It was late. Kaylee was asleep, sprawled out like a starfish in the massive king bed. Katarina needed air. She needed a drink. She opened the door to her suite quietly and stepped into the corridor.

At the far end of the hall, near the window that overlooked the city lights, a small figure stood still.

Katarina frowned. "Kaylee?"

The child was wearing pajamas-blue silk ones that looked exactly like the set she had bought Kaylee in Paris. The height was the same. The messy dark hair was the same.

"Baby, what are you doing out here?" Katarina asked, her voice soft.

The child didn't turn around. He was staring at a painting on the wall, an abstract swirl of reds and blacks.

Katarina walked over. Panic fluttered in her chest. Sleepwalking? Kaylee had never done that before.

She reached out and wrapped her arms around the child from behind. She pulled the small body against her legs, resting her chin on the top of the dark head.

"You gave Mommy a scare," she whispered, breathing in the scent of shampoo.

The body in her arms went rigid.

It wasn't a normal reaction. A sleepy child melts into their mother. This child turned into stone.

But he didn't pull away.

Katarina frowned. She felt the shoulders. They felt... broader? Harder?

The child leaned back against her, just an inch. It was a hesitant, starving movement. As if he had never been held before and didn't know the mechanics of it, but his cells were screaming for it.

Katarina spun him around gently. "Kaylee, look at me-"

She stopped.

The face looking up at her was Kaylee's face. The same large, dark eyes. The same button nose. The same curve of the chin.

But the expression was entirely wrong.

Kaylee was a firecracker, full of mischief and light. This child's eyes were deep pools of silence. They were old eyes in a young face. And there was a sadness in them that punched Katarina straight in the gut.

"You're not Kaylee," she whispered, stepping back.

The boy stared at her. His lips parted, but no sound came out. He stared at her face with an intensity that was almost painful. He reached out a hand, his small fingers hovering near the fabric of her silk robe, trembling.

"I... I'm sorry," Katarina stammered. She crouched down so she was eye-level with him. "I thought you were my daughter. You look just like her."

The boy lowered his hand. He looked at his feet.

"Hey," she said gently. "Are you lost? Where are your parents?"

The boy didn't answer. He glanced at the service door near the elevators. It was slightly ajar. Katarina realized he must have used the housekeeping cart's passage to slip out while the guards were changing shifts. Clever. Too clever for a normal child.

Suddenly, the elevator doors at the end of the hall dinged. Two massive bodyguards burst out, their hands hovering near their jackets.

"Master Draven!" one of them shouted.

Katarina instinctively moved between the men and the boy. She stood up, her posture shifting from mother to protector in a split second. "Back off," she snapped.

The guards stopped, confused by the woman shielding their charge.

"Step away from the boy, ma'am," the lead guard said, his voice tense.

"Is he yours?" Katarina demanded. "Why is he wandering the halls alone at midnight?"

"Draven," a deep, baritone voice echoed from the open door of the suite at the opposite end of the hall.

Dimitri Shaffer stepped out. He wasn't wearing his suit jacket. His white shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, revealing the column of his throat. He looked tired.

He saw Katarina standing near his son. His face hardened instantly.

"Get away from him," Dimitri ordered. It wasn't a shout; it was a command spoken with absolute authority.

Katarina bristled. "I found him alone. I didn't touch him."

"I saw you holding him," Dimitri said, walking closer. He moved like a storm front. He reached down and scooped the boy up.

The boy, Draven, looked over Dimitri's shoulder at Katarina. His eyes were wide, pleading. He reached his hand out toward her again, just a twitch of his fingers.

Katarina felt a phantom pain in her chest.

"He was looking at the painting," Katarina said, her voice steady despite her racing heart. "He seems... lonely."

Dimitri glared at her. "My son is autistic. He doesn't like strangers. He doesn't like to be touched. If you touched him, you likely terrified him."

"He didn't look terrified," Katarina said. "He looked like he wanted a hug."

"You don't know anything about him," Dimitri spat. "Stay away from my family."

He turned and carried the boy back into his suite. The heavy door slammed shut. The lock clicked.

Katarina stood alone in the hallway. Her skin tingled where she had held the boy. It wasn't just a physical sensation. It was a resonance. A vibration in her blood.

She walked back to her room. She checked on Kaylee, watching the rise and fall of her daughter's chest.

Her phone rang. It was Francis. Again.

She picked it up, anger flaring to mask the confusion she felt about the boy.

"I'm not signing, Francis," she said into the phone.

"Then I'm auctioning your mother's jewelry collection tomorrow," Francis said. "Starting with her wedding ring. If you aren't at the gala to stop me, it's gone."

Katarina gripped the phone until the screen creaked. "You wouldn't."

