Chapter Seventeen: Sinful Symphony.

Violet Virgilson.

The morning sun felt like an intruder, slashing through my curtains and landing harshly on my face. I groaned, tossing the pillow across the bed as if it could erase the memory of last night. But it couldn't. Nothing could-not Rudolpho's ridiculous demands or the endless echo of Vincent's voice circling my mind like a predator.

I sat up, hair a wild halo around my face, pressing my hands to my temples. Why is desire so cruel? Why does it come wrapped in smirks, dark eyes, and heat that makes your morals pack their bags and run away screaming?

God, I was pathetic.

I glanced at my reflection in the mirror. My dress from the gala lay in a crumpled heap, sequins glittering like judgmental stars. "Bravo, Violet. You danced in his arms, let him call you 'his,' and now you're going to spend the day mentally composing your obituary as a morally upright woman," I muttered, voice dripping with sarcasm.

The absurdity almost made me laugh-if my chest weren't still pounding from the night before.

I could still feel his touch lingering like phantom heat across my skin. The way his hand had circled my waist, his lips so close to my ear when he whispered things that should have been forbidden... every nerve in my body was on fire, and my brain had decided to be the most unhelpful narrator imaginable.

And Rudolpho? That pompous, self-important fool, thinking a piece of paper and a public introduction made me his.

I scoffed, pacing the room. "Paper marriages... really? Is that all it takes?"

I flopped onto the bed dramatically. "I've literally been married to a man I barely know, and I'm supposed to feel... what? Obligated? Morally responsible?" I shook my head. "I feel like a cat stuck in a bathtub. Wet. Miserable. And completely at odds with my dignity."

Yes. Completely at odds with my dignity.

---

A knock on the door made me jump. My heart skipped like a frantic drumline.

"Violet?" The low, velvet voice drifted through the thin wood.

I groaned. "Of course it's him. Why wouldn't it be him?"

Vincent Valentino Virenson. Dangerous, infuriating, irresistible Vincent Virenson.

I pressed my back to the headboard. "I'm not in the mood for emotional ruin today-or temptation-or laughter that makes me forget my own name."

His chuckle seeped under the door like smoke. "Ah, Violet. You always make it sound so dramatic."

"I am dramatic. Want a medal for noticing?" I snapped.

A pause. Then the softest, most terrifying sound: the click of the door unlocking.

---

Vincent appeared like he had materialized from the shadows themselves, dark suit impeccable, eyes blazing, and that smile that made me want to throttle him and kiss him at the same time.

"You shouldn't be here," I muttered.

"Really, V? I'm in your apartment," he said smoothly, eyebrow raised.

My back hit the wall instinctively. "Vincent-"

"Say it," he whispered, so close I could feel his breath. "Say you don't want me, Violet. Say it, and I'll leave."

I swallowed. Words hovered, fragile and false. I don't want you. But if I said it aloud, I'd be lying.

"Good," he murmured, eyes dark and triumphant. "Because you can't. You don't want to."

I shoved at his chest half-heartedly. "You're dangerous."

"And you like it."

The truth landed like a hammer. God help me, I did.

---

Minutes-or hours-passed in silence. My hands trembled, curling into fists at my sides. My body leaned toward him even as my mind screamed to run. I wanted to scold him, push him away, but all I could do was stare.

"This is wrong," I whispered.

"Wrong has never felt so right," he said softly, thumb grazing my jaw.

I closed my eyes, fighting the tears stinging at the edges. My father's stern face flashed in my mind, warning me about men like him. My mother's sharp voice demanded I uphold morality and duty. My vows, my chains-all of it warred inside me.

When I opened my eyes, all I saw was him. And in that moment, the world disappeared.

---

I don't know how long we stood there, suspended in tension thick enough to cut. If he kissed me now, I wouldn't stop him.

Panic surged. "Leave, Vincent."

For once, he didn't smirk. His eyes darkened, jaw clenched, every inch taut with restraint. Then, slowly, deliberately, he nodded.

