The moon hung heavy over the city, a silver eye watching from above as if it knew the secrets hidden beneath its glow. Lance's penthouse was quiet—too quiet—after the dinner at Jenny's home. The space felt colder tonight, the marble floors reflecting the distant lights of skyscrapers, the quiet hum of the night too fragile compared to the storm that brewed inside Lance's chest.
Maria sat alone on the plush sofa, her sketchbook open but the pencil unmoving. She had drawn only a single line in the last hour. The dinner replayed in her mind: Jenny's warm smile, her gentle attempts at conversation, the awkward but sincere way she tried to pull Maria into the discussion. And then… Leah Blackwood's calculating eyes. The way they flickered with recognition, suspicion, and unspoken malice when she saw Lance.
Maria shivered at the memory.
It wasn't the cold.
It was Lance.
He hadn't spoken a word since they left the Blackwood mansion.
He hadn't even removed his coat.
He simply walked into his study, closed the door, and left the rest of the world behind him.
Maria stared at the closed door. Lance only shut himself away when he was either breaking or planning. And Maria feared it was the latter.
She stood, the soft blanket sliding off her lap. Her heart pounded as she crossed the living room. She knocked lightly.
"Lance?" She waited. "Can I come in?"
No answer.
She pushed the door open.
The study was dim, only the city lights outlining Lance's tall frame as he stood before the massive window. His reflection stared back at him—a man forged from pain, ambition, and a decade of carefully tended darkness.
His hands were in his pockets, his shoulders tense. The room felt colder with him in it, as if even the air understood the danger simmering beneath his calm exterior.
Maria stepped inside and closed the door gently behind her.
"Lance," she said softly, "you've been quiet since dinner."
He didn't turn.
He didn't need to. His voice alone made the room vibrate.
"Quiet is safer than what I want to do."
Maria's stomach twisted.
"What do you mean?" she whispered.
Lance exhaled, long and heavy, as if trying to tame the storm inside him. "Tonight," he said slowly, "I saw everything I needed to see. The house. The faces. The life they built using what was meant to be ours."
He finally turned to face her.
His eyes were sharp—too sharp—and filled with the kind of emotion Maria had seen only a handful of times in her life.
Not sadness.
Not anger.
Conviction.
"Leah Blackwood," he said, voice cold as winter steel. "She hasn't changed. Not even a little. Still manipulative, still hungry for influence… still pretending to be a victim while stepping on everyone else to climb higher. And Richard?" Lance scoffed. "He's even worse. Weak. Spineless. A puppet wrapped in expensive suits."
"Lance—"
"They forced us out," he continued, voice thick with suppressed fury. "They threw us into the streets. You were six, Maria. Six." His jaw clenched. "You cried the entire night. Do you remember?"
Maria flinched.She remembered.A stormy night. A small cardboard box of their things. Lance's trembling arms trying to shield her from the rain. The cold.
The fear.
"I remember," she whispered.
"That night," Lance said, "I promised I would take everything back. Everything they stole from us." His eyes hardened. "Tonight just confirmed that the time has come."
Maria stepped closer. "Lance… what are you planning?"
Lance brushed past her and sat behind his large desk, flicking on the small desk lamp. The warm light illuminated the papers in front of him—documents, maps, business charts, Blackwood Corporation files.
Maria's breath caught.
He had prepared for this.
For years.
"I'm going to dismantle the Blackwood family," he said plainly, fingers tapping on a file with Leah's photo clipped to the top. "Piece by piece. Their finances, their connections, their carefully built reputation. I want them to watch their empire crumble in their hands."
"Lance…"
"I'm going to make them experience the humiliation they forced onto us," he said, voice low and lethal. "And then I'll take everything they cherish. Their comfort. Their pride. Their future."
"And Jenny?" Maria asked.
Silence.
He didn't look up.He didn't breathe.
He didn't need to speak.
Maria's heart sank.
"Lance… no." Her voice trembled. "Jenny isn't like them."
Lance didn't respond.
He continued flipping through documents methodically, as if she wasn't there.
"Lance, listen to me!" Maria said, louder now, stepping directly in front of him and grabbing the papers out of his hand. "Jenny doesn't deserve this!"
His eyes snapped up, sharp as knives.
"Give those back, Maria."
"No!" Maria took a step back, clutching the papers to her chest. "You're angry. I understand. But don't punish someone innocent. Jenny is kind. She doesn't even know what happened between us and her family."
"She's their daughter," Lance said, rising to his feet.
"And she hates being in that house!" Maria countered. "I saw it tonight. The way she flinched when her mother raised her voice. The way she looked helpless every time Richard made a decision for her. She's trapped, Lance. She's as much a victim of them as we were!"
Lance's expression flickered—just a breath, just a crack—but he forced it shut again.
"This isn't about her," he said. "It's about everything they owe us."
"It is about her," Maria insisted. "Because you're dragging her into revenge she didn't earn. And if you do that…" She swallowed, voice breaking. "You'll become exactly like them."
Lance froze.
Maria never spoke to him that way.Not sharply.Not accusingly.
He stared at her, breathing uneven, torn between fury and the fragile plea in her eyes.
Maria's voice softened. "Lance… revenge kept you alive for years. I know that. But I don't want it to turn you into someone you're not."
She stepped closer, touching his hand gently."Don't hurt Jenny. Don't shatter someone who's already struggling to breathe."
A long silence fell. Only their breathing filled the room.
Finally, Lance sat down again, covering his face with one hand. The exhaustion he usually hid pulled at his features.
"Maria," he said quietly, "revenge is all I've had. The only thing that kept me focused. The only reason we survived."
"And love is the reason I survived," Maria whispered. "Your love. My belief in you."
He looked up, eyes softening for the first time that night.
Maria took his hand fully now."You can get justice, Lance. But don't break Jenny's heart. Please."
He didn't answer.
He couldn't.
Because even he didn't know if he could keep that promise.