"Try me. Be there, Katarina. And try to look presentable. Though I doubt any dress can hide your failures."

Katarina hung up. She threw the phone onto the sofa.

She walked to the closet and unzipped a garment bag. Inside was a dress she had been saving. It was a weapon made of silk and vengeance.

"I'll be there," she whispered.

Next door, inside the penthouse suite, Dimitri put Draven down on his bed.

"Did she hurt you?" Dimitri asked, checking the boy's arms.

Draven shook his head. He walked over to his easel. He picked up a charcoal stick.

He began to draw. Fast, frantic strokes.

Dimitri watched. Usually, Draven drew geometric shapes or buildings. Tonight, he drew a figure. A woman. She didn't have a face, but she had long hair and she was surrounded by a halo of light.

Dimitri frowned. He looked at the drawing, then at the wall that separated them from the woman next door.

"She's trouble, Draven," Dimitri muttered. "I can smell it."

---

White stone pillars, manicured hedges that looked plastic, and a driveway filled with Bentleys and Rolls Royces. The gala was in full swing.

Inside the ballroom, Candi Alvarado held court. She wore a pink tulle dress that cost more than a small house, but it did nothing to hide the cruelty in her eyes. She was surrounded by her entourage, a gaggle of socialites who laughed on cue.

"Can you believe she's back?" Candi said loudly, sipping champagne. "I heard she's living in a motel in Queens. Probably spent all her allowance on burgers."

The group tittered.

In the corner, Bella White shrank against the wall. She was holding a glass of water, trying to be invisible. Her family's pharmaceutical supply company was failing, and Francis was their last hope for a contract.

Candi spotted her. Her eyes lit up.

"Oh look, it's the whale's pilot fish," Candi sneered, leading her group toward Bella.

Bella flinched. "Hello, Candi. Happy birthday."

"Save it," Candi snapped. "Where is she? Did she roll here? Or did she get stuck in the doorway?"

"Kat isn't... she isn't like that anymore," Bella stammered.

"Please," Candi scoffed. She snapped her fingers. A projector screen lowered from the ceiling behind the small stage. "I prepared a little slideshow. A tribute to my dear sister."

A photo appeared on the massive screen. It was Katarina from five years ago, mid-bite into a sandwich, looking swollen and miserable.

The room erupted in laughter.

"Look at that," Candi laughed. "Disgusting. She was a disgrace to the name."

Bella's eyes filled with tears. She stared at the floor, wishing it would open up and swallow her.

BOOM.

The double oak doors at the entrance of the ballroom were thrown open with enough force that they bounced off the walls.

The music died. The laughter choked off.

A silhouette stood in the doorway, backlit by the foyer lights. A long trench coat billowed around the figure.

Click. Click. Click.

The sound of heels on the marble floor echoed in the sudden silence.

The woman reached up and undid the belt of her coat. She shrugged it off, letting the expensive fabric fall to the floor for a servant to catch.

Gasps rippled through the room.

She wore a black dress that defied physics. It clung to every curve, slashed high on the thigh, low on the back. Her skin was luminous, glowing under the chandeliers. Her hair cascaded down her back like a dark river.

She didn't look at the crowd. She walked straight toward the stage.

"Who is that?" a man whispered.

"Is that a celebrity?"

Candi's smile faltered. She squinted. The woman walked with a confidence that Candi had never possessed.

The woman stopped in front of Bella. She reached out a hand, her fingers long and elegant. She gently lifted Bella's chin.

"Chin up, B," the woman said. Her voice was smoky, rich. "Your crown is slipping."

Bella stared. She looked into those eyes-the only thing that hadn't changed.

"Kat?" Bella breathed.

The whisper carried.

"Kat?" Candi shrieked. "That's impossible!"

Katarina turned slowly to face her stepsister. The movement was fluid, lethal. She looked at Candi the way a lion looks at a limping gazelle.

"Hello, Candi," Katarina said. "Happy birthday."

"You... you..." Candi stuttered, pointing a shaking finger. "You're a fake! You had surgery! Liposuction! You're still a pig inside!"

Katarina laughed. It was a cold, sharp sound. She walked over to the projector controls. She hit a button, killing the image of her past self.

"I see you've kept my old photos," Katarina said, walking toward Candi. "Sentimental."

"Get out!" Candi screamed. "Daddy! Get her out!"

Francis Alvarado emerged from the crowd. He stopped dead when he saw Katarina. His eyes didn't show love; they showed calculation. He saw the beauty, the power, the potential market value.

"Katarina," Francis said, spreading his arms. "My daughter."

"Don't," Katarina said, holding up a hand. She didn't stop walking toward Candi.

She bent down and picked up a stack of the printed photos Candi had left on a table.

