Five years had been kind to them—or perhaps it was the world that had learned to fear their kind of love.
Lora Roth stood on the balcony of her penthouse tower, the one that overlooked the city she now owned piece by piece. Dawn was crawling over the skyline, soft and golden, washing the steel and glass in light. Behind her, the sound of her children's laughter echoed faintly through the hallways.
It was peace. But peace, she knew, never lasted.
Luke found her there, barefoot, a mug of black coffee in his hand and a faint shadow under his eyes. He moved quietly—he always had—and yet she sensed him before she heard him. The air shifted when Luke Roth entered a room, like the world itself took a step back to make space for him.
"You're up early," he murmured, offering her the mug.
She took it, their fingers brushing. "Couldn't sleep."
He studied her profile. "Nightmares again?"
"Not nightmares." She sipped. "Memories."
Luke's jaw tightened. He knew better than anyone—peace didn't erase the past; it just made the silence louder.
"Something's moving in the east docks," he said finally. "Old contacts say someone's been buying up our shipments under false names. Expensive ones."
Her eyes flicked toward him, sharp and unyielding. "You think it's them?"
"I think it's too precise not to be."
Lora set down the mug, her calm cracking at the edges. For years, they had built everything—legitimized every trade, cleaned every ledger, turned their empire into something the world respected. But even empires had ghosts. And theirs never stayed buried for long.
"Bring in Soren," she said. "I want every name traced. Every signature checked."
Luke nodded, but there was something in his gaze—something he hadn't told her yet.
"There's more," he said quietly. "Someone left a letter for you. At the chapel."
Her breath caught. The chapel on the cliff—their wedding place. No one was supposed to know it existed.
He handed it to her, sealed in black wax, marked only with a sigil—a phoenix half-burned.
Lora's hand trembled, though her voice stayed steady. "That mark was destroyed years ago."
Luke's gaze darkened. "So were we," he said softly. "But here we are."
Later that night, she sat alone in her study. The moon hung high again, white and watchful. She broke the seal and unfolded the letter.
"Queen of ashes," it read. "You built your empire from fire. Now it's time to see if it burns twice."
No name. No signature. But the ink smelled faintly of something she hadn't scented in years—smoke and sea salt, the scent of the man who had once taught her everything about destruction.
Her brother.
The one she'd buried.
Luke found her standing there, the letter in her hand and her pulse thundering in her throat. He didn't need to ask—he could read the storm in her eyes.
"Who?" he asked quietly.
Lora looked up at him, her voice low, dangerous."The past," she said. "And it's coming home."