Leaving Margaret standing alone, shattered and frozen near the table, Alia stood up with an expression of cold, detached grace. The soft rustle of her clothing and the sharp, rhythmic click of her high heels against the floor cut through the quiet tension of the coffee shop. She didn't look back, not even for a fraction of a second. There was no pity or mercy left in her heart for Margaret only a glacial emptiness and utter disdain. Pushing open the glass door of the café, she stepped out into the open street, her posture radiating the ruthless, triumphant elegance of a queen.
Meanwhile, Margaret sat frozen with his head bowed against the tabletop for a few moments. But the second he realized Alia was walking away, the desperate, unhinged obsession in his chest revolted. He couldn't hold back any longer. Casting aside every shred of self-respect and pride, he shoved his chair back and bolted toward the glass door, bursting out onto the crowded sidewalk.
Through the harsh glare of streetlights and the bustling flow of pedestrians, he spotted the back of her dark coat. Alia was walking forward with a swift, regal stride, as if no one on earth possessed the right or the qualifications to follow her. Margaret chased after her, his body trembling, tears streaming down his face as he choked back muffled sobs. Ignoring the curious stares and strange glances of the passersby, he threw his head back and screamed out her name at the top of his lungs:
"Alia! Alia, please stop! Just listen to me!"
His desperate, heart-wrenching cry seemed to make the entire street shiver for a moment. Standing right in the middle of that vast, crowded avenue, Margaret's repeated, trembling shouts of "Alia! Alia!" were no longer the calls of an ordinary man; they were the final, wretched cries of a king whose empire had fallen into absolute ruin.
Hearing his frantic, pathetic screams, Alia didn't slow her pace by even a fraction. Yet, as she reached the corner of the sidewalk, she suddenly brought her steps to a halt. Slowly, with an exquisite and regal grace, she turned her head over her right shoulder to look back at him. That single glance carried a dangerously intoxicating beauty—the kind that could either resurrect a soul or utterly destroy it.
Panting heavily, Margaret ran the rest of the way and stumbled to a stop just a few feet away from her. His eyes overflowed with a toxic mix of deep remorse and blinding, desperate love. He reached out with a trembling hand, as if to brush against her coat, but pulled back at the last second, terrified that he had lost even the purity required to touch her shadow.
The neon light from the streetlamp spilled over Alia's pale, flawless face. That familiar, cruel smile curved the corners of her lips once more. Taking a slow step closer to him, she spoke in a voice that was ice-cold, dripping with bitter sarcasm, yet razor-sharp and crystal clear:
"What is it, honeymoon boy? Why are you howling like a stray dog in the middle of the street? Has that wretched soul of yours finally found a shred of peace? Or has the ghost of your old habits still not left your bones? What did you honestly think, Margaret? Did you think that if you stood out in the middle of the highway and called my name like a lunatic, I would instantly melt into tears? Did you think that by chasing after my shadow, you could throw away your picture-perfect family, your naive little wife, and every last ounce of your so-called mafia pride?"
Hearing those crushing words, Margaret shattered even further. He buried his face in both hands and sobbed brokenly, "I don't want anything else, Alia... I don't care about my empire, I don't care about my wife, I don't care about anything! Take whatever you want to take, just... just let me stay close to you... let me live right here in the shadow of your hatred!"
Seeing his total, unconditional surrender, Alia let out a strange, twisted laugh. There was no warmth in the sound only the chilling whisper of death. She reached out, her delicate fingertip tilting his chin upward so his eyes had to lock directly with hers, and murmured softly:
"You want to stay close? Very well, Margaret... then remember this: you walked into my hell with your own two feet. From today on, your constant trembling, your daily agony of dying a slow death piece by piece that will be my greatest entertainment. Go ahead, live on with your fake, pathetic remorse, and every single night, look at your own ruined, shattered face in the mirror. Because the name Alia is a curse from which you will never, ever find a way out."
Standing beneath the harsh glare of the streetlamps, Alia pulled her gaze away from Margaret's face. A final, supreme expression of disdain hung at the corners of her lips. Margaret's total surrender and his desperate crying failed to make even the slightest dent in her ice-cold heart. She didn't waste another single moment there. With regal grace, she walked toward her luxurious black car parked right along the edge of the pavement. Pulling open the driver's side door and sliding inside, her movements radiated the absolute arrogance of unquestioned power. The moment the engine ignited, the car let out a low, muffled roar and vanished down the busy street in the blink of an eye leaving behind only a cloud of dust and the heavy, lingering trace of her perfume.
Margaret stood alone like a stone at that crowded corner. Even long after Alia's car had faded from view, he continued staring blankly into the empty space, as if the last atom of his existence had been crushed beneath those rolling tires. No more tears forced their way up from his chest; there was only a frozen, absolute void.
Shuffling heavily, he dragged himself across the street to where his own car was parked. Unlocking the door with his remote, he climbed into the driver's seat. Gripping the steering wheel tightly with both hands, he let out a long, shuddering breath. Alia's cruel gaze and her final, damning words echoed relentlessly in his mind. Barely holding himself together, he switched on the ignition. Turning the headlights on, Margaret gripped the wheel and steered his car out into the open highway driving toward a deep, crushing darkness, endless remorse, and a future that felt like living hell.Days bled into one another marking a life of living hell for Margaret on one side, and the ruthless, royal reign of Alia and Viktor's dark empire on the other.
