Hello my dear readers.
Just wanted to let you know that our dear female lead has different names and roles, so that you won't get confused.
Anastasia: Her real name but since she is presumed dead, she won't use it often.
Ariel: The new identity name she uses as the daughter of Duke Raymond William Fortmore of the Duchy of Lisboa. The main name she will use in the story.
Bailey: The name she uses to disguise herself as a man as she spies and work with people that do shady activities.
Enjoy
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In a shadow-drenched alley, where the streetlights were swallowed by towering buildings, a sleek black car rolled to a stop at the dead end. A hooded figure stood waiting—face obscured by a mask, posture still as stone.
The car door opened.
Another masked man stepped out, his hood drawn low, his movements deliberate. He walked toward the figure without hesitation.
"Bailey. It's been a while, my friend," said the man, his voice deep and distorted through a voice modulator.
Bailey nodded. "It has, Ricky. How've you been holding up?" His voice was equally masked—low, mechanical, unreadable.
"Quiet lately. Nothing worth prying into. How about you? Word on the street's saying that you were involved in something messy with the Grey hounds. Say you got involved in some sort of a shootout. You okay?"
Bailey's shoulders shifted slightly.
"You know me, Ricky. Death doesn't favour me a lot. Although, it tries to erase me from existence many times... I still escape from it's jaws. One way or another."
Ricky snorted. "Figures."
A beat passed.
"So… you got what I asked for?" Bailey asked.
"Yeah. I got it."
Ricky reached into his coat and pulled out a small metallic key with a single button embedded at its base.
"This is an all-pass key," he said, holding it up. "You can use it to bypass security and unlock any door by inserting it into the keyhole, clicking the button and waiting for a few seconds, before opening. It took me a lot to make this key. So I hope you use it well."
He tossed the key.
Bailey caught it mid-air and slipped it into his pocket without a word.
The alley remained silent.
But the tension between them hummed like static—two ghosts trading tools in the dark.
"Thanks, Ricky. What about the other thing I asked for?" Bailey's voice was low, steady.
Ricky shifted uneasily, his fingers twitching at his sides.
"What you asked for was a bit tricky," he admitted. "I barely managed to plant my guy on the inside. But everything you need for the operation will be in Room Four, first hallway, East Wing of the Palace." He paused. "But be careful… that place is the dragon's den. If he catches you, you're toast."
Bailey nodded, unfazed. "Don't worry, my friend. I've been training for this a long time. I'd rather die trying than live knowing I did nothing."
Ricky sighed, concern flickering in his eyes.
"Does your caretaker know about this? If things go south, he might be able to pull you out."
Bailey shook his head. "This is something I have to do alone. He doesn't need to know. Not yet."
He reached into his coat and pulled out a folded document.
"In the meantime…" he said, handing it over, "take this to the blog. I want the news to hit just as I arrive in the Capital tomorrow."
Ricky took the paper, nodding slowly.
"Have a safe trip. See you when you see me."
Bailey placed a firm hand on Ricky's shoulder—a silent gesture of trust, of farewell.
Then he turned.
And vanished into the shadows.
Leaving Ricky alone in the alley, clutching the document like a ticking clock.
....
The next morning…
The soft clinking of cutlery echoed through the dining room, filling the silence between Miranda, Nathan, Aaron, and Leticia as they ate quietly around the long polished table.
"Mom…" Nathan's voice broke the stillness.
Miranda looked up. "Yes, dear? What is it?"
Nathan hesitated, his eyes flicking toward Aaron and Leticia before settling on his plate.
"Is it true we can't find any more Blue Diamond Roses… because I'm useless?"
Miranda froze.
Her gaze snapped to her ten-year-old son. Nathan was still round-faced and soft, but he carried traces of his father's striking features. He would grow into a handsome boy. She spoiled him endlessly—not just because he was her child, but because he was her trophy. The living proof of her triumph. The prize she claimed when she finally snatched her former best friend, Stephanie, Anastasia's mother's husband and life.