But his parting words burned into me like fire:

"This isn't the end, Violet. You can lie to yourself all you want. But that fire? It's ours. And it will burn everything in its path."

He left. The door clicked shut. I collapsed onto the bed, trembling from the storm he left behind.

Sinful Symphony. That's what tonight had become. And God help me, I wasn't sure I wanted it to stop.

---

The next morning, sunlight sliced into my room mercilessly. I flopped onto my stomach, hair tangled, the gala dress still mocking me from the floor.

Why do humans make things so complicated? I thought. Why must desire arrive wrapped in smirks, dark eyes, and heat that makes you consider the unthinkable?

The memory of Vincent lingered, persistent as a pop song stuck on repeat. His hand around my waist, his whisper too close to my ear, the subtle brush of his fingers...

I groaned. "If I survive today without spontaneously combusting, it'll be a miracle."

Then, just as I was about to crawl back under the covers, my phone buzzed.

Vincent: We need to talk. Now.

I groaned. "Oh, naturally. Because why wouldn't the man who sets your blood on fire at midnight want to continue the symphony in broad daylight?"

I wanted to delete it. I wanted to toss the phone into the trash. I wanted to hide.

But I didn't.

---

By evening, the gala was behind us, but the night had only begun. Vincent had insisted-insisted, I tell you-that I accompany him to his house. I could argue, I could protest, I could feign moral outrage... but he was Vincent Virenson, and arguing with him was like trying to resist gravity.

His penthouse was an echo of his presence: sleek, commanding, impossibly perfect. And there, under the dim city lights spilling through the floor-to-ceiling windows, he became the conductor of our dangerous, intoxicating symphony.

"You're impossible," I muttered, trying to sound unimpressed.

"And you like impossible," he countered, leaning close.

The truth hit me like the final note of a crescendo. God help me, I did.

---

Hours stretched into eternity. We argued, teased, and laughed in whispers and half-smiles, dancing around a fire neither of us wanted to extinguish.

"You're trying to ruin me," I accused.

"Try?" he said. "I've already succeeded."

"I hate you."

"I know," he said softly. "And that's why it's fun."

In that laughter, in that tension, in that fire, I felt alive in a way I hadn't in years.

By the time the night ended, I was exhausted, exhilarated, and utterly terrified. Vincent disappeared into the shadows, leaving me standing alone, hair tangled, dress wrinkled, and heart entirely, irreparably his.

Sinful Symphony. Dangerous, addictive, and entirely unavoidable. And God help me... I wasn't sure I wanted it to stop.

---

Vincent Virenson .

The night air still clung to my skin like a second layer of clothing, cold but sharp, slicing through the fire that burned in my chest. I had left her room hours ago-or was it minutes? Time blurred when Violet Virgilson existed inside my head like a relentless symphony, notes of temptation, desire, and dangerous laughter repeating on loop.

I should have walked away. I should have let her drown in Rudolpho's carefully constructed cage, let the man's ego balloon while she fumed quietly under the weight of obligations she never chose.

But nobility was never my virtue.

And Violet... Violet Valley Virgilson... she wasn't meant for chains. She wasn't meant to be someone's pawn, someone's trophy. She was fire. And fire doesn't burn quietly-it consumes.

---

The gala played on in my mind, a reel of golden lights and the faint echo of applause. I remembered every flicker of her lashes, every nervous tremble of her fingers when I guided her through that waltz.

The moment I let my hand circle her waist, I'd crossed a line I wasn't supposed to. But I couldn't care less. The world could watch. Cameras could flash. Rudolpho could parade her around like property. None of it mattered. Not when her pulse raced for me the way it did.

Her scent... oh, that scent. Jasmine, champagne, and something uniquely Violet, a combination that left me hollow and hungry all at once. It lingered in my memory like the last note of a perfect song, impossible to forget.

I lit a cigarette, the ember glowing red in the dark, but even fire seemed dull compared to the blaze running through my veins. I wanted her. All of her. Every thought, every breath, every trembling glance she cast my way.

