Chapter Twenty: Ballad of Brokenness.

Violet Virgilson.

The safehouse was too quiet.

The kind of quiet that doesn't soothe-it suffocates.

Every tick of the old clock on the wall thudded in my ears like a countdown. Countdown to what? To Daigo's return? To Marco's next betrayal? To Vincent finally snapping and burning the whole damn city to ash?

The silence pressed in, dragging Marco's smirk back into my mind. That smile-the kind that says, I've already won.

And maybe he had.

Because no matter how many times Vincent growled his threats, no matter how many glasses he shattered against the walls, Marco wasn't afraid. He had chosen Caroline, and this time, there was no regret. No guilt. No hesitation.

He had traded us in like old currency, and Vincent's empire was bankrupt.

I hugged my arms around myself, pacing across the narrow room, my bare feet whispering against the cold tile. If I closed my eyes, I could still see Daigo tied to that chair in the warehouse, the ropes biting into his wrists, the blood on his lip. Daigo, who never flinched. Daigo, who never broke.

Where is he now?

The door groaned open, and I froze. My breath caught, waiting for Vincent. Or Marco. Or worse-Dominic.

But it was Daigo.

Two of Vincent's remaining loyal men staggered in, half-carrying him. He looked like he had gone ten rounds with the devil and walked away just to spite him. His shirt was torn, his knuckles split, and bruises climbed his jaw like storm clouds. But his eyes-sharp, stubborn, alive-met mine.

"Daigo!" I rushed to him, my hands hovering as they lowered him into a chair.

He waved me off, even as pain carved lines across his face. "Don't you dare cry, Violet. I'm not broken." His voice was gravel, but his pride was intact.

I bit down hard on my lip. "What did they do to you?"

He chuckled, then winced. "Caroline tried words. Dominic tried charm. Neither worked."

My stomach turned. Dominic.

I crouched beside him, studying the rope burns around his wrists. "You should be in bed, not making jokes."

Daigo's hand shot out, gripping my arm with surprising strength. His voice dropped low. "Listen to me, Violet. Don't let them in your head. Caroline wants you to feel like a weakness. Dominic wants you to believe you're already his. Both of them-" his eyes locked onto mine "-thrive on your fear."

Heat pricked the back of my eyes. "Daigo, I-"

"You're not the burden," he snapped, fierce even in exhaustion. "You're the reason Vincent hasn't drowned yet. Don't forget that."

But the words only twisted tighter in my chest. Because wasn't I exactly what they said? The reason Vincent was unraveling? The reason Marco saw an opening? The reason Dominic smiled like a predator every time our eyes met?

Before I could answer, the door slammed again.

Dominic.

He leaned against the frame like he owned it, dark suit sharp despite the late hour, tie loose as though chaos was his favorite accessory. His smile was all teeth and amusement, the kind that could cut and caress at the same time.

"Well, well," he drawled. "Songbird looks even lovelier in candlelight."

My pulse jumped. I straightened, placing myself between him and Daigo instinctively.

"Get out." My voice came out harsher than I meant, but his grin only widened.

"Relax," Dominic purred, his gaze sweeping over me like a brushstroke. "I came to deliver a message. Daigo here-" his eyes flicked toward the bruised man, then back to me "-wasn't much fun. Too loyal. Too stubborn. Caroline lost interest."

"Go to hell," Daigo rasped, coughing blood onto the floor.

Dominic clapped slowly, mock applause echoing in the room. "Spirited. I'll give you that. But loyalty is boring, Daigo. Unshakable men are predictable men."

He stepped closer, ignoring my glare, his voice dropping into that infuriating velvet. "But you, Violet... unpredictable. You walk into a room and Vincent forgets how to breathe. I see it. Everyone sees it. You're not his weakness. You're his addiction."

Heat crawled up my neck, fury and shame tangling together. "Stay away from me."

He tilted his head, smirk sharpening. "Oh, I will. But only after I've had my fun."

