Chapter 34: Eve’s Gambit

The air was still, deceptively calm. The kind of silence that stretched too thin, moments before something shattered. Alexander sat at the edge of the bed, fingers steepled, his mind a tangled web of fury and dread. He had been on edge ever since he discovered the truth—his father had never truly lost sight of him. The man who had hunted him, who had orchestrated his downfall, had been watching from the shadows all along, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

And now, he had.

The phone in Alexander's hand felt heavier than it should, its cold glass pressing against his palm. He replayed the video again, forcing himself to watch, to absorb every second.

Eve, bound to a chair, head hanging forward. Her dark hair cascaded over her face, a curtain shielding the bruises along her jaw. Her wrists were raw, chafed against the tight binds. The low hum of breathing filled the space, and then came the voice—the voice Alexander had tried so hard to forget.

"She was your salvation, wasn't she?"

A pause. The sound of slow, deliberate footsteps, circling.

"Now, she's the price you have to pay for your sins."

The video cut off.

A raw, guttural rage burned through him, hollowing out the last fragments of restraint he had left. His father didn't just want to hurt him. He wanted to break him, to drag him back to a past Alexander had sworn to bury.

But Alexander wasn't that boy anymore. He wasn't the weak son who had once hesitated, who had tried to reason with a monster wearing the face of a father.

No. If his father wanted war, he would get one.

The compound stood before him, a monument of his father's power. A fortress carved out of steel and corruption, its walls lined with guards who had once been his brothers in arms. They had been trained for this—loyal to the family, devoted to the cause.

It didn't matter.

Alexander moved like a phantom through the shadows, his blade a whisper against flesh, his gunfire thunderous in the night. The first wave fell before they could raise the alarm. The second wave tried to hold their ground, but Alexander had spent years honing himself into something relentless. A force of nature. They were bodies before they even realized they had drawn their weapons.

The halls were drenched in crimson by the time he reached the doors leading to the heart of the compound.