---

I had stalked her movements all day-not in a creepy way, mind you-but in the way one studies a rare, dangerous piece of art. Every step she took was music. Every sigh a rhythm. Every furrow of her brow was a dramatic crescendo in the symphony I was orchestrating.

Her phone vibrated in my pocket when she left the dinner, and I grinned. She was predictable. Beautifully predictable. And oh, how satisfying that was.

I watched her from the shadows of the balcony, letting the city's neon lights paint her in strokes of gold and silver. She looked both frustrated and exhilarated-my kind of muse.

"You're impossible," she muttered when I finally stepped from the shadows.

"I know," I replied smoothly, cigarette smoke curling around my words. "But you like impossible."

And she did. I could see it in the fire flickering behind her eyes.

---

We danced around each other in words, in glances, in the electric charge that passed whenever we drew near.

"You're trying to ruin me," she said, voice sharp, lips trembling with a mix of fear and exasperation.

"Try?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. "I've already succeeded."

She groaned and threw her head back in melodramatic defeat. "I hate you."

"I know," I said softly, smirk tugging at my lips. "And that's why it's fun."

Our laughter echoed off the walls of the empty balcony, a forbidden duet of two dangerously attracted souls laughing at the world, at Rudolpho, at the ridiculous rules that tried to contain us.

---

By the time she disappeared into the night, I was left with a strange, hollow ache in my chest. Hollow because she was gone, and ache because every nerve in my body still wanted her. Still needed her.

I paced the balcony like a caged predator, cigarette forgotten, ash falling to the concrete below. Each thought of her, each memory of our interaction, was another note in the symphony of my obsession.

She thought she could resist. She thought her vows, her chains, her carefully maintained dignity could contain what we shared.

She was wrong.

And when she finally realized it-when she admitted she wanted this, wanted me-there would be no stopping the inferno we would unleash.

---

Later, in the solitude of my penthouse, I poured myself a drink, the amber liquid shaking in the glass like the unsteady rhythm of my pulse. My phone vibrated again.

Violet: Why do you haunt me?

I smiled. Haunt? Hardly. I typed back:

Because I'm the note you can't ignore, the rhythm you can't resist, and the crescendo you've been trying to deny.

Her reply was instantaneous.

V: You're impossible.

I laughed softly. And yet she loves it.

---

The symphony of our lives was just beginning. I could see it in every smirk she tried to hide, every trembling breath she couldn't control, every subtle glance that begged me to cross the line.

And cross it I would-eventually.

But patience, as they say, is an art. And I was a master composer.

I envisioned the next steps: subtle touches, whispered words, moments stolen in hallways and empty offices. Scenes carefully orchestrated to make her pulse quicken, to make her question the vows that bound her, to make her desire me in ways she hadn't yet dared to admit.

Each plan was another note in our dangerous symphony, and I was determined to write the perfect composition.

---

Hours later, I found myself on her balcony again, cigarette long forgotten. The city slept, but I couldn't. Thoughts of her burned brighter than the neon lights below.

Her laugh, soft and musical, replayed in my mind. Her whispered protests, her defiant statements, her impossible beauty-they haunted me in the best possible way.

And I realized something crucial.

I didn't just want her. I didn't just crave her.

I needed her.

She was the melody my heart had been searching for. The rhythm my life had been missing. The climax of a symphony I hadn't even known I was writing.

And I wasn't letting anyone else-Rudolpho, society, fate-write her into a story that didn't include me.

---

The next day, I sent her a single text:

Vincent: Meet me tonight. Same balcony. Bring your wit. I'll bring mine. Let's see how loud our symphony can play.

She replied almost immediately:

V: You're insane.

I smiled, already knowing she would come. Because as impossible as she claimed I was, as chaotic as I made her heart, there was one undeniable truth: she couldn't resist the music either.

And neither could I.

---

By nightfall, the balcony became our stage again. The city below, the stars above, and the air between us charged with unspoken tension. We were playing a duet, one that neither of us could control, one that threatened to topple everything else in our carefully structured lives.