Marco's laugh drifted from the shadows of the hallway. That smug, mocking laugh. He strolled in, hands in his pockets, bruises absent, betrayal worn like perfume.

"Don't waste your breath, Violet," Marco said. "Dominic doesn't leave what he wants. He circles it. Claims it. Just like Caroline." He leaned against the wall, eyes glinting. "You think you're safe? You're already theirs."

My throat tightened. For the first time, I had no words.

And Dominic-Dominic leaned in, lips brushing the air just above my ear.

"Careful, songbird. Broken men don't sing. And Vincent?" His breath was hot against my skin. "He's breaking."

---

Vincent Virenson.

Daigo's return was supposed to feel like a victory.

It didn't.

Yes, he was alive. Yes, he hadn't broken. Yes, he still snarled Caroline's name like a curse. But the moment I saw him stumble through that door, half-dead and grinning, I knew what Caroline's real play had been.

It wasn't to kill him.

It was to prove she could take him.

And she had.

I stood in the shadows of the room, arms crossed, watching Violet rush to Daigo's side, her hands trembling as she touched his bruises. Watching Dominic lean in like he owned her. Watching Marco-my Marco-laugh in the corner as though betrayal was a card game he'd just won.

My blood boiled so hot it was a wonder the walls didn't catch fire.

"Marco," I said, my voice low. Dangerous. "Still smiling after betraying me twice?"

He smirked, not even pretending guilt. "Business, Centy. You taught me yourself-no loyalty in this world. Just survival. Caroline offered more. I took it."

"More?" My jaw ached from clenching. "More what? More lies? More blood?"

He shrugged. "More future." Then he leaned forward, eyes gleaming. "Face it, Vincent. You're finished. And when the dust settles, all you'll have left is her. Which makes her..." His gaze slid toward Violet, slow and deliberate. "...a very convenient target."

I snapped.

My hand shot out, grabbing him by the collar, slamming him against the wall. "Say her name again, and I'll rip your tongue out."

Marco just chuckled, unfazed. "Touchy."

Dominic's laugh joined his, smooth and amused. "See, Centy? This is why I like her. She brings out the beast in you. Makes you sloppy. Makes you dangerous. Caroline doesn't even have to touch you. She just has to touch her."

I turned, fury blazing. "You so much as look at her again, Dominic-"

He stepped closer, smirk dripping arrogance. "And what? You'll kill me? Or will you watch her slip through your fingers like everything else you've already lost?"

The room pulsed with silence. Violet's breath hitched. Daigo muttered a curse. Marco smirked wider.

And I realized-Caroline's biggest scheme wasn't about territory. It wasn't about money. It wasn't even about Daigo.

It was about Violet.

She wanted me to see her as the burden. She wanted Dominic to circle her like a wolf. She wanted Marco to remind me that loyalty was a myth.

She wanted me to break.

And God help me, I was breaking.

Chapter Twenty-one: Chosen Not Chained.

Vincent Virenson.

The silence after betrayal is louder than gunfire.

It wasn't Marco's smirk or even Dominic's smug amusement that cut deepest-it was the way Violet's eyes trembled when she looked at me, as if wondering how many more pieces of me she'd have to carry before I shattered completely.

"Vincent," she whispered, her voice trembling, "don't-don't look at me like that. Like you're already gone."

I clenched my jaw. I couldn't let her see. Couldn't let her carry this weight. Not when Marco had sold me out for the second time. Not when Caroline, the viper, slithered closer with her brother Dominic hovering behind her like a dark shadow, eyes fixed shamelessly on Violet.

Marco leaned back in the chair like he was the king and I was the fool. "Don't glare at me, Centy," he mocked, twisting the nickname Dominic had coined for me. "Loyalty doesn't buy bread. Caroline does. And she pays well."

I wanted to break his smirk with my fist, but I couldn't-not when I felt Violet stiffen beside me. My fury was a luxury. Protecting her was necessity.

Caroline's laugh was soft, venom-laced. "Oh, Vincent, you should've learned by now-love makes men weak, betrayal makes men blind. You've had both. How do you plan to crawl out of this hole?"

