Chapter One – The House of Wolves
The mansion loomed like a beast carved into the night sky, its towers sharp against the fading sun, its windows gleaming like watchful eyes. To Kira Mitchell, it was not a house, it was a graveyard. Every brick was soaked in the memory of her parents' blood, every wall echoed with the cries of a family torn apart.
And tonight, she was stepping inside it.
Not as herself. Not as Kira Mitchell, the daughter of the people Leonardo Windsor had slaughtered.
Tonight, she was Isabel Scott the maid.
Her hands clutched the small suitcase she carried as she walked through the iron gates. The weight of it made her shoulders ache, but it was not the clothes inside that pressed down on her. It was the weight of her vow. The vow she had repeated every night for the last ten years. Revenge was her oxygen, and this house was where she would finally breathe it in.
The driveway stretched long and cold, lined with trimmed hedges and marble statues that looked like they were carved to judge her. She passed a fountain that spilled water like blood, and she remembered her aunt's warning that morning.
"Revenge does not heal wounds, Kira. It only digs them deeper."
Her aunt's trembling hands had pressed a rosary into hers, begging her to let go of the past. But Kira had clenched her jaw and turned away. Healing had never been her goal. She did not want peace. She wanted ruin.
The grand wooden doors creaked open when she reached them. A butler stood there, tall and skeletal, his white gloves wrapped around the polished handle. His gaze flicked over her plain black dress and the apron tied around her waist, as though measuring her worth in silence.
"Name," he said flatly.
She lowered her eyes, keeping her voice steady. "Isabel Scott."
He nodded and stepped aside. "Follow me."
Her heart hammered as she crossed the threshold. The inside of the Windsor mansion was more suffocating than she had imagined. Chandeliers glittered like cages of crystal, expensive paintings stretched across walls, and the marble floors reflected her every hesitant step. She had dreamt of this moment since she was twelve, dreamt of the day she would walk through these halls and burn them down from the inside.
Now that she was here, the plan was real.
The butler led her past servants who moved like ghosts, their heads bowed, their steps silent. None of them looked at her. It was as if they were all taught to pretend new blood did not exist.
He finally stopped before a heavy door. "You will begin tonight. The Windsors are hosting a banquet. You are assigned to serve in the dining hall."
Her stomach twisted, but she nodded. "Yes, sir."
The butler gave her a sharp look. "Do not call me sir. I am Mr. Gray. Learn the rules fast if you want to survive in this house."
Survive. The word clung to her like a curse.
When he left, she exhaled slowly and pressed her palm against the wall. The chill of the marble seeped into her skin. This was it. This was the beginning.
She quickly changed into the Windsor maid uniform a plain black dress, white apron, and a small lace cap. She tied her hair into a tight bun, hiding the cinnamon streaks that would give her away. Her beautiful eyes, the only feature she could never disguise, stared back at her from the mirror. For a moment, she saw her mother's face in her reflection.
"I will not fail," she whispered to herself.
The banquet hall was already glowing with music and laughter when she entered. A long golden table stretched across the room, lined with crystal glasses and silver cutlery. Men in black suits and women draped in diamonds filled the air with chatter that tasted of power and poison.
And at the head of the table sat Leonardo Windsor.
Her chest constricted.
He was older now, his hair streaked with silver, his face carved by years of ruling an empire built on blood. But his eyes were the same cold, calculating, the eyes she had seen in her nightmares as he pulled the trigger that ended her father's life.
Kira gripped the wine bottle so hard her knuckles whitened. Her plan was simple. She would get close to his son, seduce him, ruin him. Through the heir, she would make Leonardo suffer.
She poured wine into crystal glasses, careful not to tremble. No one noticed her, not really. To them, she was invisible. A shadow in the corner. Just the way she needed to be.
Until she saw him.
Lorenzo Windsor.
He walked in late, dressed in a black tailored suit that clung to his broad shoulders. His iced grey eyes scanned the room with a detached arrogance, as though nothing here was worth his time. The crowd seemed to lean toward him unconsciously, drawn by the quiet danger he carried.
He was every inch the man she had sworn to hate: cold, arrogant, untouchable.
And yet, when his gaze swept across the room and landed on her, her breath caught. Just for a second.
But he did not linger. He looked away as if she were nothing more than a speck of dust.
Good. That was what she wanted. She could not afford his attention yet.
Hours passed in a blur of music, clinking glasses, and laughter sharp enough to cut skin. Kira stayed to the edges, blending into the shadows. Until it happened.
The chandelier.
It hung above Lorenzo, glittering dangerously as he raised a glass to mock a guest with a cruel smirk. No one noticed the way it swayed unnaturally, the bolts loosened just enough. No one but her.
Her pulse roared in her ears. This was not an accident. Someone wanted him dead.
For a moment, she hesitated. Why should she care? Let him be crushed. Let him bleed.
But her body moved before her mind caught up.
She sprinted across the hall, shoving him hard just as the chandelier came crashing down. Glass and crystal exploded across the floor, shards flying like daggers. Screams filled the air.
Lorenzo stumbled, his glass shattering in his hand. His storm-grey eyes widened as he stared at her. Confusion. Shock. And something else she could not name.
The music had stopped. Every head turned toward them.
Kira's chest heaved as she looked at the broken chandelier, the glittering shards scattered across the floor where he had stood. If she had been a second late, he would be lying there now. Dead.
And she had saved him.
Damn it.
His gaze locked onto her. No longer cold, no longer dismissive. For the first time, Lorenzo Windsor truly looked at her.
Later, when the hall had emptied and the guests were gone, she tried to slip away. But in the dim corridor, footsteps followed her.
She turned and froze.
Lorenzo stood there, his shirt loosened, a faint line of blood on his palm from the shattered glass. His eyes burned with questions.
"You," he said, his voice low and commanding. "Who are you?"
Her lips parted. Her disguise, her plan, her vow everything threatened to collapse under the weight of his stare.
She forced her voice to remain steady. "I am no one, sir. Just a maid."
He stepped closer, too close. His presence wrapped around her like smoke. "No maid sees what you saw tonight. No maid moves like that. So I will ask again. Who are you really?"
Her heart pounded against her ribs. She wanted to lie. She needed to lie. But the way he looked at her made the words stick in her throat.
He leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper meant only for her. "If you are going to stay in this house, Isabel Scott, you will answer to me. And you will report to me directly from now on."
His iced grey eyes pierced into her, and for the first time in her carefully constructed plan, Kira felt it her heart betraying her mission.
And that was when she realized the most dangerous part of her revenge was not Leonardo Windsor.
It was his son.
Kira stood frozen in the corridor as Lorenzo's words sank in. She had saved him without thinking, and now he wanted her close, closer than she had ever planned. Her revenge
depended on staying in the shadows. But now the heir of the empire she wanted to destroy had pulled her into his light.