She leaned against the railing, hands gripping it tightly as if she were holding herself together.

"Why do you do this to me?" she asked, voice trembling. "Why must you always show up when I least expect it?"

"Because, Violet," I said, stepping closer, the distance between us a mere whisper of a breath, "life's too short for subtlety. And you... you're worth every kind of trouble I can bring."

Her eyes widened, and I could almost see her pulse racing beneath her skin. The symphony was building, each note more dangerous than the last.

I reached out, letting my fingers brush hers. Electricity surged at the contact, and I knew she felt it too.

"This... this is insane," she whispered.

"And yet," I murmured, leaning so close that her hair brushed against my chest, "it's the most sane thing in the world."

Her laugh was a soft, reluctant melody, part amusement, part surrender.

"I hate you," she said, finally, with just a hint of a smile.

"And I love that you do," I countered, my smirk matching the fire in my eyes.

---

The night stretched on, a continuous crescendo of stolen glances, playful banter, and whispered confessions neither of us dared speak aloud. Every word, every movement, every lingering touch was a note in our Sinful Symphony-a song we were writing together, dangerously, deliciously, and irrevocably.

By the time we parted, the city below seemed insignificant, a mere backdrop to the fire we had ignited. She disappeared into the shadows of her penthouse, leaving me alone with the echo of her laughter and the knowledge that our symphony was far from over.

And God help anyone who tried to stand in the way of this composition-because neither of us would stop until the final note had been played.

Chapter Eighteen: Rhythm of Ruin.

Vincent Virenson.

Violet Virgilson. God help me, the very thought of her made my blood run hotter than any gunpowder I'd ever handled. She was here-my apartment, my territory-and every instinct in me screamed both warning and exhilaration. She wasn't supposed to be this... disarming. Dangerous. Irresistible. I had spent years building walls, mastering patience, honing control-and then she waltzed in, hair wild, eyes bright with defiance, and tore all of it apart with one sarcastic quip.

She sat on the edge of my leather couch, knees tucked under her, arms wrapped around them like a human fortress. Her gaze flicked to the floor, then back to me, challenging me without a single word. I leaned against the doorway, hands in my pockets, trying to keep the grin off my face. That was always the first mistake: trying to look unbothered when she existed. Impossible.

"Relax," I murmured, voice low, deliberately slow, dragging out each word so it could crawl into her ears and ignite every nerve. "You're in my apartment. You're safe."

Her laugh-soft, incredulous, a little bitter-echoed against the walls. "Safe? From you? That's rich."

"Exactly." I took a step closer, letting the shadows stretch across her like a predator circling its prey. "I'm rich, dangerous... and apparently, irresistible. Safe has nothing to do with it."

She flinched slightly, though she tried to hide it behind a tilt of her chin and a smirk that was way too controlled. "Irresistible, huh? That's the polite way of saying I'm about to die from whatever disaster you've planned."

"You like disasters," I countered, taking another step until I was mere inches from her. "You've always liked the dangerous option."

Her eyes narrowed. "And you think I want... this?" She gestured vaguely to the space between us, the tension thick enough to choke on.

"I don't think. I know," I said, voice dropping to a growl. "I've seen it in your pulse, your fingers, your stupid, stubborn jawline. You're dying to admit it. Hell, you almost did last night."

Her nostrils flared. "Almost doesn't count."

"Almost counts when it's you," I said softly, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face, letting my thumb graze the skin just below her cheekbone. "Because you never almost do anything without meaning it."

Her chest heaved, sharp inhale catching in the air between us. "Vincent-"

"No," I interrupted, pressing closer, letting the tip of my nose graze hers. "Not yet. You're not allowed to speak yet. You listen. You feel."

Her hands clenched in her lap, nails digging into her skin, but her body betrayed her. She leaned slightly forward, subconsciously seeking the proximity she claimed to hate. My grin widened.

"You're a terrible influence," she hissed, voice trembling with the mix of anger and desire I craved like oxygen.