I opened my mouth, but Dominic beat me to it. He stepped forward, his grin shameless, his eyes never leaving Violet. "Or maybe he doesn't need to crawl out. Maybe he should just let someone else handle his precious flower." He winked. "Tell me, Violet, do you prefer red roses or lilies? I'll have them delivered to your window once I've killed your husband here."

Violet froze. My fists curled.

"Say another word," I growled, my voice low enough to rattle glass, "and I'll make sure it's your last breath."

Dominic only chuckled, hands raised in mock surrender. "Temper, temper. Don't worry, Violet, I like my women fiery. I'll handle the heat."

Her gasp turned into sharp defiance. "Keep dreaming," Violet snapped, surprising even me. "The only fire you'll handle is the one that burns you alive for being pathetic."

Caroline's smirk faltered for just a heartbeat before she masked it. Dominic's grin widened, clearly delighted by the challenge. And me? I wanted to drag Violet behind me, away from their poison, away from their games.

But then the glass shattered.

A bullet hissed past my ear, embedding itself in the pillar behind me. Instinct roared through me-I threw Violet to the ground, covering her with my body as another shot rang out. Dominic swore, Marco ducked, Caroline cursed.

Chaos erupted.

"Sniper!" Daigo's voice cut through the madness from where he had been restrained, now fighting his way free.

Violet clutched at me, her heartbeat pounding against mine. "Vincent-"

"Stay down," I snarled, scanning for the shooter. Another shot cracked, close-too close. My arms tightened around her automatically.

She looked up at me, eyes wide, terrified-but not of the bullets. Of losing me.

"Why are you doing this?" she whispered fiercely, her hands fisting into my shirt. "Why do you keep throwing yourself in front of me like I'm breakable? Don't you see? I'm not chained to you, Vincent. I'm choosing you."

Her words cut sharper than bullets.

Caroline's scream ripped across the room as Dominic dragged her to cover. "Kill him!" she shrieked at the unseen shooter. "I want him gone!"

The sniper obliged. Another shot cracked.

This time it wasn't aimed at me. It was aimed at Violet.

I saw it before she did. Saw the trajectory, saw the glint of metal, saw her fate. And I didn't think-I just moved.

I slammed her down, rolled her under me, and the bullet seared across my shoulder, tearing through flesh. Pain ignited like wildfire, but I didn't let go. I wouldn't.

"Vincent!" she screamed, horror shattering her voice. "You're bleeding-"

I grit my teeth, pulling her face up to mine. "Better me than you."

Tears welled in her eyes, and she shook her head violently. "Stop saying that. Stop acting like my life is worth more than yours. If you die-Vincent, if you die-I'll never forgive you."

I wanted to tell her I was already half-dead without her. I wanted to tell her that love was the only reason I breathed anymore. But the words lodged in my throat, stuck between pride and desperation.

Another shot cracked. Daigo finally got free, tackling the shooter's spot. Shouts, chaos, and then silence-the kind that comes after blood is spilled.

But all I could hear was Violet's ragged breathing, all I could feel was her hands pressed to my wound, trembling.

"Don't you dare leave me," she whispered brokenly. "Don't you dare make me a widow before you've even made me a wife."

Something inside me snapped.

I grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at me. "You think this is about chains?" My voice was raw, torn. "No, Violet. This is about choice. And I choose to protect you, even if it kills me. I'd rather bleed out in your arms than live a century without you."

Her tears broke. Mine almost did.

And then, in that chaos-blood on my shirt, smoke in the air, Caroline shrieking orders, Dominic smirking even while dodging Daigo's rage-Violet kissed me.

Hard. Fierce. Desperate.

For the first time, I kissed her back without restraint, without fear, without walls.

Chosen, not chained.

---

Violet Virgilson.

The taste of his blood was still on my lips.

Not because I meant to taste it-but because when I kissed him, I didn't care that he was bleeding, didn't care that bullets had carved through his flesh. All I cared about was that Vincent was alive.

