Chapter 16: Little Devil

MANILA, PHILIPPINES

The summons from her father were becoming routine for Tiffany. One minute, she'd be in Liban; the next, she'd find herself in the city, standing in the bustling casino with a pounding headache and an irritated heart.

This was her life now as an Alpha assassin—a constant whirlwind of chasing targets and bending to her father's demands. She'd chosen it, after all. Complaining would change nothing.

Bodyguards flanked her the moment she stepped out of the sleek car her father had sent. They handled her luggage in silence and escorted her into the casino's grand entrance.

It was a Tuesday night—the busiest of the week. Her father loved to brag about Tuesdays. He often said this day of the week belonged to business magnates and their "sidepieces." Tiffany didn't fully understand the strategy, but the faces she passed in the hall made it clear: the wealthy and ambitious mingled here, trading money and secrets.

The casino was enormous. Her father claimed he'd built it as a tribute to his love for her mother—a sentiment that made her stomach twist.

Their love story was no fairy tale. It was an Alpha Council-arranged marriage, sealed in blood and power plays. She hadn't even been born out of love; her mother was nothing more than a pawn—a pawn raped on the night before her grand wedding.

Shoving the thought aside, Tiffany removed her sunglasses and handed them off along with her Versace coat. Her red stilettos clicked sharply against the marble as she strode toward her father's office.

She didn't knock.

The sight that greeted her was nothing new: her father seated comfortably, being entertained by a half-naked young woman.

"Tiffany!" he greeted, cigar in hand, as though her sudden arrival were no interruption. The girl, however, jumped, clutching a silk robe as she bolted for the powder room.

"Stop," Tiffany ordered, her voice cutting through the air.

The girl froze, casting a panicked glance between Tiffany and the Don.

"I recognize you," Tiffany mused, tilting her head with mock interest. "You're a model, right?"

"Yes," the girl murmured.

"How old are you?"

"Twenty."

Her father sighed, the familiar sound of his impatience creeping in. "Tiffany, just let her go—"

Tiffany raised a hand, silencing him. Her gaze stayed fixed on the girl, lips curling into a smug smile. "You're embarrassed now," she said, circling her slowly, "but it doesn't bother you to sleep around with every rich creep who throws money at you. What's the matter? Does being pathetic sting more under a spotlight?"

"Miss, I'm sorry but this is making me uncomfortable—"

Tiffany laughed—a cold, biting sound.

"That's enough!" her father finally barked, his voice filling the room. "Go on, darling. My secretary will handle your fee."

The girl didn't need to be told twice. She snatched her things and fled, her cheeks were now stained with tears.

Once they were alone, Tiffany sank into the couch, her disgust evident. Her father paced, lighting another cigar as he searched for words.

His rare hesitation made her smirk.

"You shouldn't have done that," he said at last, pouring her a drink. "She's one of my best girls."

"Best girls, my ass," she grumbled, downing the whiskey in one go. The burn barely registering. "Why am I here, Papa? You know Liban's far—"

"This isn't about distance," he interrupted. "The Alphas are losing patience. They want results. Fast."

Tiffany's jaw tightened. "And if I fail, Yuan Lloyd Marquez takes my place, right?"

The Don fell silent.

"Who told you about that arrangement?"

"So, you did sabotage me," she said quietly, bitterness dripping from her voice.

"I'm doing what's best for you," he replied, stepping closer. "Yuan is on probation too, working another mission. I'm just keeping you safe."

"No, Papa." She stood, glaring up at him. "You're keeping yourself safe. I've done everything for you. Everything. And what do I get? Broken promises and betrayal." Her voice cracked as she stepped toward the window, gazing out at the city lights. The glow blurred as tears filled her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. "You promised I'd be your heiress. You assured me that. Do you even remember what you did to me when I was sixteen?"

The question hung in the air like smoke, choking the room. Her father's face wavered for a moment before he looked away. "Tiffany," he said, almost gently, "I can't make decisions based solely on you. The Brotherhood has a council. I-I shouldn't have given you false hope."

A scream tore from her throat as she flipped the glass table beside her. "You're a joke! A pathetic, lying joke!"

"Tiffany! Stop it!"

But she didn't. Rage consumed her, a wildfire she couldn't extinguish. She shattered anything within reach—decorations, bottles, anything that reminded her of the man she hated most.

Her father grabbed her, pulling her into his arms. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry, my girl…"

She tore herself free, her breaths ragged, as tears now streaming freely. For a moment, she wanted to hurt him—to make him feel every ounce of pain he'd inflicted on her.

"I hate you, Papa!" she spat, voice trembling with fury. "You ruined me. My life. My future. Everything."

"My girl…"

Turning for the door, she stopped halfway, looking back at him who was now standing amidst the wreckage of his office, the weight of her words sinking into his features.

"Remember this," Tiffany said, her voice cold and cutting. "I'm not giving up. One day, you'll regret raising a little devil like me."

And with that, she left, slamming the door behind her.