It was a biting, bone-chilling winter morning. The surroundings were swallowed by a dense pine forest blanketed entirely in thick snow, dominated by a freezing, merciless chill. Walking side by side along a narrow, frost-bitten path through the heart of the snowy woods were Alia and Viktor. Beneath their boots, the crust of the ice cracked with a soft crunch. Just a few yards behind them, Viktor's trusted, armed bodyguards marched in strict formation, maintaining a vigilant watch to ensure no threat could ever reach them.
In that silent, freezing atmosphere, a strange tension suddenly saturated the air. Walking along, Alia abruptly brought her pace to a halt. Her expression hardened into stone in a split second. Before Viktor could even process what was happening, Alia smoothly and with chilling precision drew a silenced handgun from inside the folds of her long coat.
The very next second, the quiet stillness of the winter forest was shattered by the muffled crack of death.
Thud! Thud!
With the slightest pressure of Alia's finger on the trigger, Viktor's head bodyguard collapsed face-first into the snow in the blink of an eye. The pure white snow instantly turned crimson as warm blood spilled from his body. Before the remaining bodyguards could react or draw their weapons, Alia turned the barrel of the gun with icy composure and leveled it straight at Viktor.
The snow-covered forest froze into absolute silence in an instant. In Alia's eyes, there was no hesitation, no remorse only the pure, unadulterated cold of ultimate betrayal and the frantic, ruthless game of seizing absolute power.
Splatters of warm blood stained Alia's white coat and her pale face. With eyes as cold as glacial water, she kept the muzzle of the gun locked squarely between Viktor's eyes. A mix of sheer disbelief and absolute devastation washed over Viktor's face. Standing face-to-face with death, he still couldn't fathom that the woman he had shared his empire with for so long was now holding a pistol to his chest.
Trembling, Viktor forced the words out in a voice choked with shock, "Alia... what are you doing? Why..."
In an ice-cold tone, devoid of a single ounce of emotion, Alia replied:
"I have nothing to do with it. It's my dad and your father's orders."
Viktor let out a bitter, agonizing smile and whispered softly, "Miss you..." (still clinging to her as his love, his own).
But no softness touched Alia's expression. Instead, her voice hardened even further as she spat back:
"I am not Miss you, you d...!"
The moment she finished the sentence, Alia's hand gave a slight, involuntary tremor. The stone wall she had built around her heart seemed to shudder for a fraction of a second. But there was no turning back. Tears streamed uncontrollably down her cheeks, yet her finger never left the trigger. With a violently shaking hand, she pulled the trigger.
Bang!
The sharp crack of the gunshot echoed through the snowy forest. Viktor collapsed straight down onto the frozen ground. The pure white snow turned crimson as blood poured from his chest. Before slipping entirely into the abyss of death, Viktor used his dying breath to murmur weakly:
"Alia... What did you do to me?"
Gazing down at Viktor's lifeless face, Alia's iron resolve instantly shattered into dust. The hands holding the weapon shook uncontrollably. Unable to contain herself any longer, she broke down in tears, dropping to her knees right beside Viktor's corpse, and whispered with a broken, trembling voice:
"Sry..."
As the last trace of warmth faded from Viktor's body into the freezing air, every ounce of hardness and every spark of vengeance within Alia instantly vanished. She couldn't hold back any longer. Collapsing forward onto the blood-stained, snow-covered ground, she threw herself over Viktor's lifeless body.
Her entire frame shuddered violently as she broke down completely. Pouring every drop of strength from her lungs, she screamed out into the winter sky, her voice a raw, agonizing wail:
"No! What did I just do?! What have I done?!"
Her heart-shattering cry tore through the silent, deep pine forest, echoing into the empty air. Like someone unhinged, Alia wrapped her arms tightly around Viktor's corpse, as if holding onto him desperately could somehow force time to reverse. With trembling, ice-cold hands, she gently cupped his blood-spattered cheeks, crying out his name over and over again in a frantic, broken plea:
"Viktor... Viktor! Please open your eyes... Viktor!"
As Alia wept uncontrollably over Viktor's lifeless body, completely drained of all her strength, a group of shadowy figures slowly emerged from behind the snow-draped trees of the deep forest.
They were Viktor's remaining bodyguards and Alia's own trusted men. Even though Alia had gunned down Viktor's head bodyguard moments earlier, strict orders had been issued by both her father and Viktor's father. They all knew this entire assassination was a calculated, ruthless political move orchestrated by the higher-ups of both families.
The bodyguards silently stepped forward and formed a protective circle around Alia. Their expressions were carved in stone, completely devoid of emotion. Out on the crimson-stained snow, Alia was still clinging desperately to Viktor's corpse, her white coat smeared with blood.
One of the bodyguards stepped closer, leaning down to speak in a low, somber, yet firm voice:
"Ma'am... we need to leave this place immediately. We must finish up before this news leaks out. Please, get up..."