The black Rolls-Royce Phantom glided smoothly through the neon-lit streets of Sterling City.

Inside the cabin, the thick soundproof glass completely isolated them from the noise of the traffic. The dim, yellow reading lights cast soft shadows over the leather seats.

Alana sat quietly, staring out the window at the passing city. Her mind was pulled back into the dark abyss of her previous life.

The fake, pitying smile of her stepmother, Euphemia. The shrill, victorious laughter of Jessica. The memories played on a loop behind her eyes.

Without realizing it, Alana curled her hands into tight fists, resting them on her knees. Her fingernails dug painfully into her palms.

Sitting beside her, Corbin felt the sudden shift in the air. He noticed the rigid tension in her shoulders and the slight change in her breathing.

He frowned. His eyes dropped to her hands.

He saw a thin, red scratch on the back of her pale hand. She had gotten it from the glass shards when she held his bleeding hand in the living room.

A sharp spike of guilt hit Corbin's chest. He reached forward and popped open the hidden first-aid compartment built into the center console.

He pulled out an antiseptic swab and a small bandage. He reached over and gently took her hand, his large fingers wrapping around her wrist with surprising care.

Alana blinked, pulled from her dark thoughts. She looked down, surprised to see this ruthless, terrifying man bowing his head to treat a tiny scratch on her skin.

His warm breath fanned across her knuckles, sending a strange, comforting shiver up her arm.

He wiped the swab over the cut. "Does it hurt?" he asked, his voice low and gruff.

Alana shook her head. The thick wall around her heart cracked just a fraction more.

Corbin carefully applied the bandage. When he was done, he didn't let go. He shifted his grip, completely engulfing her small hand inside his large, warm palm.

The radio on the dashboard crackled. The lead security vehicle reported in. "Approaching the Knox estate now, sir."

The Rolls-Royce slowed down, turning onto a long, tree-lined driveway.

Alana looked through the window. Standing near the entrance of the driveway, illuminated by a streetlamp, was a man in a white tuxedo.

It was Jaison Boyd. Her ex-fiancé. The man who had sold her out.

Jaison was standing by the curb, talking on his phone, wearing that same arrogant, repulsive smile she remembered so well.

The warmth in Alana's eyes vanished. Her pupils dilated with pure, unadulterated murderous intent.

She closed her eyes for a split second. Her consciousness dove straight into The Cache.

She bypassed the medical supplies and went straight to the weapons vault. She locked onto a custom, matte-black handgun equipped with a silencer. She hadn't fully realized until this exact moment that the surreal, futuristic space accompanying her rebirth was also an arsenal harboring lethal firepower. The sheer, dangerous reality of what she possessed sent a cold thrill down her spine. It was perfect. She had the ultimate tool to deliver a very specific kind of gift.

Item retrieved.

Alana opened her eyes. She slid her free hand into her small, velvet clutch resting on her lap.

Her fingertips brushed against cold, heavy metal. The gun had materialized perfectly inside the bag.

Corbin felt the sudden, drastic drop in her body temperature. He followed her line of sight out the window.

When he saw Jaison standing under the streetlight, the atmosphere inside the car plummeted below freezing.

Corbin's grip on Alana's hand tightened painfully. The bones in his knuckles turned white. The violent, destructive rage ignited in his eyes once again.

He was convinced she was reacting this way because she was looking at the man she truly loved.

The Rolls-Royce rolled to a smooth stop, parking less than thirty feet away from where Jaison stood.

The deep hum of the Rolls-Royce engine idled in the shadows of the tree-lined driveway.

A few yards away, Jaison heard the heavy tires crunching on the gravel. He turned his head and immediately recognized the custom license plate of the Mendez Group.

A flash of genuine fear crossed Jaison's face. But when he squinted and saw no bodyguards stepping out of the passenger side, his shoulders relaxed.

Inside the car, Alana pulled her hand out of Corbin's grip. She reached for the door handle.

Corbin reacted instantly. His hand shot out, his fingers wrapping around her wrist like a steel vice. He squeezed hard enough to bruise the bone.

He leaned in close, his jaw feathering so hard it looked like it might snap. "If you walk toward that man," he hissed, his voice vibrating with lethal intent, "I will kill him right here."

Alana turned her head. She looked at Corbin's face, twisted into an ugly mask of pure jealousy and paranoia.

She wasn't angry. She reached out with her free hand and gently patted the back of the hand that was crushing her wrist.

She looked straight into his dark eyes. Her voice was completely flat and devoid of emotion. "I am going to take out the trash."

Corbin froze. The sheer, unfiltered disgust in her eyes stunned him. He subconsciously loosened his grip.

Alana didn't waste a second. She pushed the heavy car door open, gathered the fabric of her red dress, and stepped out into the cool night air.

The wind caught her black shawl. She walked toward Jaison, the sharp click of her heels sounding like a metronome counting down his seconds.

Jaison watched her approach. When he realized it was Alana, the fear on his face melted into a smug, mocking sneer.

He naturally assumed Corbin had kicked her out of the car, or that she had come crawling back to beg for his help.

Jaison shoved his hands into the pockets of his white tuxedo trousers. He stood his ground, adopting a posture of absolute superiority.

Alana stopped exactly three steps away from him. She looked at him as if she were inspecting a rotting corpse.

"What's wrong?" Jaison mocked, a nasty grin spreading across his face. "Finally couldn't handle that psycho? Come here to beg me to take you away?"