"And you... love it," I replied, letting the words slide like a velvet dagger into her mind.

She blinked, startled by my certainty. "I-no. I don't..." Her voice faltered, giving me exactly what I wanted: vulnerability wrapped in defiance.

I leaned even closer, lowering my voice until it was a dangerous whisper. "You do. You know it, Violet. You're in my apartment. Not yours. Every muscle, every nerve, every thought... mine, now. Admit it."

Her head tilted, fighting, challenging. "I'm not..."

I silenced her with a finger pressed gently-but firmly-to her lips. "Stop pretending. Your body isn't lying. Your mind wants to, but your body... your body already surrendered. And I will remind you, every single day, until you stop denying it."

The tension crackled, a storm waiting to break. My fingers lingered, tracing the line of her jaw down to her collarbone. She shivered, but didn't pull away. Did she dare? Or did she crave this as much as I did? The answer was obvious in the way her breath hitched, shallow, rapid, as if every inhale was a battle between reason and need.

"You're impossible," she whispered finally, voice low, dangerous, and I almost laughed at the irony.

"And yet... you're here," I countered, eyes darkening with hunger, fingers brushing over hers as if testing the truth of her submission. "You didn't leave. You could have run the second you saw me, but you didn't. You stayed."

Her lips parted slightly, a confession unspoken. "I... didn't run," she admitted, eyes flicking up at me, bright with both fear and a challenge.

"Exactly." I grinned, leaning down, close enough for our foreheads to almost touch. "You didn't run. And neither will you. You're mine tonight."

She pulled back suddenly, rolling her eyes, feigning exasperation, but I caught the tremor of her pulse beneath my palm. "Mine? That's... bold, Vincent. Do you hand out ownership certificates now? Or just assume things?"

I smiled darkly. "I assume. I take. I take what I want."

Her jaw dropped slightly, not from shock-she wasn't that naïve-but because she knew I was utterly serious. "You-"

"Shh." I pressed my lips to her ear, letting my words caress her skin like fire. "Every argument you have left... I'll win. Every protest, every warning... pointless. And don't think about Rudolpho. Don't think about your vows. Don't think about anyone but me, because right now... I'm the only thing that matters."

Her back arched involuntarily, a silent, human admission that she felt it too. Desire. Temptation. The sharp, delicious line between restraint and surrender.

"I-" she started, then stopped, trembling, eyes darting away.

I cupped her face, forcing her gaze back to mine. "No. You finish. You say it. You don't hide it from me."

"I..." She swallowed hard, eyes glistening. "I... want... this. I want you."

The confession hit me like a bullet fired straight to the chest. Sweet, dangerous, intoxicating. My grin widened, teeth flashing. "I knew it. And I'll remind you every second you try to deny it."

She groaned, dramatic and frustrated, but it only fueled the fire between us. "You're insane."

"And you love it," I whispered, brushing my thumb over her lower lip.

Hours passed-or maybe minutes; time bent around us, an endless loop of tension, teasing, and touches too dangerous to ignore. We were a battlefield and a dance floor at once, words clashing like swords, fingers brushing like sparks striking steel. Every glance, every smirk, every breathless laugh was another step deeper into chaos.

She tried to fight me, but I was patient, methodical. Every teasing remark, every sharp comment, every sarcastic barb I hurled her way wasn't just for amusement. It was strategy. Control. Seduction. War. And I was winning.

"You're ridiculous," she muttered finally, voice tight, chest rising and falling with shallow, heated breaths.

"Ridiculous? Maybe." I leaned back, pretending nonchalance, though my pulse hammered like war drums. "Dangerous? Absolutely. Irresistible? You tell me."

She rolled her eyes, cheeks flushed. "You're... not exactly subtle, you know."

"Subtlety is for cowards," I said, voice low, dark, almost a growl. "And you, my dear, deserve a war, not a whisper."

She laughed, sharp, musical, but the sound had a tremor. "You're going to ruin me," she said softly, almost in surrender.

"I don't ruin," I corrected, stepping closer. "I claim. I conquer. I make you see how much better life is when you stop pretending and just... let go."