Auston Mcmahon pushed through the crowd. He stopped next to Francis, his jaw practically on the floor. He stared at Katarina with a hunger that was palpable.

"Kat?" Auston breathed. "My god."

Katarina ignored him. She stood toe-to-toe with Candi. Candi was wearing heels, but Katarina still seemed to tower over her.

"You like these photos so much?" Katarina asked softly.

She raised the stack of photos.

"Eat them."

---

Candi stared at Katarina, her mouth opening and closing like a fish. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," Katarina said. Her voice was calm, which made it terrifying. "You've spent five years feeding on my misery. Now, you can feed on the evidence."

Katarina moved. It was a blur. One hand shot out and gripped Candi's jaw, forcing it open with a strength that shocked the onlookers. With the other hand, she shoved the crumpled ball of photos into Candi's mouth.

"Eat," Katarina hissed.

Candi gagged. She clawed at Katarina's hand, but it was like clawing at iron. Katarina held her there for three agonizing seconds, letting the humiliation sink into Candi's bones.

Then she released her.

Candi fell back, spitting out the wet paper, coughing and retching. Her mascara ran down her face. She looked ruined.

"You maniac!" Elena, Candi's mother, shrieked, rushing forward. "I'm calling the police!"

"Call them," Katarina said, wiping her hand on a napkin she plucked from a passing waiter's tray. "I'd love to show them the forensic accounting of what you've done to my trust fund."

Francis stepped in, grabbing Elena's arm. "Quiet, Elena." He turned to Katarina, a greasy smile plastered on his face. "Katarina, let's not make a scene. We are family. Come to the study."

He gestured to the bodyguards to clear a path.

Katarina threw the napkin on the floor. "Fine."

She walked to the study, her heels clicking a death march. Francis, Elena, Candi (still sobbing), and Auston followed.

Inside the mahogany-paneled study, Francis closed the door.

"You look... healthy," Francis said, sitting behind his desk. "Investable."

"Cut the crap, Francis," Katarina said, leaning against the doorframe. "I want my mother's shares. I want the DreamLeaf patent rights. And I want full access to my trust."

Francis chuckled. He pulled a document from a drawer. "You get nothing. Unless..." He slid the paper across the desk. "You sign this. It reinstates you into the family. It gives you a monthly allowance. And it betroths you to Auston."

Auston stepped forward, adjusting his tie. He looked at Katarina like a prize horse. "It's a good deal, Kat. We were good together. And look at you now. You're finally worthy of the Mcmahon name."

Katarina looked at Auston. She looked at the contract.

She walked over to the desk. She picked up the contract.

"Worthy?" she repeated.

She ripped the paper in half. Then in quarters. She let the confetti rain down on Francis's desk.

"I don't want an allowance," Katarina said. "I want it all. And as for you, Auston... I wouldn't marry you if you were the last man on earth and I was ovulating."

Francis's face turned purple. "You ungrateful brat! You think you can walk in here and dictate terms? You have no power! You are nothing but a discarded vessel!"

He slammed his hand on a button under his desk. Two large security guards entered from a side door.

"Escort her to the basement," Francis ordered. "She stays there until she signs a new copy."

The guards moved toward her. Big men. Slow men.

The first one reached for her arm.

Katarina didn't retreat. She stepped into his space. She grabbed his wrist, twisting her hips to generate torque, and drove her elbow into his solar plexus with a sickening thud. It was a military-grade takedown, executed with the precision of a surgeon.

The man folded like a lawn chair.

The second guard swung a fist. Katarina ducked, sweeping his leg out from under him. As he fell, she didn't just let gravity do the work; she delivered a controlled kick to his temple to ensure he stayed down.

It took five seconds.

Katarina stood over them, not even breathing hard. She adjusted her dress.

The silence in the room was absolute. Auston looked terrified and aroused. Francis stared at her, his eyes narrowing. He looked from the unconscious guards to his daughter's relaxed stance. Where had the fat, wheezing girl learned to fight like a mercenary?

"I see you've been busy," Francis murmured, a new layer of caution in his voice.

"I learned a few things while I was away," Katarina said.

Candi, huddled in a chair, found her voice. It was shrill and venomous.

"You're just a thug!" Candi screamed. "A thug with a bastard child! Where is it? Did it die? Or did you throw it away like trash?"

Katarina froze. The air in the room dropped ten degrees.

She turned her head slowly toward Candi. Her eyes were black pits.

"What did you say?"

"I said," Candi sneered, emboldened by her own stupidity, "where is the little bastard?"

Katarina moved. She crossed the room in a blink. She grabbed Candi by the throat and pinned her against the bookshelf. Books tumbled down, hitting Candi on the head.

"Mention my child again," Katarina whispered, her face inches from Candi's, "and I will dismantle you. Bone by bone."

---