The Weight of the Crown

The underground club in Geneva buzzed with power, but Ariella felt none of it. She felt a terrible nausea wave in her stomach.

Her pulse pounded in her ears as she stared at Alistair Devereux—the man who had been dead for decades.

Yet here he was.

Alive. Powerful. And smiling like he had never been buried at all.

Ariella's fingers twitched toward the knife hidden in her thigh holster.

"Sit, Ariella," Alistair said smoothly, gesturing to the leather seat across from him. "We have much to discuss."

Ariella didn't move.

Her voice was cold, lethal. "You should be rotting in the ground."

Alistair chuckled. "So should you."

Leo's stance shifted beside her, his hand hovering over his weapon. Carter and Vincent flanked her, tense, waiting.

But Ariella?

She was calculating.

Because if Alistair had survived all this time, if he had orchestrated everything from the shadows—

Then she needed to know why.

She slowly slid into the chair, back straight, head high. "Start talking."

Alistair smirked. "That's my girl."

The Deception of a Lifetime

Alistair leaned back, sipping his whiskey. "The Order was never what you thought it was."

Ariella didn't blink. "Enlighten me."

Alistair exhaled. "You were fighting shadows, Ariella. The men you killed—Silas Vaughn, Marchesi, the so-called Council? They were figureheads. Puppets in a grander game."

Ariella's nails dug into her palms. "And you?"

Alistair's smirk didn't fade. "I was the one pulling the strings."

Leo's jaw clenched. Carter's fingers tightened on his gun.

Vincent raised a brow. "Well, damn. You're just full of surprises."

Ariella's voice was low, dangerous. "You're telling me you let my family die? That you stood back and watched while the Order erased me?"

Alistair's smile flickered. "No, Ariella. I saved you."

Ariella's breath stilled.

Alistair leaned forward, his voice softer now. "Your father and I had a choice—die as heroes, or survive as kings. He chose death. I chose power."

Ariella's chest tightened. "And my mother?"

Alistair sighed. "Eleanor was always too righteous for this world. She wouldn't bend, so they broke her."

Ariella's stomach churned.

Her mother had been imprisoned, tortured for decades—because she had refused to play the game.

Ariella hadn't just killed her enemies.

She had inherited them.

The Offer That Changed Everything

Alistair tapped his fingers against the table. "Now that the pawns are gone, there's only one question left."

Ariella's eyes narrowed. "Which is?"

Alistair smirked.

"Will you take the throne?"

The room went still.

Leo's expression darkened.

Carter inhaled sharply.

Vincent let out a low whistle. "I did not see that coming."

Ariella laughed. Not a soft laugh. Not a humor-filled one. A dark, sharp, bitter laugh.

Because after all of this—

After years of war, blood, and suffering—

Her uncle wanted to hand her the empire she had sworn to destroy.

Ariella leaned in, her voice calm, deadly.

"I'd rather burn it all down."

Alistair sighed, swirling his drink. "Now, now. Let's not be dramatic."

Ariella smirked. "You buried me once. Try it again, and see what happens."

Alistair chuckled. "Oh, Ariella. You already rule. You just haven't accepted it yet."

Ariella's stomach twisted.

Because deep down—

Some part of her knew he was right.

The War That Wasn't Over

Alistair set his glass down. "You think you killed the Order? No, my dear. You just took their place."

Ariella's blood ran cold.

Because that meant—

Power hadn't been destroyed.

It had been transferred.

Leo finally spoke, his voice sharp. "If Ariella refuses, what happens?"

Alistair shrugged. "Then others will rise. And they won't be as forgiving as I am."

Carter muttered a curse under his breath.

Vincent exhaled. "So, we're back to the old dilemma—kill them before they kill us."

Alistair smiled. "Precisely."

Ariella's mind raced.

If she walked away, if she left this power unchecked, someone else would claim it.

And if that happened—

Her enemies would return.

Stronger.

Hungrier.

More ruthless than before.

Ariella had spent her life fighting for control.

Now, it was being handed to her.

And the most terrifying part?

She didn't know if she wanted to refuse.

The Choice That Would Define Her

Alistair exhaled, standing. "I'll give you time to think."

Ariella stood too, eyes blazing. "I don't need time."

Alistair raised a brow.

Ariella smirked.

Then, she pulled out her gun and shot him in the leg.

Alistair collapsed into the chair with a curse, clutching his wound.

Leo grabbed Ariella's wrist. "Ariella—"

She yanked away, stepping forward, her gun still raised.

"You don't get to dictate my fate," she hissed.

Alistair gritted his teeth. "And yet, you just made your choice."

Ariella narrowed her eyes.

"What choice?"

Alistair smirked through the pain. "You didn't kill me."

Ariella's pulse skipped.

Because he was right.

She could have put a bullet between his eyes.

But she hadn't.

Because deep down, some part of her knew she needed him.

Leo exhaled sharply. "Damn it."

Vincent grinned. "I love this game."

Carter muttered, "Of course this is happening."

Ariella took a slow, steady breath.

Then, she lowered the gun.

Alistair's smirk widened. "There she is."

Ariella exhaled.

Because she knew the truth now.

She wasn't destroying the empire.

She was taking it.

A New Beginning, A New War

That night, as the team flew back to London, Ariella sat alone in the private jet's lounge, staring out at the dark clouds stretching over the Atlantic.

Leo entered, his presence grounding her. "Talk to me."

Ariella sighed. "Everything I fought against… I've become."

Leo was silent for a moment. Then—

"No," he said. "You're becoming something new."

Ariella met his gaze. "And what if I fail?"

Leo smirked. "Then we burn it all together."

Ariella chuckled, shaking her head.

Because of course Leo would follow her into fire.

She turned back to the window.

Tomorrow, she would begin building something new.

Something different.

Something that belonged to her.

But tonight?

Tonight, she let herself breathe.

Because for the first time, she wasn't fighting for someone else's power.

She was claiming her own.