Hearing Corbin insulted, the temperature in Alana's eyes dropped to absolute zero.

Inside the car, Corbin had rolled down the window. He heard Jaison's words. The murderous intent inside him boiled over.

Corbin shoved his door open. He stepped out of the vehicle, his massive frame radiating a suffocating, terrifying pressure.

He raised a single hand. From the shadows of the trees, six armed bodyguards materialized instantly, fanning out and cutting off every possible escape route for Jaison.

Jaison saw Corbin step out. The blood drained from his face. He stumbled backward, cold sweat breaking out on his forehead.

He tried to hide behind Alana, but she smoothly stepped aside, leaving him exposed.

Alana slowly unzipped her velvet clutch. She slid her hand inside, her fingers wrapping around the textured grip of the silenced handgun.

Jaison was still delusional. He threw his hands up and yelled at Corbin, "She came to me! She tracked me down, Mendez! Don't do anything crazy!"

Alana let out a very soft, very dry scoff. In the dead silence of the night, it was deafening.

Without a moment of hesitation, she pulled the matte-black gun from her bag.

The dark muzzle caught the faint light of the streetlamp, gleaming with a deadly promise.

Jaison's eyes bulged out of his skull. His smug expression shattered into pure, unadulterated terror.

Alana held the gun with one hand. Her arm was perfectly steady. Her eyes were dead.

She aimed the barrel directly at Jaison's right kneecap.

The night wind seemed to stop entirely. Jaison's throat worked, producing a pathetic, choking sound.

His brain short-circuited. He convinced himself it was a prop. A fake gun meant to scare him.

Alana looked at his stupid, terrified face. She didn't waste a single word on him. Her index finger squeezed the trigger.

Thwip.

The heavy suppressor muffled the gunshot into a dull, violent spit of fire.

A 9mm hollow-point bullet tore through the air faster than the eye could track. It slammed perfectly into the center of Jaison's right kneecap.

A spray of dark red blood exploded against the pristine white fabric of his tuxedo trousers, blooming outward like a grotesque rose.

The kinetic energy of the bullet completely shattered his patella, turning the bone to dust.

Jaison let out a high-pitched, agonizing scream that didn't sound human. His right leg buckled instantly, and he crashed hard onto the asphalt.

He grabbed his ruined knee, thrashing violently on the ground. His expensive suit soaked up the mud and his own blood.

In the shadows, the bodyguards exchanged shocked glances. They hadn't expected this fragile, sickly girl to pull a trigger without even blinking.

Standing by the car door, Corbin's pupils contracted to pinpricks. A massive, violent shockwave ripped through his chest.

He had imagined a thousand different scenarios of how she would interact with Jaison. He had never, in his wildest, most paranoid dreams, imagined she would pull a gun and cripple the man herself.

After the initial shock passed, a dark, twisted, euphoric thrill shot through Corbin's veins.

He stared at Alana standing in the night, holding the smoking gun. The cold, hard lines of his face melted into a deeply disturbed, obsessive smile.

She wasn't a helpless rabbit. She was a blood-soaked rose with thorns sharp enough to kill.

Alana lowered the gun. She looked down at Jaison writhing on the ground.

Her face was completely blank. She didn't flinch at the blood or the screaming. Her eyes were as cold as a glacier.

Jaison gasped for air, his face pale and covered in sweat. He looked up at her, his eyes wide with absolute horror, as if he were staring at a monster.

"Why?" he sobbed, his teeth chattering. "Are you out of your fucking mind?!"

Alana let out a short, hollow laugh. She took a half-step forward. The pointed toe of her high heel stopped an inch from his nose.

She leaned down slightly. Her voice was barely a whisper, meant only for him. "Consider this the interest on your betrayal."

Jaison's brain was scrambled from the pain. He desperately tried to make sense of this. Through the haze of agony, his mind flashed back to his last conversation with Jessica, where she smugly promised that her weak, pathetic stepsister was entirely under control. If Alana was here, pulling a trigger without blinking, it had to be a setup. The social-climbing bitch had played him. "Jessica!" he screamed suddenly. "Jessica put you up to this, didn't she?!"

He naturally assumed Alana was too weak to do this on her own. He thought her stepsister had manipulated her into taking him out.

Hearing this, Alana didn't correct him. Instead, she slowly raised one eyebrow, playing right into his delusion.

"Take a guess," she whispered coldly.

She straightened up, turning her back on him. The seed of doubt was planted deep in his mind. When the villains started turning on each other, she would be watching.

In the distance, the estate security guards started shouting. "Gunshot! Front gate, move!" Multiple armed guards poured out from the side entrances, their heavy boots pounding the asphalt as their flashlights swept aggressively toward the driveway, converging from three different directions to trap them.

Corbin raised two fingers. His elite team didn't even blink at the approaching threat. In perfect synchronization, two bodyguards deployed localized signal jammers, cutting the estate's radio comms to static, while another tossed a high-lumen flashbang into the tree line to blind the incoming guards. Two of his men immediately stepped out of the shadows. They grabbed Jaison by the armpits, clamped a hand over his mouth to muffle his screams, and dragged him into the dark bushes like a dead dog, using the terrain advantage to vanish entirely before the blinded Knox security could even register their presence.

Alana turned around. The hem of her red dress snapped in the wind. She walked calmly back toward Corbin.