The Stark mansion was booming with the event. Family only—every Stark relative within traveling distance had made the journey. And the room reflected it: men in tailored suits, young boys in miniature versions, and not a single woman among the bloodline. But the wives of the males came for the event. They were family after all.
However it was true. In a hundred years, no female with Stark blood had been born.
Until Bonita.
Seeing her now—knowing the history—it seemed unbelievable to some. Fake, even.
"The last female Stark died at the age of ninety." St. Stark, the family's matriarch, spoke with the weight of decades behind every word. He was old—in his eighties—but still healthy. Still strong. His walking stick was crowned with a lion's head made of gold. "She brought wealth, happiness, health, and intelligence to this family."
He had five sons. Four were married, all with male children and grandchildren. All ran successful companies. All were wealthy beyond measure.
One son was dead. That son had fathered David Stark—who had been missing for eight years. And David had fathered a daughter.
Bonita Stark. The Stark heiress.
St. Stark's presence at this event was a very big deal.
"Yes, but Saint." Maria stood in a red gown that hugged her waist then fell free to her ankles. "We weren't prepared for this. And it's not yet Bonita's birthday."
"But you knew of it." St. Stark's voice was calm. Unbothered. "It doesn't matter, child. Christine will fill you in on the whole lore of the family."
That did nothing to ease Maria's worry.
"What really happens at the coronation? Does she get a crown?"
"The Crimson Coronation Mantle of the First Heiress finds her," St. Stark explained.
Maria blinked. "The what?"
St. Stark looked at her, his wrinkled brow pulling together. "Follow me."
They walked to the end of the hall. There stood a chair that resembled a throne—and beside it, a well-wrapped red fabric with gold locks on every edge. Maria had never seen it before in her life.
She sighed, disbelief flooding her head. When Bonita was born, there had been a celebration. A big one. David had been the happiest man alive. He'd called Bonita the Stark Heiress from the moment she took her first breath. He'd also told Maria that when Bonita turned twenty, she'd be crowned—and with the crown in her possession, the family would receive eternal blessings and success.
Maria had never believed him. Not one bit.
"So... does this move on its own to her, or...?"
St. Stark laughed. "You're worrying too much. Today, it's just the mantle. In a week, on her birthday, she'll be crowned." He waved a hand. "Stop stressing. Go enjoy the wine."
"Aunty Maria!" A young boy—almost Adrian's age, with short curly hair—approached. "Where is Adrian? I can't find him anywhere."
"Oh, he'll be here soon." Maria's voice wavered. The air suddenly felt thin. Hot. "He must have been caught up in work."
"Are you alright, Maria?" Christine appeared beside her, clad in gold Terylene fabric and long gloves, a glass of expensive wine dangling from her fingers. "You're sweating."
Maria almost rolled her eyes. But the elders were here.
"And where is Bonita?" Christine's face shifted to worry. "I didn't see her this morning. And it's already evening."
"Yes!" The young boy grinned hopefully. "The woman of the night!"
Christine stepped closer to Maria, who seemed lost in thought. "What are you hiding, Maria?" she whispered.
Maria snapped back. "Oh, what can I say?" Her voice rose. "My whole married life, all you've done is insult me and mock me. Meanwhile, there's a whole ass family lore that I needed to know. So forgive me for trying to process this."
The room went quiet. Every family member turned to look.
"What's going on here?" Alaric Stark—a man in his late fifties with long salt-and-pepper hair, just like Adrian's—spoke.
Maria straightened up, calm. "Please. I need the attention of us all."
Christine watched, confused, as Maria began.
"I'm sorry, Mom. For snapping." Maria's voice was genuinely apologetic. "David informed me of this day, and I didn't believe it. It all sounded superstitious and fake. And I—" She shook her head. "I was wrong."
"That's okay." Alaric nodded. "When I told my wife, she didn't believe it either."
"But that shouldn't stop us from enjoying this blessed event for the family." Darius Stark—younger than Alaric—chimed in.
"If anything," Darius continued, raising his glass, "we're proud of you, Maria. David went missing, and you've been so strong. You held his family together. You raised the children. And now Adrian runs the most successful company in the city." He smiled. "That's what it means to be a Stark. Power and wealth. And we're blessed to have you here." He raised his glass higher. "To Queen Maria!"
