Kayros's POV
Three days have passed since our last conversation, and today I am listening to… what?
"Ophelia attended the White Rose gang meeting, where seven mob masters were present," Czar repeats in disbelief. "With Raphael Blackwood?"
Standing beside him is my father's second most trusted man—Czar's uncle, Killian Volkov. The same man who, in my past life, tried to warn me about Ophelia and Vincent's secret agreement… and died at the hands of Vincent's spies.
Killian Volkov nods. He is in his mid-forties, single and childless, yet his presence speaks volumes. Tall—around six feet—with broad shoulders and muscles sculpted by countless mob fights and brutal training. A man who could probably defeat a mad lion with his bare hands.
"It's both good and bad," he says evenly. "Good, because Raphael Blackwood taking Ophelia with him sends a silent message—he holds her in high regard." He pauses, eyes flicking to me. "Maybe even more than his older son and daughter, whom he dotes on so much."
Czar frowns, confusion etched across his face. Of course he knows—despite being Ivy's fiancé—that Ophelia was never favored by her father.
And the secret I carry reminds me of how desperately Raphael once tried to replace Ophelia with Ivy… because Ivy loved me.
I let the silence settle.
Everyone in the room is struggling to understand how Ophelia—of all people—was allowed into a White Rose closed-door meeting, one even the heir had never attended.
My cold gaze drops to the laptop in front of me.
CCTV footage plays.
Twenty members of the Black Widow, disguised as Russian police officers, raid our hideout in Serbia. Nearly two hundred million worth of weapons—and a newly developed gunpowder formula—are seized. A formula our chemist perfected to give the Black Wolf an edge in the ongoing weapons war of the underworld.
This happened before.
And thankfully, I know exactly where those weapons will surface before they reach the Black Widow headquarters.
"Did you place our shadow team along Pan-European Corridor X?" I ask coldly, taking a long drag from my cigar.
Czar nods, skeptical. "Yes. They're positioned between Belgrade and Zagreb. But are you sure they'll use that route? It's not a typical way to smuggle weapons across borders."
A deep, rough chuckle echoes through my study. The fireplace burns quietly, warming the room—doing nothing to calm me.
"That's precisely the point," I say, leaning back in my leather chair, smoke curling from my lips as I close my eyes. "It's not normal. That's what makes it effective. And dangerous."
Killian looks at me as if I've lost my mind. He licks his dry lips. "You do realize your father is already furious that you accepted Ophelia's proposal so easily. If you mess this up—"
"I won't, Uncle Killian," I say without opening my eyes.
Because I failed before—assuming the Black Widow would act predictably.
They never do.
And they never will.
Czar sighs dramatically and collapses onto the couch. "Let's wait and see. Thirty of our best fighters and shooters are deployed. If we recover our weapons and the gunpowder formula… the Black Widow will lose face in the underworld."
I open my eyes.
How long has it been since I felt this icy rush of logic and strategy flood my mind?
Too long.
"Kill everyone on the Black Widow team," I say calmly, "and send them back to the Black Widow. Publicly."
The room shifts.
Uncle Killian stares at me, stunned, trying to understand why I'm choosing a path I've always avoided.
I've never been a public figure. I was the shadow—the cold, silent phantom who struck when no one was watching.
And that restraint made my violence seem negligible compared to my father's.
It also got me killed.
"Publicly?" Killian confirms slowly. "You mean… the way your father would?"
A loud laugh—filled with thrill and amusement—shakes his shoulders.
Czar facepalms, shaking his head as he checks his phone. "We'll follow what our next boss says."
He sends a voice message to the encrypted group chat of the Black Wolf's elite team.
My head buzzes.
I should receive confirmation within three hours.
Yet my mind isn't on the stolen weapons… or the gunpowder formula falling into enemy hands.
It's on one woman.
The woman who ruined me—both metaphorically and literally.
Why did Raphael Blackwood take Ophelia with him?
What was his motive behind such an unexpected move?
My heart beats faster. My head throbs.
A dozen scenarios race through my mind.
None of them make sense—especially when I factor in the kind of relationship Ophelia has with her family.
I inhale sharply, holding my breath to steady my thoughts—
And fuck.
I can't do this.
Restlessness claws at me. My stomach churns. My head feels heavy. I stand abruptly, grabbing my car keys without a word, ignoring Czar and Uncle Killian calling after me.
My eyes burn—not with tears, but with something I refuse to name.
I get into my black Pagani, already lighting my third cigarette. Smoke thickens the air as snow blankets the road ahead.
All I can think is—
Ophelia.
Ophelia.
Ophelia.
Ophelia.
Ophelia.
Ophelia.
And—
Ophelia Blackwood.
I haven't been able to silence the roar in my chest ever since a single thought hijacked my entire nervous system.
Is this Ophelia… really the woman I once loved enough to ignore her betrayal—until it cost me my life?
I clench my jaw and slam the accelerator, breaking every traffic law until I stop before the iron gates of Blackwood Mansion.
Snow covers the roof like a blank white page. The sky is dark and oppressive, as if the sun never rose.
The guards recognize me immediately and open the gates. My car glides up the smooth driveway.
I feel rage. Skepticism. Nervous anticipation.
And something dangerously close to desperation.
Fuck.
Just three days without seeing her—and I'm already acting like a lunatic.
How do I stop a heart that hates her for betrayal, yet longs for a single glance?
I enter through the massive entrance—ivory and gold adorning the walls, floors, and ceilings. The butler rushes forward to greet me—
And then I see her.
A stunned pair of hazel-green eyes stare down at me from the third floor.
My heart slams so hard I fear the sound might give me away.
My hands hang uselessly at my sides. Every thought of revenge dissolves when her shoulders relax instead of tensing.
And fuck me.
This isn't the Ophelia I once fell in love with.
This one is more dangerous.
Because she disarms me like it's instinct.
"What are you doing?" she asks—no, shouts—from the third floor. Her lips twitch, almost smiling.
Mine don't.
She is going to be the death of me.
No.
She already was—once.
Not again. Get a grip.
I clench my fists, staring at her until the pressure in my chest eases just enough.
Then I let a smile cut through my cold exterior.
A promise of hope and happiness—meant only to be destroyed.
Her breath catches. I see her knuckles turn white against the railing she clings to like a lifeline.
I smirk.
"Can't I visit my soon-to-be wife?" I ask lightly. "Don't be so distant, sweetheart."
The words taste like poison.
But anything—
Anything—
For revenge..