Kneeling on the cold concrete, my knees pressed into the rough surface, I barely registered the freight elevator’s groan as it opened behind us.
The wind hit me like a solid wall, slamming against my soaked clothes, but I didn’t flinch. Nothing mattered anymore—not while Enzo, my little brother, was strapped to the edge of that skeletal crane arm, trembling like a leaf in a storm.
“Three seconds, baby,” Darian said, dragging his chair closer. His tone was unnervingly calm, the kind of precision that made every word feel like a blade. “Sign the statement. Forgive Vivienne. Your brother walks away in one piece. Don’t test me. You know I don’t bluff.”
Vivienne.
His mistress.
The woman who had set my mother on fire.
My hands shook uncontrollably, heart hammering against my ribs. Enzo clung to the rusted pipe, eyes wide and darting between the edge and me.
“H-Lyra…” he whimpered, voice small and broken. “Why are we so high? Can we… go home now?”
“Darian,” I croaked, lifting my gaze to him—the man I had once called my husband, the man I thought would protect my family with his life. “She burned my mother alive. Locked her in that house like it was nothing. My mother is gone. Enzo… he’s all I have left. And you’re holding him hostage to protect her? Do you even realize what you’re doing?”
He leaned forward, brushing a hand over my hair as though I were a prized possession. I wanted to sink my teeth into him.
“Sweetheart,” he murmured, voice dripping false sweetness, “when you threatened legal action, did it ever occur to you how much she matters to me? How far I’d go for her?”
An eyebrow lifted, and then he began counting.
“Two.”
Panic clawed at me. I could barely breathe, barely see. This monster had everything: my trust, my years, my soul. I had believed I was his world.
Maybe I had been—until she returned from the dead.
I gripped the hem of his trousers, trembling. “Just… just let her admit it. Let me hear her say she did it. She burned my mother alive. That’s all I want. Just… hear it from her.”
A soft, cruel laugh. “She says she didn’t. That’s it. No guilt. No regret. Lyra… I asked for compassion, and you refused. You let me down.”
I looked up at him, and the truth hit. No forgiveness. No love left. There was no version of this story in which he still cared for me.
I swallowed bile, voice barely a whisper. “I’ll… I’ll sign. Just… don’t hurt him. Please.”
The smile that spread across his face was sickening, predatory. “There’s my good girl.” Then it disappeared, replaced by a chill colder than death. “But baby… you went too far. I can’t let this go.”
“One.”
“No—!”
Before my scream could escape, one of his men struck. A swift kick to Enzo’s chest.
My brother toppled.
One second he clung to that pipe, tears streaming, reaching for me. The next… nothing. Only air.
My scream tore through the steel skeleton of the unfinished building. Lungs burning, arms flailing, I tried to leap, to save him, but two guards seized me, dragging me back as I thrashed like a wild animal.
The wind screamed around us, city lights below smeared behind my tears. And Darian… he just sat there, untouched, perfectly calm.
Eight years ago, I had been Lyra Carrington. Respected. Feared. Admired. Queen beside the heir of Carrington Heights’ most feared mafia family. Then one fire destroyed it all.
My mother’s house burned that afternoon. She was trapped inside. Official report said faulty wiring. An accident. But I knew better. Smoke, ash, a tarp over her body—no fire trucks in sight.
That night, Darian held me. Promised vengeance. Swore he’d burn her alive. But the neighbor’s security footage changed everything.
The woman at the back gate before the fire? Vivienne Sinclair. Thought dead. Alive. And suddenly, nothing else mattered—not my mother, not justice. Only her.
I begged him to press charges. He refused. I demanded justice. He said she needed help. I pushed. And he snapped. Then he took Enzo.
“My love,” he said, voice sickly sweet, “one signature, and this ends. Stop clinging to the past.”
I had never imagined it would come to this. I had believed he loved me.
Darian Carrington had hunted me as though his life depended on it. I was dismissed as a fling, a pretty girl from the slums he’d discard when bored. So I vanished. Faked my death. Disappeared.
He went mad. Found my clothes by the sea, nearly ended himself. Maybe he truly loved me.
Then I discovered the letter in his safe. A suicide note—not for me. For her. Vivienne. Dated the day I disappeared. Every tear, every cliff he had stood on… none of it was for me. I was her shadow.
I cried for three days.
He held me, whispering lies. “Baby,” he murmured, “Vivienne’s gone. You’re the one I live for. I’ll prove it. If you doubt me, I’ll jump every day until you believe me.”
He went back to that cliff. No hesitation.
I broke. Begged him to come back. Told myself it was real. He even gave me command of his personal unit, his private kill squad.
“They’re yours now,” he said, pressing the badge into my hand. “If I cross you, use them. No mercy. Kill me. Deal?”
I laughed through tears. “I’m not a killer. I just wanted you to love me.”
He met my gaze. “Darian only loves Lyra. Always.”
Until Vivienne returned, and those words vanished.
“Lyra,” he had said one night, weary, soft, “she’s not okay. Give her time. I’ll make it right with you.”
I believed it. I believed he would return once he found closure. I was wrong. My mother was dead. My brother almost killed. And Enzo’s screams… etched into my memory forever.
When we finally descended from that crane, I lost control. Screaming. Kicking. Threatening to burn the entire building if they didn’t tell me where Enzo was.
Then the elevator doors opened.
A guard stepped out, holding him.
Enzo. Alive.
Weak. Barely conscious. But breathing.
