Rayne_Rue

Jason sank to his knees as smoke swallowed the sky, the color of it an angry crimson, like the world itself was bleeding. The house before him, her house, collapsed in slow motion, boards shrieking and crumbling as if mourning their own destruction.

His chest caved with a ragged sob, the kind that seemed to come from somewhere deeper than his lungs, deeper even than his body. Everything around him blurred—faces, sirens, flames—until all that remained was the ash.

He should have looked away. Should have closed his eyes.

But he didn't. He couldn't.
The paramedics moved solemnly through the smoke, their silhouettes stark against the firelit haze. The stretchers were draped in white sheets—too still, too final. He counted them without meaning to.
One... two... three.
Jason didn't flinch. His heart was hollowed out, like something had been carved from within him with a hot blade.
It should've been him.
Not Selena.
"No," he whispered hoarsely, his voice splintering. "No, it can't be."
He stumbled backward, eyes wide, brain refusing to bridge the gap between what he saw and what he believed. Reality came in slow waves, each one more unbearable than the last. And then he was moving, sprinting toward the stretchers with a desperate, raw urgency. A rescuer with no one left to save.
"Selena," he choked, reaching trembling hands toward the nearest form.
The heat of the fire still lingered in the air, as if the world itself was scorched. He lifted the sheet with shaking fingers. What stared back at him was no longer her face—just blackened skin, unrecognizable. His mind rejected it. It can't be her. It isn't.

The Mafia Couple

The name echoes in my skull like a gunshot.

Daughter of my father's driver. I barely saw her growing up, quiet, cold, always lurking in the background like a shadow in a place full of monsters. She was just a ghost in the halls back then.

Word was, he sent her off to Italy. She disappeared into that part of the empire no one talked about. The trafficking lines. The off-the-books assassinations. She didn't just survive it—she thrived.

She became one of his deadliest.

Smart. Precise. Ruthless. I remember someone once saying she slit a man's throat in a ballroom and didn't even ruin her lipstick. Now she's back?

I stare down at the papers I just signed. Everything my father owned… now mine.

But if she's here—if Stacey Ventura is the one handling Marie—then this isn't just business. This is warfare.