Chapter 4 – Whispered Vows and Crimson Deals

The Crimson Alley was always alive after midnight, its neon signs flickering like broken promises. The air was a blend of smoke, sweat, and secrets—exactly the kind of place where Alex thrived. He leaned against the peeling wall of a bar with no name, cloaked in shadow, watching as lowlifes and informants filtered in and out like moths to a flame.

Inside, the city's black market leaders were gathering. Not for business—as they usually would—but because a rumor had spread like wildfire: The Ghost of Lancaster was calling.

That ghost was Alex.

With a swift tug on his collar, he stepped inside, the door closing behind him like a judge's gavel.

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Across the city, Lia was wrapped in silk and charisma.

Tonight's gala was hosted by the Cassel family, old-money aristocrats with enough influence to make mayors dance on strings. But Lia wasn't here for wine or small talk—she was here to bait a powerful man.

Her crimson gown shimmered under the chandeliers, the slit high enough to draw attention, and her eyes daring enough to keep it.

Lord Evander Cassel approached her with a practiced smile.

"I've heard whispers about you, Miss Lia," he said, offering his hand. "They say you're an enchantress."

Lia laughed softly, placing her gloved fingers in his palm. "That depends… are you the type to be enchanted?"

As they danced, Evander revealed more than he realized—his disdain for the city's underground, his obsession with control, and a certain rare key… one that unlocked the city's ancient vault beneath City Hall.

She filed the information away behind a warm smile and pressed closer. "I prefer men who know how to handle danger."

"I have a taste for it," he murmured.

So do I, she thought.

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Back in Crimson Alley, Alex stood before the gathered rogues and criminals, their eyes wide with a mix of awe and fear.

"You called us," grunted a brute named Vargo. "But why should we care what the Ghost wants?"

Alex stepped forward. "Because the city's changing. There's a new order rising. And those who don't pick a side… will be swallowed."

Someone laughed.

Then Alex threw a coin onto the table.

It landed with a heavy thud. On one side was the crest of the royal Cassel family. On the other—burned in with a blade—was a symbol of rebellion.

"I stole this from under the nose of Evander Cassel," he said coolly. "Their vaults are no longer safe. Their power? Shaky. I'm offering something better."

"And what's that?" Vargo challenged.

"A place in the future."

A murmur spread.

"We'll need proof," said a younger voice from the back.

Alex nodded once. "Then come find it. Or stay here and rot."

He turned and walked out.

They would follow. Eventually.

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Later that night, the twins met on the rooftop of the old opera house, their private rendezvous.

Lia arrived first, her heels clicking against the stone. She shed her heels and leaned over the ledge, watching the city below like it was hers to claim.

Alex stepped out of the shadows behind her.

She turned and grinned. "You always do that."

"You're easy to sneak up on when you're glowing."

She snorted and offered him a flask. "To manipulation and espionage."

They clinked it together.

"So?" she asked, voice softer now. "How did it go?"

"They're tempted," Alex said. "Fear is easy. Loyalty's harder."

Lia rested her head against his shoulder. "I danced with Evander. He's smart… but desperate. I can twist him."

Alex tensed just slightly. "Be careful with that one."

"You worried?" she teased.

His voice dropped. "Always."

They stood in silence for a moment, watching Lancaster sleep restlessly.

"I missed this," she whispered.

He looked down at her.

"Me too."

Then, quietly, she turned toward him and placed a hand on his cheek.

"Promise me something, Alex."

"Anything."

"No matter how far this goes… we don't lose each other."

He stared into her eyes—blue like a storm barely held back.

"Never."

And as their hands clasped under the moonlight, the city below shifted again. Because the rebellion wasn't just starting in the underground or the high society—it was blooming here, in whispered vows and crimson deals.