"Tonight, the city shifted.
Two men moved in the dark—both powerful, both dangerous, both hunting the same woman without even knowing it."
The hospital doors opened into darkness. Streetlights and camera flashes painted the night in jagged bursts of white. Kieran held Adrien close, shielding the boy's eyes from the relentless lights. Every step he took was measured, deliberate, like a predator marking its territory.
"Sir… where's your wife?" a trembling reporter called.
"Sir… is it true you're causing chaos in the city?"
The words hung in the air. Nobody dared ask anything more—not about death, not about loss. They knew better. The D'Angelos were no ordinary family. When Kieran moved, when the family moved, governments obeyed. Presidents bent. Ministers whispered in fear. The city's chaos wasn't random—it was controlled, orchestrated by a family that ruled in shadows and influence.
Kieran said nothing. Just walked. His men moved like shadows themselves, pushing reporters back with a precision that left no room for questions. Each step was authority incarnate—every glance could crush a career, every silence could ignite fear.
Inside the hospital window, the nurse watched. Sweet, innocent. Perfectly put together. Her smile didn't reach her eyes. Tonight, Aurielle was out of the way, and finally, her plan could begin. She pulled out her phone, dialing her boss. No answer. Her fingers hesitated, masked by that practiced grin.
The city, the paparazzi, the night itself—it all bent beneath the D'Angelos' shadow. And yet, behind the glass, someone wanted to poke that shadow, unaware of the storm they were challenging.
....
She lay there—too still, too soft—on Dante's massive bed, swallowed by sheets that looked expensive enough to buy a house. Aurielle's lashes didn't even flutter. Her breathing was shallow. The side of her head was wrapped in fresh bandages, a small stain of dried blood on the gauze.
The female doctor stood beside her, hands almost trembling around her tools. She kept glancing at Aurielle's face like it was haunting her… like she'd seen that face on every screen in the city for the last twenty-four hours.
Dante watched her quietly from the corner of the room.
Arms folded.
Expression unreadable.
That soft, deceptive smile tugging at the edge of his mouth—the kind of smile that made people confess their sins or piss themselves.
"Is she stable?" His voice finally cut through the silence—low, soft, dangerous.
The doctor cleared her throat. "Sir… physically, yes. But mentally—hmm—she hit her head badly. The impact and the shock… she's suffering temporary memory loss. She doesn't remember anything. Not her name. Not her past. Nothing."
Dante's eyes flicked to Aurielle's bare finger.
Where a ring used to be.
A ring he personally removed the moment he found her.
"Good," he murmured.
The doctor blinked. "…Sir?"
Dante didn't repeat himself. He didn't need to. The woman already felt the temperature drop.
The doctor swallowed hard and continued, "She will regain her memories gradually. With the right medication, rest, and familiar things—"
"No."
One word.
Sharp. Final.
The doctor froze.
Dante stepped forward slowly, like he enjoyed watching people panic in real time.
"She'll take nothing. No drugs. No triggers ." His eyes dragged over Aurielle's unconscious body like she already belonged to him. "Her memories will come back when I say so."
"Oh—okay, sir," the doctor whispered, voice crackling.
But her eyes kept drifting to Aurielle's face.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Like she knew exactly who was lying on that bed.
And that was her mistake.
Her hand slipped toward her phone anyway. Too fast.
Aurel's face…
A quick picture…
Send to someone who'd pay her for this information…
And Dante didn't miss anything.
His smile was still there, sweeter than honey.
And twice as poisonous.
"You recognize her," he said.
Not a question. A fact.
A loaded gun disguised as a sentence.
The doctor stuttered, "S-sir, I—I was only trying to—"
He hummed softly. Almost amused.
"You're bold," he said. "Stupid… but bold." He added gently,
"You're done here. You can go."
The doctor froze. "Oh—thank you, sir…"
He even opened the door for her.
Let her walk.
Let her breathe.
Let her believe she was safe.
She stepped past him, relief flooding her shoulders.
She was even smiling—SMILING—because she thought she escaped the devil.
She didn't even make it three steps.
BANG.
The bullet tore through the back of her skull, exploding out the front before she could gasp.
She collapsed face-first on the marble.
Phone still in her hand.
Eyes still wide.
Then he looked back at Aurielle.
Soft. Tender. Possessive. Unhinged.
"She's not going anywhere," he murmured to himself, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. "Not back to whoever she belonged to… not back to her old life… not even back to her memories."
He smiled at her like she was his favorite sin.
"She's mine now."
He pressed a kiss to her forehead.
"And she'll stay mine… whether she remembers it or not."
He snapped his fingers. Two men walked in immediately.
"Clean that up," Dante said, stepping over the doctor's corpse like it was a rug. "I don't want my princess waking up to anything unpleasant."
Aurielle would wake up soon.
And she'd wake up in the wrong man's kingdom.