The gala blazed on in a spectacle of power and vanity. Crystal chandeliers scattered light across marble floors; champagne towers glittered; the air buzzed with music and laughter. Women in gowns shimmered as they drifted past, diamonds catching the light, while men in tailored suits leaned close to exchange whispers worth millions. Waiters weaved through the crowd, trays balanced with champagne flutes, the clink of glass folding into the hum of high-profile chatter.
Lilian sat beside Killian at a table near the center of it all. Her body was tense, mind still spiraling from her earlier encounter with Nathaniel. The way his eyes had swept over her—cold, predatory—still chilled her skin.
She risked a glance at Killian. His expression was unreadable, but his grip on the glass in his hand was too tight, his knuckles pale against the crystal. To anyone else, he looked composed. To her, he looked dangerous. A storm barely leashed.
Across the room, Nathaniel stood before the terrace windows, perfectly at ease, his charm disguising the venom beneath. At his side, Luca Moretti—the Italian billionaire whose laughter was always too loud, whose gold rings flashed with every careless gesture—leaned in with a smirk.
"Blackwood never plays, never drinks, never laughs," Luca said dryly, twirling one of his rings. "How do you trust a man like that?"
Nathaniel's smile curved, his bourbon glass glinting. "I don't trust him. I intend to bury him."
Luca arched a brow. "Still obsessed?"
"Obsession?" Nathaniel's eyes gleamed, sharp and hungry. "That word doesn't even begin to cover it."
He laughed once, low and humorless. Neither man noticed Killian's hand slip beneath the table, phone screen lighting briefly.
Greg (Secure Line):
Priority Alert: Ambush confirmed. Nathaniel's men deployed along main route. Terminate Route A. Do not engage. Repeat—do NOT engage.
Killian's lips curved into a smirk that never touched his eyes.
Greg (Secure Line):
Initiate Extraction Plan Bravo. Vehicle positioned at rear exit. Armored. Route cleared via Shadow Protocol. Surveillance disabled. Move now.
Greg (Final):
Left flank behind catering. Door unsecured. Zero cams. Blind zone confirmed. I've got eyes. You're clear. Clock's ticking.
Killian leaned subtly toward Lilian, voice so low she barely caught it.
"Get up. Slowly. Don't ask questions. We're leaving."
Her brows pinched. "What? Right now? Why—"
"Lilian." His eyes cut to hers, hard and commanding. "Now."
Her stomach dropped. She wanted to press, but something in his tone told her better. Swallowing her questions, she rose with him. Killian adjusted his tuxedo, his calm mask back in place, and guided her through the crowd. To everyone else, it looked like nothing more than a quiet exit.
They slipped down a side hallway near the catering wing, the air cooler, quieter, the sound of the orchestra fading behind them. Killian's hand pressed firmly against her back as he ushered her through the dim corridor.
The staff door ahead hung slightly ajar, just as Greg had promised. Beyond it, a bare concrete hallway stretched into shadow.
Lilian whispered. "What's going on?"
He didn't answer. Not yet.
Their pace quickened, heels clicking against the floor as startled staff glanced up but said nothing. Moments later, headlights cut through the dark—a sleek black car gliding into place.
Greg sat behind the wheel, jaw set, eyes sharp. "Move!"
Killian opened the back door, steady hands guiding Lilian inside before climbing in himself. The doors shut with a heavy thud.
Greg hit the gas. Tires screeched. The gala, the laughter, the chandeliers—all vanished into the night.
Silence filled the car. Not peace. Not calm. Something heavier.
Lilian's pulse thundered as she glanced at Killian. He didn't look at her. His jaw was stone, his eyes forward, his body wound tight with fury. He wasn't the controlled, dangerous man she thought she knew. This was colder. Darker.
Almost afraid to break the silence, she whispered. "What's happening?"
Nothing. Not even a flicker of acknowledgment.
Her throat closed. She turned to the window, watching the blur of city lights. Her chest ached with unease. She didn't know if the danger was outside the car—or sitting right beside her.
Because Killian Blackwood wasn't just dangerous tonight. He was a storm. And she was trapped inside it.
Greg drove fast, navigating back roads invisible to ordinary maps, threading paths known only to shadows.
At last, the Blackwood estate loomed in the dark, its silhouette stark and unyielding.
Killian was out the moment the car stopped, long strides cutting toward the doors without a word.
Lilian sat frozen, breath shallow, until Greg's voice finally broke the silence.
"You should listen to him," he said evenly. "He's not just angry. He's calculating. And when Killian Blackwood calculates… people end up buried."
Her chest tightened. She climbed out, her heels crunching on gravel, following into the estate.
Inside, Rosa and Gracie rushed forward.
"What happened?" Rosa demanded, eyes wide.
Lilian shook her head. "I… I don't know."
Gracie scanned her quickly. "You're not hurt?"
"No. But…" her voice trembled, "…I think I'm in more trouble than I ever imagined."
At the top of the staircase, Clara lingered in shadow. She had seen Killian arrive alone, his fury written in silence. She knew that rage. She had seen it before.
And it had ended in blood.
Lilian hurried upstairs, shutting and locking her door, pressing her back against it. Her gown still clung to her skin, her hands trembling.
This wasn't about secrets anymore.
This was survival.
---
Downstairs…
Killian stormed into his study, Greg at his heels. The door locked behind them.
Killian snatched a whiskey glass, hesitated, then hurled it against the wall. Crystal shattered, raining sharp fragments across the floor.
Greg didn't flinch.
Killian's gaze fell to the envelope waiting on his desk—fresh intel Greg had secured.
A long, loaded silence. Then his voice cut low, lethal.
"Ive spared him out of pity long enough. Tonight, that ends."
When he lifted his eyes, they burned with something dangerous.
Killian Blackwood never lost a war.
And this one had only just begun.