The sound of silence filled Dylan's office—thick, heavy, and unnerving. His hand clutched the edge of the mahogany desk, knuckles pale with tension. His gaze was dark, locked on the security footage replaying Richard's last ambush on one of his safe houses. It wasn't just a message—it was a declaration of war.
"He's getting bolder," Dylan muttered, jaw clenched.
Jayden stood at the side, still nursing the healing wound on his shoulder. "That wasn't just an attack. Richard wanted you to see it. He's daring you to retaliate."
"And I will," Dylan replied coldly. "But not on his terms."
Jayden hesitated. "You don't think he has someone inside, do you?"
Dylan's eyes narrowed. "He knew about the shipment. He knew about the safe house. Someone's feeding him intel."
Jayden swallowed hard. He was already on thin ice since the betrayal—Dylan's trust wasn't something easily regained. And now, with a spy in the shadows, Jayden knew he had to prove his loyalty before the tide turned against him again.
Meanwhile, in the East Wing of the estate, Heaven sat by Michael's bedside, gently brushing his hair as he slept. His fever had finally broken, but his body was still weak. The boy had been through too much—caught in a war he didn't understand.
"You're going to be okay," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I won't let anything happen to you."
Her own emotions were a storm she didn't know how to contain. Rage at Dylan. Fear for Michael. Confusion at her own heart. And under it all… the image of Dylan, holding her gently the night before, haunted her. That man—the cruel tyrant—had moments of tenderness. But were they real or just another layer to his manipulation?
A soft knock drew her attention. She turned to see Dylan leaning against the doorframe, a distant look in his eyes.
"How is he?" he asked quietly.
Heaven didn't respond immediately. Instead, she kept her focus on Michael. "Better," she said after a long pause. "But he's scared. And so am I."
Dylan walked in slowly, sitting across from her but not too close. "You don't need to be," he said flatly.
"You don't get to say that," Heaven snapped. "You started all of this."
Dylan didn't flinch. "Richard started it when he betrayed this family. When he chose to build his empire on ashes."
Heaven turned to him, her hazel brown eyes burning. "And what about you? You've been burning everything down around you since the beginning."
For a moment, Dylan didn't speak. Then he leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees. "You think I enjoy this? That I wanted this war? I didn't choose to be a monster, Heaven. I was made into one."
There was a beat of silence. Her anger, sharp and jagged, faltered for a second. She saw it—that crack in his armor, the shadow of the boy he once was.
"Then unmake yourself," she whispered.
Before he could respond, the door burst open. Jayden stood there, breathless, holding a phone.
"Boss. You need to see this."
Dylan stood and took the phone. The screen showed a live stream—Richard, dressed in black, standing with a chained man at his knees.
It was one of Dylan's key informants.
"Hello, big brother," Richard's voice rang through the speakers, smooth and venomous. "Thought I'd remind you what failure looks like."
Then came the shot.
And the screen went black.
Dylan's jaw tightened, the fire in his eyes returning tenfold. He handed the phone back without a word.
War wasn't coming.
It had already begun.