The estate glowed red.
Silent alarms flashed through the halls, warning of the unthinkable. Guards scrambled, weapons drawn, but it was already too late. Viper stormed into Ayla's wing, the door to her room blown open. Curtains billowed violently in the wind, mocking him. Her bed was empty.
She was gone.
Viper stood in the doorway, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. He didn't speak, but the fury radiating off him was suffocating. His silence roared louder than a scream.
His daughter had been taken. In his house. Under his watch.
"How long?" His voice was ice.
"Fifteen minutes, sir. We believe it happened just before your return."
Fifteen minutes. That was all it took to shatter everything.
He turned sharply. "Bring me intel on every active rival. Start with the ones who knew about her. I want names—now."
Someone had dared cross a line. He had enemies. Many. But few bold enough to take Ayla. And fewer still stupid enough to survive the aftermath.
—
Far away, in a dark, windowless room, Ayla stirred.
Her body ached. Her head throbbed. Cold bit at her skin. Chains clinked as she shifted, her wrists bound. The floor beneath her was hard and damp. Panic fluttered in her chest, but she swallowed it down.
Where was she?
A voice emerged from the shadows—low, cruel, and far too familiar.
"Well, well… Elara's child. How poetic."
Ayla's blood ran cold.
She wasn't alone anymore.
And whoever had taken her…
They knew exactly who she was.