Chapter 25

The ashes crunched under my feet.

The training yard behind the Cross estate hadn’t seen any real action for years.

That all changed the moment I stepped in.

I was dressed in black,nothing fancy, nothing soft. My hair was braided tight like a soldier’s. My arms already bore bruises, and the morning was still young.

Again. I lost it.

Vera circled me, eyes sharp like a hawk. “If you drop your guard like that in front of Sebastian, you won’t walk away.”

I took a quick breath and raised my fists. Then I won’t give him the chance.

I lunged. Vera pivoted and threw me to the ground, hard enough to knock the breath right out of me.

Damian stood at the edge of the yard, watching quietly. A deep frown was carved on his face. He didn’t say a word. Not once.

I rolled back to my feet.

Again.

Later that evening, I found myself in the old study, knuckles bloodied but spine straight.

Nico walked in with an encrypted file,something pulled from a safe house that was once used by Elena Marco.

He placed it in front of me without a word, then just left.

I opened it, half-expecting more surveillance data. Instead, I found a letter.

To Elena Marco. From Cardinal Madrid.

“Elena, you cannot continue this. The girl is innocent. You can’t erase the mother,not like this.

Sebastian would burn the world if he ever learns what you did to her.

Bury it. Forget it. The child will never know the truth. But blood always finds a way to scream.”

I froze. The mother? I scrolled down and found a report. Medical. Dated twenty-four years back.

Code name: Widow. Died during an off-the-books labor operation in Vatican territory.

The attending doctor noted a single child born.

Claire.

And the biological mother?

Not Elena Marco. But Maria Durate.

My hands were shaking as I locked the screen. Damian walked in a moment later and caught my expression.

“What happened?” he asked.

“I found her.”

“Who?”

“My mother. My real mother.”

He froze. “Elena?”

Elena stole me, I said, my voice cracking. She orchestrated Maria Durate’s death. Faked records. Erased her and raised me as her own.

Damian sat down slowly. “Who was Maria then?”

I stood and crossed the room to the old family tapestry, woven in crimson and gold.

A rival house. One that Elena had burned to the ground.

She was the heir to the Durate syndicate. She loved Sebastian.

Damian’s eyes went wide. “You were born from love.”

I nodded. And Elena couldn’t stand that. So she killed her. Kept me for herself. To mold me into her image.

I turned to him, my voice icy.

I was never Elena’s weapon. I was never just her daughter. I’m both their blood. And that changes everything.

By nightfall, I found myself standing under the ancient columns of the Cross temple.

There, carved into the stone, was the blood rule.

“When one of blood seeks to replace another, the challenge must be sacred. One death. One claim. Witnessed by fire, sealed in blood.”

Damian lit the ceremonial flame right next to me.

The council heads started to arrive,shadows in tailored suits with sharp, cruel eyes.

Some looked amused. Others seemed scared. I heard one whisper, “She won’t survive.” I didn’t flinch.

I stepped up and etched my name into the stone beneath the law.

Claire. M. Durate.

Damian’s voice was calm beside me. “Are you sure about this?”

For twenty-four years, I’ve lived surrounded by lies. Now, it’s time to bury those who created them.

I faced the flames. And when Sebastian comes for me, he’ll learn I’m not his daughter.

I’m his reckoning.

Meanwhile, in Vienna, Sebastian stood atop an abandoned opera house.

Across from him sat a little girl, probably no older than eight, drawing on a torn napkin.

“Is she like me?” she asked.

He studied her for a moment before breaking into a smile.

“No, little dove. She’s much worse.”