The rain tasted like metal.
It slid down her lips as she crawled across the cold marble floor, fingers trembling, vision blurring in and out of darkness. The grand hall of the Black Orchid Syndicate—her home, her prison—echoed with distant gunfire and the sharp crack of shattering glass.
Her breath came out in short, broken bursts.
Her blood left a thin trail behind her.
She didn't need to look back to know who stood at the top of the staircase.
She could feel him.
Tall. Still. Silent.
Her husband.
Leonel Valtieri.
The man the underworld called The Ghost King.
The man she once believed would burn the world for her.
The man she now believed had killed her.
"Why?" Her voice was barely a whisper, scraped raw from smoke and betrayal. "Leonel… why?"
His polished shoes descended the stairs one step at a time, each click echoing like a countdown. He didn't rush. He never rushed. He moved with the calm certainty of a man who controlled everything—every life, every death, every breath in the shadows.
He stopped in front of her.
Rain dripped from his coat. His expression was unreadable, carved from ice and shadow. His dark eyes—eyes she once thought held galaxies—were empty.
"You shouldn't have come back tonight," he said quietly.
Her heart cracked.
So it was true.
He had ordered it.
The ambush. The explosion. The betrayal of the men she trusted. The bullet in her side.
Her vision swayed. She forced herself upright, gripping the edge of a broken pillar.
"I loved you," she whispered. "Even when I shouldn't have. Even when you gave me nothing."
A muscle in his jaw twitched.
For a moment—just a moment—she thought she saw something flicker in his eyes. Pain? Regret? No. Impossible. Leonel Valtieri didn't feel.
He crouched down, gloved fingers brushing a strand of wet hair from her cheek.
His touch was gentle.
His voice was not.
"You should have stayed away from the truth."
Her breath hitched. "So you admit it."
He didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
The silence was enough.
Her vision dimmed. The world tilted. She felt her body collapsing, but before she hit the ground, he caught her—arms strong, steady, heartbreakingly familiar.
She wanted to hate him.
She wanted to scream.
She wanted to claw at his face and demand answers.
But she was so tired.
Her head rested against his chest, and she felt his heartbeat—slow, steady, unchanging. The same heartbeat she had fallen asleep to countless nights.
"Leonel…" Her voice was fading. "Was any of it real?"
His arms tightened around her.
Then—
A whisper.
So soft she thought she imagined it.
"I'm sorry."
Her eyes widened.
But before she could speak, darkness swallowed her whole.
Her last thought was a bitter, broken truth:
She died in the arms of the man she loved…
and the man she believed had betrayed her.