Her breath hitched, lips parting slightly. She tried to protest, tried to find some moral high ground, but the battle was already lost. And I smiled, knowing she knew it too.

"You're unbelievable," she whispered, eyes dark with confusion, desire, and just a hint of fear.

"And you're hopelessly hooked," I said, my grin widening as I closed the last few inches between us. "Hopeless. Deliciously, infuriatingly hooked."

Then came the knock. Sharp, insistent, jarring against the charged air of the apartment.

We froze. Violet's eyes widened. "Who-"

I didn't answer. I already knew. And my grin shifted into something darker, sharper. Dangerous.

I could feel her trembling beside me, not from me-but from what waited beyond the door. Someone had crossed the line into our territory.

I placed a finger over her lips. "Stay," I ordered softly, almost a growl. "No matter what happens, don't move."

Her pulse raced, every nerve alert, as the knock came again. Louder. More demanding.

I reached into my jacket, fingers brushing the gun tucked inside. A smirk tugged at my lips. "Perfect timing," I whispered. "The rhythm of ruin is about to play."

And with that, I moved to the door, ready to face whoever dared disrupt us, knowing this night-this symphony-was far from over.

This is my Rhythm of Ruin!

Chapter Nineteen: Harmony of Havoc.

Violet Virgilson.

The warehouse smelled of betrayal.

Not just smoke and rust and old whiskey, but betrayal. That sharp, metallic tang that clings to the air when people who once swore loyalty decide to trade you for a better deal.

I should've known the moment we stepped inside. The silence was too thick. The shadows stretched too long. Vincent's men-no, not his men anymore-shifted restlessly, eyes sliding away from his like guilty schoolboys caught cheating on an exam.

I hugged his leather jacket tighter around me, watching him with that terrifying, infuriating calm he wore like a second skin. Vincent Virenson could be bleeding out, and he'd still look like the devil in charge of the underworld. But even devils cracked, and I could see it in the hard line of his jaw.

And then Marco spoke.

"I'm sorry, Centy." His voice broke the silence like a cheap violin out of tune. "Caroline-she made an offer none of us could refuse."

Centy.

The nickname slipped from his lips like a curse and a mockery all at once. My stomach twisted at the sound of it.

Vincent didn't flinch. He didn't blink. He just tilted his head, glass of whiskey still in his hand, his eyes glowing like embers ready to set the whole damn city on fire.

"She made an offer?" His voice was soft. Too soft. That dangerous kind of soft that made your spine shiver. "And you-what? Jumped like a dog for scraps?"

Marco smiled. Actually smiled. That sheepish, traitor's smile, as if betrayal was nothing more than a joke between old friends.

That's when I realized-Marco wasn't sorry. Not one damn bit.

The glass shattered before I even saw Vincent's hand move. Amber liquid sprayed across the concrete wall, dripping like fire, but no one dared breathe. Except Marco. He just kept smiling like he thought he'd won.

And maybe he had.

Because in the corner of the warehouse, tied to a chair with ropes digging into his arms, was Daigo.

Daigo. The one man who'd never flinched, never backed down, never questioned Vincent. If Vincent was the fire, Daigo was the steel that kept it burning. And Caroline had him.

The realization hit like a punch. My heart stuttered in my chest.

And then she walked in.

Caroline.

God help me, she looked like a storm in heels-perfect hair, red lips, every step clicking against the concrete like a countdown to destruction. And beside her? A stranger who was no stranger at all, not once you saw the resemblance. Taller, older, darker. His smile was a mirror of hers-wolfish, smug, lethal.

"Dominic," she purred, like she was introducing her pet panther. "Meet Vincent's little darling. The one making him weak."

Her eyes landed on me. Sharp. Hungry. And suddenly I felt every inch the burden I swore I wasn't.

Vincent stiffened, his body a wall of fury between me and them, but Dominic's gaze slid past him like he wasn't even there. His eyes found mine-and lingered.

And then he smiled.

