Lily didn't lock the door. She slammed it.
The click of the heavy oak bolt should have brought relief, but the sight of the red rose on her pillow made her skin crawl. She picked it up, the thorns pricking her thumb. A single drop of blood beaded on her skin—a crimson mimicry of the carnage at The Obsidian.
"Welcome home, Princess. The game is just beginning."
The handwriting was elegant, almost feminine, but the message was a threat. Lily scanned the room. It was a masterpiece of cold, billionaire minimalism—gray marble, silk sheets, and a window that looked out over a sheer cliff-face. No balcony. No escape.
"Who else is in this house, Dante?" she whispered to the empty room.
The Midnight Search
Lily wasn't the type to wait for the monster to come to her. She waited until the hum of the estate settled into a low, rhythmic thrum—the sound of high-tech security systems and distant waves.
She stripped off her blood-stained waitress vest, found a pair of black leggings and a hoodie in the wardrobe (all suspiciously in her exact size), and slipped out into the hallway.
The Vane Estate was a labyrinth. Every corridor looked the same, illuminated by recessed floor lighting that cast long, distorted shadows. She moved with the silence of a shadow, heading toward the one place Dante would keep his secrets: The Study.
The Discovery
The study was double-height, lined with leather-bound books that smelled of history and old blood. In the center sat a desk carved from a single slab of obsidian.
Lily didn't go for the desk. She went for the floorboards near the fireplace. Her father had once told her: "Men like Vane hide their lies in plain sight, but they hide their truth where they stand."
She found it—a slight misalignment in the parquet. She pried it up with a letter opener. Inside wasn't a ledger, but an old, grainy photograph.
It showed two young boys standing in front of a burning building. One was clearly a young Dante, his face already set in that mask of cold indifference. The other boy had his arm around Dante's shoulder, smiling a jagged, manic grin.
Across the back, scrawled in the same handwriting as the note on her pillow, were three words:
"The Spare lives."
The Confrontation
"You're quite the little thief, aren't you?"
Lily bolted upright, the photo hidden in her palm. Dante was leaning against the doorframe, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, a glass of amber liquid in his hand. He looked tired, but his eyes were sharper than ever.
"I told you to stay in your room," he said, his voice dropping an octave. He walked toward her, each step echoing like a heartbeat.
"And I told you I'm not a prisoner," Lily countered, backing into the desk. "Who is 'The Spare', Dante? And why is there a rose on my pillow?"
Dante froze. The glass in his hand cracked under the sudden pressure of his grip. "A rose?"
"Don't play dumb. It said 'Welcome home, Princess'."
In an instant, the "Cold Billionaire" vanished, replaced by the "Mafia Alpha." Dante lunged forward, grabbing Lily by the shoulders and pinning her against the obsidian desk. His face was inches from hers, his breath smelling of expensive peat and raw fury.
"If you're lying to me, Lily—"
"I don't lie!" she shouted, shoving against his chest. "I found it on my bed! Someone is in this house, someone who knows me!"
Dante's eyes searched hers, looking for a flicker of deceit. He found only genuine terror and defiance. He let out a breath that sounded like a snarl.
"Silas," he breathed the name like a curse.
"Who is Silas?"
"My brother," Dante said, his grip loosening but his body still boxing her in. "The one the world thinks I killed ten years ago. If he's here, then the Red Fang attack tonight wasn't a hit on me."
Lily's heart stopped. "Then what was it?"
Dante looked at her with a dark, twisted realization. "It was a distraction. They didn't want my life, Lily. They wanted you to come here. They wanted the Princess in the tower."
The Cliffhanger
Before Lily could ask what he meant, a low, guttural growl echoed from the hallway. It wasn't a dog. It was the sound of the estate's heavy security shutters slamming shut, locking every door and window simultaneously.
The lights flickered and died, plunging the study into total darkness.
"Dante?" Lily whispered, her hand reaching out blindly.
She felt his hand grab hers—strong, warm, and terrifyingly tight.
"Don't move," he commanded. "He's inside."
Then, from the darkness of the corner, a match struck. A tiny flame illuminated a face that was a twisted, scarred mirror image of Dante's.
"Hello, big brother," the voice rasped. "I see you've brought me a gift."