The house had learned Moody's footsteps again.Not welcomed them—just remembered. The marble floors carried his weight differently now, echoing sharper, heavier, as if the walls themselves had recalibrated to the version of him that had come back wrong. Brine met him at the foot of the staircase. It wasn't planned. That was the worst part. Brine had a glass in his hand, amber catching the chandelier light, posture loose in the way men got when they believed they still owned the room. Moody stopped short when he saw him. For half a second, neither moved.Then Brine smiled.
"Well," he said lightly.
"Look who finally remembered where home is."
Moody's jaw tightened. "Move."
Brine didn't. Instead, he took a slow sip, eyes never leaving Moody's face.
"Funny thing," he said. "You disappear for years. No calls. No explanations. And suddenly you're back, stalking halls like you're owed something."
Moody stepped closer. The air between them tightened, stretched thin.
"I don't owe you a conversation," Moody said.
"No," Brine agreed softly. "You owe me answers."
That did it.Moody's hand came up fast, shoving Brine back into the railing. Glass shattered. Amber spilled like blood across the floor.Brine laughed—sharp, humorless.
"There it is," he said. "That temper. I almost missed it."
He swung.The sound of impact cracked through the hall—bone on bone, breath forced out of lungs. Moody staggered back a step, then surged forward. They crashed into each other, years of buried resentment detonating all at once.This wasn't a fight about pride. It was about territory. About who had stayed and who had left. About Lena. Brine slammed Moody into the wall.
"You think you can just come back and—"Moody drove his fist into Brine's ribs.
"You think you get to touch what I—""What?" Brine snarled.
"Claim?"They went down hard, furniture scraping, the house protesting around them. Brine's knuckles split Moody's lip. Moody caught Brine by the collar and shoved him back, breathing ragged, eyes dark.
"Say her name," Moody said quietly. "Say Lena's name."
Brine froze.That silence was louder than any shout.Before either of them could move again, the office door above them opened.
"Enough." Mr. Edwin's voice cut through the chaos like a blade. Guards appeared from nowhere, hauling them apart. Moody resisted once—out of instinct, not intention—then let go. Brine straightened his jacket, blood at the corner of his mouth, eyes still burning. Mr. Edwin stood at the railing, fury carved into every line of his face.
"In My office," he said. "Now!"
They didn't argue. Inside, the room felt smaller than it had ever been. Heavy wood. Locked windows. Power pressed into every surface.Mr. Edwin slammed his palm onto the desk.
"Do you have any idea," he roared, "how stupid you both look?" Neither answered.
He pointed at Moody.
"You come back from wherever the hell you were with secrets hanging off you like smoke."
Then at Brine.
"And you think prowling around unresolved business gives you ownership?"
His voice dropped. Dangerous now. Controlled.
"I know exactly what you're fighting over," he said. "And neither of you gets to tear my house apart because of a woman you don't understand."
Brine's lips curled.
"You don't understand her either." Mr. Edwin's eyes flashed.
"Enough!"
Outside the door, Nicky stood frozen.She hadn't meant to listen. She'd been passing—just passing—when voices rose, when her father's name cracked like thunder. Now she pressed herself against the wall, heart hammering, every word branding itself into her memory. A woman you don't understand.Because of Lena.Her stomach dropped. Inside, Mr. Edwin leaned forward.
"Whatever you think Lena is," he said, "you're wrong. And whatever you think you're protecting—you're already too late."
Moody looked up sharply.
"What does that mean?"
Mr. Edwin didn't answer. He turned away instead, dismissal absolute.
"Get out of my sight before you make this worse."
The door opened. Nicky barely had time to step back before they stormed past her—Moody first, face tight and unreadable, Brine slower, eyes scanning the hall like he was already planning his next move.They didn't see her. She waited until the door closed again.Then she ran.
Mr. Stack's study room smelled like leather and old cigars. Power lived here too—but it was quieter, more patient. Nicky didn't knock. Her father looked up, surprised, then concerned when he saw her face.
"You heard something," he said. She nodded.
"They're fighting over Lena." That name landed heavy. Mr. Stack leaned back slowly.
"Go on."
"Dad," Nicky said, voice shaking despite herself, " they don't know who she is. But they're scared. All of them. Even Mr. Edwin."
"Are you sure they don't who she is?" Mr stack adjec unable to understand anything."
"Yes! I'm sure, i heard everything. My ears were alert."
"Then why would they speak of a person they don't know?"
"Then that's what we're about to find out. There's something they are hiding."
Silence stretched.Then Mr. Stack reached for the phone.
"I want everything about her," he said into the receiver. "Name. History. Financial ghosts. Who she talks to, who she hides with, where she sleeps. And if she's disappeared—find out why." He paused.
"Use all the investigators."The line went dead.
Nicky swallowed.
"What if they find her?" Mr. Stack looked at his daughter, expression unreadable.
"Then we'll finally know what kind of game we're in."
Across the city, files began to open. Databases stirred.And somewhere far from the house that believed it still controlled the truth, Lena slept under a name that wasn't hers—unaware that fault lines were shifting beneath her feet. Hellfire burned steady. And the price of entry was about to be paid by someone who never meant to step inside at all.