A slow, sheepish, devastating smile that made my blood boil and my stomach flip all at once.

"Well, well," Dominic drawled, voice smooth as silk dipped in venom. "The songbird herself. No wonder Centy's empire is crumbling. If I were him, I'd burn down a city for you too."

Vincent growled, low and lethal, but Dominic didn't even blink. He just tilted his head, studying me like I was already his prize.

"You don't know me," I snapped, my voice sharper than I felt.

"Oh, I know enough," Dominic said, his smirk widening. "I know you're the reason Daigo's in that chair. I know you're the reason Vincent's men are turning on him. And I know..." His eyes dipped, then rose again, deliberate. "...you're worth every second of this little game."

I swallowed hard, hating the way heat rose to my cheeks. "Stay away from me."

Marco chuckled from where he leaned against the wall. "Good luck with that, Violet. Dominic doesn't stay away from anything he wants."

The betrayal in his voice cut deeper than Dominic's flirting. Marco, the man who used to swear loyalty over late-night drinks, who once carried Daigo out of a firefight with his own hands-now he was smiling, mocking, while Daigo bled in a chair.

"Marco," I whispered, almost to myself. "How could you?"

He met my gaze, shrugging like it was nothing. "Survival, sweetheart. Caroline knows how to pick the winning side."

The world tilted.

Daigo groaned.

And Vincent finally moved.

He stepped forward, each stride a promise of violence, his eyes locked on Marco like the bullet already had his name carved into it.

The warehouse went silent.

And I?

I realized this was only the beginning of the havoc.

---

The night pressed heavy around me, as though the shadows themselves had grown teeth. I could barely catch my breath. Betrayal still tasted bitter on my tongue-Marco's smirk replaying in my head like a broken record.

"Marco... why?" I whispered into the silence, though there was no answer except the faint hum of the generator outside. He had laughed. He had looked Vincent in the eye and chosen Caroline. Again.

And now Daigo-sweet, stubborn, loyal Daigo-was gone.

I tried not to think of him tied to a chair somewhere, bruises blooming across his jaw while Caroline sharpened her claws. Tried not to think of Vincent's face, the way it had drained of color when Marco revealed his betrayal.

Vincent...

God, if only he knew how much I hated myself right now.

I hugged my arms around me, pacing the dimly lit safehouse, shoes clicking against the tiled floor. I wanted to scream. To break something. But instead, I pressed my teeth against my knuckles until I tasted blood.

That's when the door creaked.

I spun, heart in my throat, and there he was.

Dominic.

Caroline's elder brother. Trouble incarnate wrapped in an expensive suit and a smile that was far too amused for the chaos he'd helped unleash.

"Well, well," he drawled, leaning casually against the doorframe. His voice slid through the air like velvet dipped in poison. "The infamous Violet Virgilson. Even prettier up close than the stories say."

My jaw tightened. "Get out."

He chuckled low, ignoring my glare as his eyes dragged over me. Not lewd. Not yet. But heavy enough to make my skin prickle.

"Now, now, don't be like that. I came to deliver a message." His grin widened. "Your precious Vincent? He's bleeding allies faster than a sinking ship loses water. And Daigo-" he tilted his head, feigning sympathy "-he's in our care. Caroline's care. Though, between you and me..." He leaned closer, lowering his voice. "...she doesn't have half the finesse I do when it comes to breaking men."

My stomach churned, but I refused to flinch. That's what he wanted.

"You touch Daigo and I swear-"

"Oh, relax," Dominic cut in smoothly, though his gaze flickered over my lips, lingering there too long. "I wouldn't hurt him. But you..." He let out a soft whistle, stepping closer until only a breath separated us. "...you're the kind of woman a man could go to war for. I almost pity Vincent."

The audacity of him-standing there, flirting, while Daigo was in chains and Marco played Judas all over again-made something snap inside me.

I shoved him back hard. "Keep your pity. And keep your distance."

He stumbled a step, then laughed. Actually laughed. "Spirited. I like that. No wonder Vincent clings to you. He knows if he lets go, I'll be right there to catch you."