Miranda had once been the daughter of a lowly Count in Florence. Stephanie, her former best friend, had been born into wealth—the daughter of a Marquis. They met by chance in college, bonded over an incident, and became friends.
At first, it was tolerable.
But jealousy crept in.
Why was Stephanie more beautiful? Why did powerful, wealthy men flock to her? Why did she shine while Miranda faded into the background?
Jealousy turned to hatred.
And Miranda vowed to make Stephanie suffer, the emotional humiliation and torture she suffered as well.
Now, her son—her symbol of victory—was questioning his worth.
"No, my dear," she said gently. "Who told you that?"
Nathan narrowed his eyes at Aaron and Leticia, then dropped them back to his food.
"No one. I just… felt like that. Because I haven't been able to find them. Like I'm supposed to."
Miranda caught the glance. She saw the tension in his small shoulders, the way his gaze lingered on Aaron and Leticia. But she didn't press—not here. Not in front of them.
"That's not true, darling," she said, her voice soft but firm. "The Blue Diamond Roses haven't disappeared. They're just… still morphing. You've learned about how rocks become precious jewels in school, haven't you?"
Nathan nodded.
"Exactly. The Roses are going through that phase. That's why they haven't surfaced yet. It has nothing to do with you. You are not useless. And don't let anyone—anyone—tell you otherwise."
Her eyes flicked toward Aaron and Leticia, sharp and warning.
"Okay, Mom," Nathan replied quietly.
"Good." She smiled. "Now go let Terry help you get ready for school."
Nathan nodded, pushed back his chair, and left the room.
The silence returned.
But this time, it was heavier.
Miranda's smile faded as she watched the door close behind her son.
And the storm behind her eyes began to stir.
"If the two of you insist on acting like children," Miranda snapped, her voice cold and clipped as Nathan exited the room, "then I'll gladly lock you in the nursery until you've matured into adults."
Leticia scoffed. "Why are you scolding us, Mother, when your son just spoke the truth? He is useless. Isn't his precious Sinclair blood supposed to lead us to the cave where those bloody diamonds are? You said that's how it works. But look at us—it's been three years since that annoying redhead died, and we still have nothing. Even that wretched woman Gabriella can't locate the cave either."
Miranda's face twisted in frustration. "How the hell was I supposed to know it wouldn't work? I read what was written in old man Sinclair's letter—before that old hag snatched it away."
She muttered under her breath, almost to herself.
"Or maybe… maybe it's because I didn't get to finish reading it before she walked in and took it. I never saw the full details."
Aaron froze. "What?"
Leticia's eyes widened. "Wait—are you saying we've been working off half the letter this entire time? Mother, how could you? Do you know how pathetic that makes us look? All this effort, all these years—and we weren't even sure it would work? Everything we have done and been doing was all for nothing!"
"It wasn't for nothing! It was all worth it!" Miranda snapped. "Yes, we haven't found the Blue Diamond Roses yet, but—"
"But what, Miranda?" Aaron growled, his rage barely contained. "Those diamonds were the reason why we did all this in the first place. Without them, everything we've done is meaningless."
Miranda slammed her hand on the table.
"That's what you childish fools think. But that's not all we gained from this. Florence is in our power and we rule it now! That means more than just the blue diamonds. We have powerful influence in the Royal court and we can use it to our advantage. To turn things into our favour. As for the Blue Diamonds… I remember that old woman, her being one of the King's aunt—said in her will that if she died, everything would be confiscated by the Royal Palace. I have a feeling that's where the letter is. And probably other confidential information about the Sinclair family and Florence too."
Leticia leaned forward. "Are you sure?"
Aaron nodded slowly. "Yes. After she died, palace officials came and took her belongings. But are you certain the letter's there?"
Miranda squared her shoulders. "I'm sure. The palace archives are the safest place to keep secrets. However, only select members of the Royal Family can access them—including the Queen Dowager. She and I bonded over the years while I was Duchess. I can convince her to let me look through the old woman's things—under the pretense of needing guidance to help you both rule Florence and restore its former glory."
