the theme was "Purity"—every guest, every flower, and every draped silk banner was a blinding, clinical white. It was a cruel irony for a family whose hands were permanently stained.
Lolo Tenorio sat on a gilded throne in the center of the ballroom, a crown prince of shadows celebrating eighty years of survival. He looked like a corpse wrapped in fine linen, his eyes scanning the room for the return on his investments.
The siblings arrived like a four-headed dragon, each representing a different corner of the globe. Stephen entered first, radiating a power that made the air feel thin. Matthew followed with predatory grace, his arm draped possessively around Cheska.
And then there was Joie. She was no longer the girl in the biology lab coat. She wore a backless white silk dress that revealed the faint, jagged scar on her shoulder—a "complication" from Bangkok. Her hair was pulled into a sharp bun. She looked like a scalpel: beautiful, precise, and dangerous.
"Look at you," Matthew whispered. "The Thai sun turned you into a queen, munchkin."
"And the Parisian wine turned you into a cliché, Matt," Joie countered.
"Careful," Timothy muttered, tapping his earpiece. Unlike his brothers, Tim looked unusually high-strung. Standing beside him was a man who looked entirely out of place in this room of wolves.
This was Pat. He was a pediatrician—kind-eyed, wearing a white suit that looked slightly too big for him, and smiling at the guests with genuine warmth. Timothy had hidden him for six years, keeping him tucked away in a quiet apartment in Quezon City, far from the blood and the "Main Work." To Pat, Timothy was just a high-level cybersecurity consultant with an intense family. He had no idea that the man he loved was the digital executioner for a global syndicate.
"You okay, Tim?" Pat whispered, reaching out to adjust Timothy's tie. "You've been checking your watch every two minutes."
"Just family business, Pat," Timothy said, his voice softening in a way it never did for anyone else. "Stay close to me, okay? These people... they aren't like the parents at your clinic."
Joie was finishing her third glass of whiskey when the room suddenly seemed to lose its oxygen.
"Cheska! Over here!" Matthew called out.
Cheska glided toward them, but she wasn't alone. Walking half a step behind her was Alliana. She looked older, her face more defined, her eyes carrying a weary intelligence. When her gaze landed on Joie, the pressure in Joie's chest was so violent it felt like a physical blow.
"Alliana?" Joie's voice was a ragged-husky whisper.
"Joie," Alliana replied. Her voice was steady, but her fingers were white where they gripped her clutch bag.
Cheska leaned in with a look of mischief. "I told Alliana she couldn't miss the party of the century."
The silence between them was a gaping wound. Nearby, Pat leaned over to Timothy. "Is that Joie's friend? She looks like she's seen a ghost." Timothy didn't answer; he just tightened his grip on Pat's arm, his eyes darting to Stephen.
"You look... successful," Alliana said, her eyes tracing the expensive silk of Joie's dress. "Cheska said you were doing amazing things in Bangkok. Saving lives."
Joie thought of the man she had "stabilized" for interrogation only forty-eight hours ago. "I'm doing what I was trained to do, Alliana."
"Is that what you call it?" Alliana stepped closer. "You look like you've been carved out of marble, Joie. I don't see the girl who caught my bag. I see... a Tenorio."
Before Joie could respond, Stephen stepped into their space. He ignored Alliana entirely, his presence acting as a cold barrier. He also spared a sharp, warning glance for Pat—a reminder to Timothy that the "civilian" was a liability in this room.
"Joie. Timothy. Lolo wants to see the four of us. Now," Stephen commanded.
Timothy looked at Pat, his face a mask of conflict. "Wait here with Cheska, Pat. I'll be right back."
"Is everything okay?" Pat asked, looking at the stern expression on Stephen's face. "Your brother looks like he's going to war."
"It's just how they talk about business, Pat. I'll be back," Timothy lied, his heart hammering.
Joie looked at Alliana, then at Pat—the two people who loved them but didn't know the monsters they really were. The fallout was going to be catastrophic.
"I have to go," Joie whispered.
"You always do," Alliana replied, her voice filled with a devastating pity.
As Joie walked away with her brothers toward Lolo's throne, she felt the "Iron Sister" mask clicking back into place. But she knew the lions were hungry, and they were finally noticing the sheep in their midst.