And he had kissed me back.

For a moment, the world shrank to just us: his trembling hands gripping my face, my tears streaking down my cheeks, the weight of everything unsaid pressed between us.

But of course, chaos refused to let us have peace.

"Well, well," Dominic drawled, stepping out from behind a column like he owned the room. His grin was so smug I wanted to throw my shoe at him. "What a sight. Vincent Virenson, the untouchable wolf, finally brought to his knees by a kiss. And here I thought you only bled for bullets, not brunettes."

Vincent growled low, protective even in pain. "Back off, Dominic."

Dominic ignored him entirely-his eyes locked on me. "But why would I? Violet, you were spectacular just now. So fiery. So... intoxicating." He dragged out the last word, his gaze shameless as it raked down me. "No wonder my darling sister can't compete. You're far too much woman for a man like Vincent to handle."

I stood. Trembling? Yes. But not from fear-from fury. "Listen carefully, you overgrown mosquito," I snapped. "You can buzz around all you want, but you'll never be anything more than an annoying itch. And if you ever look at me like that again, I'll personally swat you into next week."

For a heartbeat, silence. Then Daigo-bleeding, bruised, but standing strong-actually snorted. Caroline hissed. Vincent's lips twitched despite the blood. And Dominic? He laughed, delighted.

"Perfect," he said, clutching his chest as if I'd shot him with charm instead of words. "Sharp tongue, sharp mind. Violet, you just became my favorite flavor of trouble."

"Try tasting me," I said coldly, "and I'll choke you with it."

Caroline stormed forward, her perfect curls bouncing like angry snakes. "Enough!" she screeched. "Violet, you don't belong here. You're nothing but baggage, dragging Vincent down with your tears and your sentiment. Look at you-standing there, pretending to be brave. Do you even know how much weaker you've made him?"

Her words landed like daggers because-truth be told-I'd asked myself that same question in the dark of night. Was I a burden? Was I the crack in Vincent's armor?

But then I looked at him-bleeding, yes, but alive, standing taller than anyone else despite betrayal-and I realized something. I wasn't the crack. I was the glue.

"You're wrong, Caroline," I said, my voice steady even though my heart raced. "I don't weaken him. I make him stronger. Because he finally has something worth fighting for. Something worth living for."

Vincent's eyes locked on mine. Fierce. Shaken. Raw.

Caroline faltered. Just for a moment.

Then Dominic ruined it. Again.

"You see?" he said smugly. "That passion. That loyalty. That's what I want." He stepped closer, too close, his cologne choking the air. "Violet, forget Vincent. He'll bleed himself dry for you. But me? I'll worship you. I'll give you power, freedom, choice. Say the word, and I'll make you my queen."

I stared at him. Blinked once. Then slapped him.

The crack echoed through the room.

Dominic touched his cheek in stunned silence-then grinned like I'd just proposed marriage. "God, I think I love you."

Vincent lunged despite his wound, but Caroline grabbed her brother back, snapping, "Enough! This isn't about your petty crush, Dominic. This is about ending Vincent once and for all!"

She snapped her fingers.

From the shadows, more men emerged. Guns. Knives. Masks. An ambush.

I felt Vincent shift closer to me instinctively, his body still between me and danger. But this time-no. Not again.

"Vincent," I whispered, grabbing his uninjured arm. "Let me fight with you."

He shook his head immediately. "No. You're not-"

"Chosen, not chained," I cut him off, my voice trembling but clear. "Those were your words. Let me choose you, too."

His eyes widened. The chaos blurred around us-the shouting, the threats, the loaded guns-and for one heartbeat, it was only us.

"Violet-"

"I love you." The words tumbled out, fierce and broken. "I love you, Vincent Valentino Virenson. And I'm not letting you die for me when I can fight beside you."

Something in his face shattered-his walls, his fear, his endless guilt. He pulled me into him, pressing his forehead against mine.

"I love you, too," he whispered, raw. "God help me, I love you more than I can stand."

