The floors of the precinct echoed beneath Carly's boots as she stormed down the corridor, fury sharpening every step.
Officers turned their heads as she passed. Some tried not to stare. Others already knew.
She didn't slow down.
She reached the Chief's office and shoved the door open without knocking. It slammed hard against the wall.
"Chief!" she snapped. "Why did you release Cassian Corven?"
Behind the large oak desk, the Police Chief leaned back in his chair as though nothing in the world could disturb his comfort. One hand rested over his eyes, fingers pressing lightly against his temple as if he were the one inconvenienced.
"Carly," he said slowly, voice measured, "you do realize this is still my office. And I am still your boss. You don't get to barge in whenever you feel like it."
She stepped forward, jaw tight.
"That's not important right now," she shot back. "What's important is that lunatic is back out there. And who knows what he'll do next."
The Chief lowered his hand and looked at her properly now.
There was no anger in his eyes.
Just exhaustion.
Or annoyance
"Listen," he said, folding his hands on the desk, "at this rate, you're never getting promoted,sometimes you just have to let it go."
Her stare hardened.
"They were just a bunch of rich kids playing with guns," he continued dismissively. "No big deal. It's not like anyone died."
Carly let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh — except there was nothing amused about it.
"They fired live rounds in a public warehouse," she said sharply. "One of them pointed a weapon at an officer. Cassian Corven wasn't 'playing.' He was making a point"
The Chief's jaw tightened.
"And that point came with five lawyers and a phone call from City Hall within ten minutes," he replied. "You think I enjoy this?"
She didn't answer.
Because she knew.
The Corven name carried weight in this city. Political donations. Corporate influence. Employment contracts. Campaign backing,they were basically untouchable
"That family," Carly said quietly now, more controlled, "has its hands in something bigger. This isn't just reckless behavior. Every time we get close, evidence disappears. Witnesses retract . Paperwork goes missing,this can't be mere coincidence."
The Chief stood slowly.
"You're chasing shadows," he said firmly. "that may cause you more than you can ever imagine. Drop it."
Her eyes flashed.
"With respect, sir, I can't."
Silence settled heavily between them.
The Chief studied her for a long moment before shaking his head.
"You're a good detective, Carly. Don't ruin your career over an impossible case."
She turned toward the door, but paused.
"You're wrong," she said without looking back. "and am going to show you."
And then she walked out.
The door closed behind her — quieter this time.
Inside the office, the Chief exhaled slowly and reached
."what do I do with this girl"
Inside the quiet confinement of her apartment, Elina sat surrounded by newspapers and intelligence clippings, each one revolving around the same name.
Corven.
Corporate expansions. Political partnerships. Charity galas. International investments.
A perfect empire on paper.
Her fingers moved absently across the scattered pages until one headline caught her attention.
The Masked Ball.
Her eyes lingered.
One of the most prestigious annual events hosted by the Corven family. Invitation-only. Politicians, heirs, foreign investors, social elites — all gathered under one glittering roof.
This year, it would be held inside the Corven Mansion.
Elina leaned back slowly.
A masked ball.
No faces.
No identities.
Just power hidden behind silk and gold.
Finally.
Her chance to step into their world — not as a shadow, not as staff —
But as someone who belonged.
This would be her first opportunity to stand in the same room as the family she had been sent to destroy.
She picked up her phone and dialed.
John answered on the second ring.
"Hello?"
"John," she said calmly, "I think I'm going to need a very pretty dress… and a mask."
There was a pause.
"What do you need that for?"
A faint smile touched her lips.
"Let's just say," she replied, "I have a party to crash."
John exhaled softly, already understanding.
"Mind if I tag along?"
"I think I've got this one."
Another pause.
"Alright. I'll have everything delivered by tonight."
"Perfect."
She ended the call and looked back at the newspaper.
The game was about to begin.
Corven Mansion
In the great hall of the mansion, power sat in silence.
Antony Corven occupied the central chair, carved and imposing — less a seat and more a throne.
To his right sat Damian.
To his left, Cassian.
Antony observed both sons without speaking.
Damian was calm, posture straight, a book resting open in his hands. Unbothered. Controlled.
Cassian, on the other hand, shifted impatiently, tension rolling off him in waves.
Finally, Cassian broke the silence.
"Father, why have you called us here? We've been sitting for an hour and you haven't said anything."
Antony did not look at him.
"Patience, Cassian."
Cassian scoffed lightly. "How much longer must we sit here?"
That was when Antony turned.
His gaze was cold.
"You got into a gunfight," he said evenly. "Shot three men. Nearly killed one. And you are telling me you cannot sit and wait?"
The hall seemed to tighten around them.
"I could have broken your legs for acting so stupidly," Antony continued, his voice dangerously calm. "Instead, I told you to sit,don't make me regret it."
Cassian swallowed.
"I'm sorry, Father."
Antony's eyes shifted.
"Damian."
The book closed gently.
Damian turned his head.
"Yes, Father."
"I want you to attend the Masked Ball with us this year. Do you have any objections?"
"No, Father."
"Good."
Cassian stiffened.
"Father, you can't let him come with us," he cut in sharply. "People will start to doubt my position as your heir."
Antony's expression hardened.
"Cassian," he said quietly, "you will remain in your room for the entire evening."
Cassian's chair scraped violently against the floor.
"You can't do that!"
"Do not make me repeat myself."
The fury in Cassian's eyes flared as he turned toward Damian.
Hatred.
Raw and unhidden.
He stormed out without another word, the echo of his footsteps fading down the corridor.
Silence returned.
Antony looked at Damian.
"Do you remember what I told you the day I brought you here?"
Eighteen Years Ago
Damian was six years old when his mother disappeared.
He remembered the gates of the Corven Mansion towering above him.
He remembered his small hands trembling.
Antony had crouched in front of him, gripping his shoulders firmly.
"Damian," he had said, voice low and serious, "I need you to listen carefully."
The boy had nodded.
"You are a Corven now. And being a Corven means surviving. Once we enter those gates, everyone and everything inside becomes your enemy."
Damian's small brows had drawn together.
"But Father—"
"No," Antony interrupted sharply. "No 'but.' You must survive. Always be alert. Never let your guard down. Do you understand?"
A long pause.
Then the boy had nodded again.
"I understand."
Present Day
Damian met his father's gaze evenly.
"How could I forget?" he replied calmly. "It was the first piece of advice you ever gave me."
Antony studied him carefully.
"Good."
Because at the Masked Ball—
Survival would not be an option