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

That if they moved fast enough, hit hard enough, they could knock the crown from my head.

By the time the first Russian bullet shredded through one of my warehouse walls on the east docks, I had already rerouted the shipments and replaced the real product with crates full of sand and rusted weapons. They got nothing—except my wrath.

I stood at the heart of the war room, a digital map stretched across the screen, red lights blinking where the Bratva made their move. They'd hit two of my outposts. Tried to corner my men. Killed three.

But they hadn't touched my core. And they'd just opened a door they'd never be able to close.

"They want war?" I said coldly. "Give it to them."

Jennifer was already on the phone with our Sicilian contact. "They're ready. We just need to say the word."

And just like that, the Queen made her move.

The Queen Never Bows