(Seraphine's POV)
I didn't stop driving until the city lights blurred into distant shadows. Only then did I pull over, fingers tightening around the steering wheel as my pulse finally slowed. The anger was still there—quiet, sharp, restless—but I'd learned long ago how to keep it caged.
I reached for my phone.
Tori answered on the second ring.
"Seraphine," she said immediately. "Something's wrong. I can hear it in your breathing."
I exhaled slowly. "You remember the man I told you about. From the garden."
Silence.
"He has a name," I continued, my voice flat. "Dante Moreau."
The pause this time was heavier.
Then panic bled through her voice. "Seraphine—tell me you're joking."
"I'm not."
"You need to stay away from him," Tori rushed out. "Do you know who he is? What people say about him? He's not just dangerous—he's ruthless. Entire families disappear when his name is mentioned. People don't cross him and live normal lives afterward."
I leaned back against the seat, closing my eyes briefly. "My father thinks binding me to him is a solution."
"What?" Her voice rose. "That's insane. He's evil, Seraphine. Cold. Calculated. He doesn't care who he destroys as long as he wins."
A faint, humorless smile touched my lips. "Then he and I might have more in common than anyone realizes."
"Don't joke," she pleaded. "Please. Promise me you won't underestimate him."
"I never underestimate anyone," I said quietly. "That's how people get buried."
She swallowed on the other end. "Just… be careful. Whatever you're hiding—whatever you've become—don't let him see it first."
I ended the call without another word.
⸻
The entrance to my real world lay beneath an abandoned transit tunnel, far from cameras and curious eyes. I parked, stepped out, and walked straight toward the rusted steel door concealed by concrete and shadow.
A biometric scan. A low hum.
Then the ground itself shifted.
I descended.
The underground headquarters breathed order and power—low lights tracing polished black walls, screens alive with live feeds, maps, numbers, names. Men and women moved with purpose, dressed in dark tactical gear, eyes sharp with discipline and loyalty. No one spoke unless necessary. No one questioned my presence.
They lowered their heads as I passed.
"Queen."
I didn't slow.
The interrogation chamber sat at the heart of it all—cold, controlled, absolute. A man was restrained at the center of the room, bruised but conscious, defiance flickering behind fear. My enforcers stood around him, men and women trained to extract truth without losing themselves. Their calm was more terrifying than rage.
One of my lieutenants stepped forward. "He was embedded for months. Undercover. Feeding information to a rival syndicate."
He paused.
"During extraction, he killed Siren."
The name settled heavily in my chest.
Siren. Loyal. Precise. Gone.
I stopped in front of the captive and met his eyes. "You took one of mine."
He laughed weakly. "She screamed."
The room fell silent.
I raised a single hand.
The enforcers moved—not recklessly, not cruelly, but with practiced efficiency. His confidence collapsed into panic as he realized defiance meant nothing here. His voice echoed once… then faded beneath the weight of the underground.
I watched without expression.
"End it," I said calmly.
The command was obeyed.
When it was done, I turned away. "Dispose of him. Lock the perimeter. Trace every leak by morning."
"Yes, Queen."
As I walked deeper into the shadows of my domain, a single thought surfaced—clear and undeniable.
Dante Moreau ruled the surface world with fear.
But beneath it—
So did I.