My hand itched for a weapon, but there was nothing within reach. Just my fury. Just the tremor in my chest.

"Get. Out."

This time, Dominic obeyed, but not before flashing that wolfish smile again. "Careful, Violet. Broken men don't make good lovers. They make great enemies. And Vincent..." He tapped two fingers to his temple. "...he's already breaking."

Bye songbird

The door clicked shut behind him.

And I sank against the wall, fighting the urge to crumble. Because for once, Dominic wasn't wrong.

Vincent was breaking.

And I-I was part of the reason why.

---

Vincent Virenson

The glass shattered against the wall before I even realized I'd thrown it.

"DAMN IT!" My roar echoed in the hollow expanse of the safehouse office, bouncing back at me like a chorus of my own failures.

Whiskey streaked down the wallpaper, dripping onto the carpet. Another stain for the collection. Another mess I couldn't clean up.

Daigo. Loyal Daigo. The one man who'd stood by me when the world crumbled, when Caroline sharpened her knives, when Marco first betrayed me. Now he was gone. Snatched by the very vipers I'd spent my life trying to cut down.

And Marco-God.

That smirk. That sheepish smile as though betrayal was just a game. As though handing me over to Caroline and Dominic was nothing more than a casual pastime.

"Bastard," I growled, slamming my fist against the desk. Wood splintered. My knuckles split. The pain felt good. Real. Something I could control.

But control was slipping.

My men were scattered, half of them bought, the other half too scared to stand. Allies? Gone. The empire I'd built was a house of cards, and Caroline had just exhaled.

And then there was Violet.

I dragged a hand through my hair, pacing. God, the look in her eyes earlier-like she was the burden, like all this blood was somehow staining her hands instead of mine.

If only she knew.

If only she could see that she was the only damn thing keeping me from burning everything down and letting the flames take me too.

The door creaked.

I spun, half-expecting Marco to slink back in, ready with another dagger for my spine. Instead, it was Dominic. Smug, polished, and too calm for a man who should've been bleeding out on my floor by now.

"You've lost your touch, Vincent," he said with that sheepish smile of his, the one that always made me want to rearrange his jaw. "I walked right past your guards. Or what's left of them."

I clenched my fists. "Where's Daigo?"

He tilted his head, eyes glittering with mock sympathy. "Safe. For now. Caroline's... entertaining him." He smirked. "Though between us, she lacks creativity."

Rage boiled in my veins. "If you lay a hand-"

"Oh, relax." Dominic waved a hand like I was a child throwing a tantrum. Then his smile sharpened. "Your problem isn't me. It isn't even Caroline. It's Marco."

The name hit like a knife.

"Your lapdog wagged his tail for us again. Twice bitten, twice fooled, Vincent. How many times will you let the same snake strike before you crush its head?"

My nails dug into my palms, blood seeping from the cuts on my knuckles. He wasn't wrong. But hearing it from Dominic's mouth made me want to rip out his tongue.

"Careful, Dominic," I said through clenched teeth. "You're circling too close to fire."

"And you," he countered smoothly, "are circling the drain."

For a moment, silence stretched between us. Heavy. Suffocating. Then he leaned forward, voice dropping low.

"Tell me, Vincent... when you break-and you will-do you think Violet will still be here to pick up the pieces? Or will she realize she deserves better?" His grin widened. "Like me."

My vision went red.

Before he could blink, my hand shot out, grabbing his collar and slamming him against the wall. The plaster cracked. His smirk didn't falter.

"You so much as look at her again-" I snarled, breath hot against his face. "-and I'll put you in the ground beside your sister."

Dominic chuckled, unbothered. "Ah, there's the Vincent I remember. Ruthless. Unhinged. Tell me-do you threaten every man who notices how exquisite Violet is? Or just the ones who make you insecure?"

My grip tightened. His smirk dared me to snap his neck.

And for the first time in a long time, I almost did.

"Careful, Centy, break too hard and even Violet won't want your shards".