And then the room erupted.

Bullets flew. Dominic shouted something about keeping me alive. Caroline screamed for Vincent's head. Daigo roared like a beast as he charged.

And me? For the first time, I didn't hide behind Vincent's shadow. I stood beside him.

Truly chosen. Not chained.

Chapter Twenty-Two: Splintered but Standing.

Vincent Virenson.

The outskirts of the city never felt so quiet, yet so loaded with tension. My movie setup stretched across the abandoned warehouse lot, lights flickering in the dusk, the smell of dust and celluloid mixing with the metallic tang of adrenaline. It was supposed to be my sanctuary-my way to escape, to focus-but my mind refused to obey.

Every shadow felt like a threat, every creak of the scaffolding a harbinger of betrayal. After everything that had happened with Marco and Caroline, I could no longer trust a soul, yet here I was, surrounded by my own illusions of control.

I ran a hand through my hair, flexing my fingers against the familiar ache of my shoulder from the sniper's bullet. Pain was nothing new. But guilt-guilt had a way of sticking like glue. And Violet's face kept flashing across my mind, her tears, her whispered "I choose you," her defiance that had shattered every ounce of pride I thought I had.

I moved among the props, checking the cameras, the angles, the lights. Every detail mattered. This was my domain, my world where I could decide what happened next. And yet, even here, even among lights and reels, I felt... vulnerable.

A laugh broke my concentration.

I turned sharply, expecting an intruder, but it was only Daigo, grinning like a mischievous imp. "You sure this is about making movies, boss? Or are you just planning to brood dramatically while everyone pretends they understand your genius?"

I narrowed my eyes. "I am brooding dramatically, thank you. And it's called method acting."

"Method acting for whom?" he teased. "Because your leading lady is probably hiding behind the nearest bush, crying over your... heroic bleeding."

I scowled, rubbing my temple. "Don't remind me. That girl..." My voice caught, rough with the memory of her lips on mine, the desperation in her gaze. "...she's a storm I didn't anticipate."

Daigo chuckled. "Storms are fun. Until they wreck your set."

I glared. "This isn't a set to wreck. This is control. Something I need more than air."

And yet, I felt none of it.

I checked the cameras again, fiddling with the dials. Each shot I framed, each angle I adjusted, was a reminder: I could control the story here. Out there? Not so much. Out there, chaos reigned, Caroline plotted, Dominic flitted around like a virus, and Violet... Violet was caught in the crossfire, stronger than she knew, yet fragile in ways I couldn't fix.

I closed my eyes and let my mind drift to something simpler, something human. Movies. Old films. The way light fell on a face, the quiet intimacy of a shared laugh, the tension of a scene building like electricity in the air.

I should've known she'd enter my thoughts-she always did. Violet. The girl who refused to be caged, who kissed me in the midst of chaos as if daring the world to stop us.

I opened my eyes to see the cameras flicker, the sound of the old film reel whirring, and I allowed myself a small, private smirk. Maybe this was my penance, maybe my chance to create something that mattered outside the battlefield.

"Boss," Daigo said, voice unusually serious now, "you planning to eat, sleep, or brood all day?"

I grunted. "Brooding is a full-time job."

"Full-time," he repeated. "Right. Just don't forget there's a girl out there who actually... y'know... cares about whether you live or die."

My hand tightened on the control lever. I felt my chest tighten, but I refused to succumb to weakness. Weakness had a price, and I'd already paid enough.

Then, from the corner of my eye, I saw it: a film reel, dusty and forgotten, labelled in spidery handwriting. "Weekends with Dad," it read.

I froze. My pulse stuttered as memories came rushing back, unbidden.

Violet. Her dad. The old Saturday mornings, the projector's hum, the smell of buttered popcorn filling the small living room, the way she'd snuggle against him, completely lost in black-and-white worlds where nothing hurt.

I swallowed hard. How fragile she had been then. How fierce she was now. And how much danger she would be in if I allowed the shadows of my past to follow me here.