Leticia frowned. "And how do you plan to do that? The Queen Dowager is practically unreachable right now, with all the preparations for the Royal Bride Selection Season. Getting time with her will be a miracle."
Miranda smirked. "Don't worry, darling. I'll speak to her at the Masquerade Ball. And since we'll have one of our own in the selection process, I'll find a moment to bring it up. No matter what."
Aaron nodded. "That sounds like a good plan. And you need to make it count. No more half baked goods but the full package this time, got it."
"Yes. Of course," Miranda replied, her tone clipped with irritation.
Aaron stood. "I have an important meeting. Don't waste this opportunity."
He left the room without another word.
The silence that followed was heavy.
And Miranda's eyes gleamed—not with regret, but with resolve.
"Ugh, that husband of yours is a pain in the ass," Miranda muttered, rubbing the back of her neck. "If we didn't need him for our plans, we would've dumped him ages ago. Ugh..I need a drink. A strong one. Something to drown this headache."
Leticia sighed. "Oh, Mother. Do you do anything besides drink? No wonder you only got half the details from that letter. I bet your mind was swimming in booze instead of focusing on what mattered. Unbelievable."
"Oh, will you shut up!" Miranda snapped. "At least booze doesn't give me a headache every damn day—unlike that temperamental storm you call a husband. He's nothing but a big bull with big balls and no brains. Pathetic."
Leticia scoffed. "Well, at least that bull keeps me wild in bed. Unlike your cold, lifeless liquor. At this rate, you'll die an old virgin mother. I'd love to see if your precious booze can knock you up to the clouds and soften that hardened old ass into something tender again."
She smiled mockingly.
"How dare you, you little bi—" Miranda fumed, rising from her seat, ready to unleash a fit.
But—
"My esteemed lady…"
A small voice interrupted her.
"What!" Miranda snapped, turning sharply.
A young maid stood frozen in the doorway, hands trembling as she held out a tablet.
"I think… you need to see this," the maid stammered.
Miranda sighed and gestured impatiently. "Give it here."
The maid approached slowly, her hesitant steps only fueling Miranda's irritation.
"Useless. Now go away."
The maid bowed slightly and hurried out.
Miranda's eyes dropped to the tablet.
And her world stopped.
Her face went pale. Her hands trembled. Her breath turned shallow.
"It can't be… it can't be… Who… who would dare…" she whispered, her voice cracking.
Leticia noticed that something was wrong.
"Mother? Mother are you okay? What's wrong?"
Miranda did not reply but slumbed down onto the chair to gain support whilst whimpering.
Leticia took hold of the tablet and her eyes went wide with shock.
There on the screen, her mother sat naked on the bed with a man kneeling on the floor with his head between her legs.
Beneath a headline in bold letters read.
"The scandalous life of the Duchess dowager of Florence exposed. Was she really a widow when she married into the Duchy or an adultress?"
Miranda felt like the whole world was collapsing and before she knew it.
She actually collapsed.
...
Meanwhile…
"The scandalous life of the Duchess Dowager of Florence exposed.
Was she truly a widow when she married into the Duchy—or an adulteress?"
The headline blazed across the tablet screen, held delicately by a woman with black wavy hair, piercing black eyes, a sharp nose, and rose-tinted lips. She wore a light green suit over a crisp white blouse—elegant, composed, lethal.
Her smile curled wickedly as she studied the photo beneath the headline.
"Don't worry," she whispered, voice smooth as silk. "The nightmare has only just begun."
She turned her gaze toward the window.
Outside, the majestic sprawl of a massive, regal city glowed beneath the morning sun, its towers gleaming like blades, its streets pulsing with life.
A voice rang out over the cabin speakers:
"Ladies and gentlemen, please fasten your seatbelts. We are beginning our descent into the kingdom's capital—The Iron Fortress."
The engines hummed.
The city drew closer.
And with it, a promise:
A new adventure awaits…