Daigo noticed my pause. "Boss... you good?"

I nodded, a lie so automatic it felt like a reflex. "Yeah. Just... setting up the perfect shot."

But I knew better. This wasn't about shots or reels. It was about redemption, about proving-to her, to me-that even in a world splintered by betrayal and blood, we could still stand.

I walked over to the old projector and dusted it off, fingers trembling. "I'm not letting the past dictate what's left of the future," I muttered to myself, almost like a prayer. "Not for her. Not for me."

A sudden clatter of equipment made me spin. Daigo rolled his eyes. "Careful, boss. If you drop that reel, you'll literally have splinters for breakfast."

I smirked despite myself. "Then let it be breakfast."

Because, somehow, amidst the lights, the dust, and the memories, I realized something crucial: Splintered as we were, we were still standing.

And standing wasn't enough-I intended to thrive.

---

Violet Virgilson.

The outskirts smelled like dust, sun-baked asphalt, and memories that weren't entirely mine. Yet the sight of the movie set made my heart twist, a strange pull of nostalgia that I hadn't expected.

I stopped at the edge, watching Vincent move among the cameras, so focused, so alive. And for the first time in days, I let myself breathe.

When did you discover this , I asked Vicent, pointing at the screen

I just got back from jail and I was bored, so I decided to do something meaningful with my time, he responded.

Then it hit me-my childhood, the old Saturday mornings with my dad. He'd set up the tiny projector in our living room, buttered popcorn in hand, a mischievous grin that promised worlds far beyond our small town. I remembered the black-and-white films, the crackle of celluloid, the way the room smelled of popcorn and happiness.

I swallowed hard. It hurt. Nostalgia never failed to do that.

"Violet?" Vincent's voice called from across the set, pulling me back to the present.

I walked toward him, trying to mask the swirl of emotion with a casual smile. "Just... looking."

"Looking," he repeated, eyes narrowing, a teasing smirk forming. "You mean spying on me while I brood dramatically?"

I rolled my eyes. "Dramatic brooding seems to be your default setting. Honestly, I'm impressed you can still focus on movie-making at all."

He laughed, a low, rough sound that made my heart skip despite my efforts to remain detached. "Impressive, huh? I'll take that as praise."

"Praise, sure," I said, sidestepping a tripod with exaggerated care. "Don't think I'm letting you off easy because I'm sentimental. Memories are dangerous, you know."

"Memories?" he asked, stepping closer, and I could feel the heat from his body even from a distance. "What memories could possibly be dangerous?"

I hesitated, then shrugged. "Childhood ones. Old films. My dad. You know... the usual trauma disguised as weekend joy."

He tilted his head, studying me. "Your father?"

I nodded. "Yeah... he used to make me watch these black-and-white films every Saturday. Popcorn. Soda. The works. It was... sacred."

Vincent's lips twitched. "Sounds like torture."

I laughed, the sound brittle but genuine. "Torture that I secretly loved."

He stepped closer. "You're still standing, Violet. That little girl who clung to the projector's light... she's here. Watching me brood, judging my dramatic flair. She's survived."

I felt heat rush to my cheeks. "I'm not here to survive, Vincent. I'm here to live. And maybe... tease you while I do it."

He grinned. "Fair enough. But..." His voice softened, almost dangerously low, "seeing you here, remembering your dad... makes me wish I could've been there too. Protecting you from the shadows, not just from me."

The words struck a chord I couldn't hide. "Vincent... some shadows are worth facing. Some memories are worth keeping. And some... some people are worth standing with, no matter how splintered the world feels."

He reached for my hand, brushing it lightly. The warmth was grounding, terrifying, exhilarating. "Then stand with me, Violet. Stand with me, splintered and all. We can face this... whatever this is... together."

I let him hold my hand, feeling the pull of the past, the chaos of the present, and a tentative hope for the future.

Because maybe, just maybe, amidst splintered hearts, betrayal, and bullets, we were still standing.

And maybe... that was enough to start building something unbreakable.