The whole family raised their glasses. Gratitude. Respect.
Christine was astonished. But she knew better than to make a fuss.
Maria leaned close to Christine's ear. Her voice was barely a whisper—sweet, venomous, and utterly private.
"The difference between me and you is that I bore the first female child for the Stark family. I am crowned queen." She pulled back slightly, a wicked grin on her face that looked polite to everyone else. "You, on the other hand, are just a mere old hag who's jealous of me."
Christine's face went rigid.
Suddenly, the entrance filled with doctors. The family erupted in confused questions.
"What's going on?" Christine demanded, recognizing some of the faces.
"What happened to Bonita?" Maria's heart raced.
"Where is Adrian?" Christine asked next.
While others headed upstairs, ignoring the questions, one doctor stopped.
"We're sorry," Dr. Mathews said. "But Mr. Adrian called us in for an emergency."
He also headed upstairs before anyone could ask more.
Then—a helicopter. The sound of rotors cutting through the night. The family rushed outside.
"Alaric," St. Stark called. "Take the mantle away."
Alaric picked up the red fabric from its place near the throne.
Outside, Adrian could be seen holding someone. Long wavy hair. Very bloody. Her body seemed lifeless—arms stretched out, dangling, only grounded by Adrian's gold watch wrapped around her wrist.
Maria exhaled. "It's not Bonita." Relief flooded the family.
"Who is that then?" someone asked.
Adrian didn't answer. He entered the house.
"Mathews! The stretcher!" Adrian yelled.
He looked at the elevator, and it was still on the ninth floor. He didn't wait. He took the stairs, two at a time, carrying Star's limp body. Her vitals were thinning.
At the same time, Alaric was climbing the stairs with the mantle. Adrian passed him—and the mantle caught on Star's bracelet. The fabric snatched from Alaric's hands, wrapping itself around Star's arm as Adrian kept climbing.
"What are you doing?" Adrian yelled when Alaric's attempt to pull it back almost tripped him. "She's bleeding out, and you're worried about a stupid fabric?"
St. Stark watched from below. He caught Alaric's eye and signaled.
Let it go.
Alaric released the mantle. It clung to Star as Adrian disappeared upstairs.
"Who is that?" the young boy—Cassian—asked again.
"That's Star." Lazarus entered the house, Jamal behind him. "Adrian's friend from Crestfall University."
"Star." Christine whispered the name, her eyes following the trail of blood up the stairs.
DING.
The elevator opened. Dr. Mathews came out with a stretcher.
"Adrian is already upstairs," Cassian said, joining the doctor back into the elevator.
"Whoa." A voice from the entrance made everyone turn. "I didn't expect the silence."
Bonita stood there, meeting their worried and questioning gazes with a confused smile.
"I'm not late, am I?"
Adrian reached the ninth floor. Breatheless—but quick. He'd climbed the stairs faster than any man in a tailored suit had any right to.
The room at the end of the hall was already set up. Hospital equipment lined the walls. Monitors. Ventilators. Surgical lights. It looked exactly like an operating room—because that's exactly what it was. The doctors were ready, gloves on, masks up, waiting.
Adrian laid Star on the bed. And they got to work. Fast.
***
Meanwhile, Frieda returned to Tomas's residence in haste.
"Hey... there you are." Tomas had just gotten home from work. "Where is everyone?"
"Look, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have hit you—"
Before he could finish, Frieda kissed him. Whatever he was about to say died on his lips.
"You're not mad at me?" Tomas asked after the kiss, genuinely confused.
"Not at all." Frieda's voice was soft. "You're short-tempered. I know that. Just don't hit me ever again."
She sprinted toward the bedroom.
"Wait... what's wrong?" Tomas followed. "You look... worried."
Suddenly, Frieda's face crumpled. Tears streamed down her cheeks—full mode, sadness and grief pouring out like a broken dam.
"I'm so sorry. I should have done something. I should have called you, but I didn't. I should have... it's all my fault."
"Hey, hey." Tomas held her shaking hands. "Calm down. Tell me what happened." His voice was slow, calm—the voice you use on someone who's falling apart.
"Some masked goons came here and took Loise away." Frieda sobbed harder.
Tomas went mildly confused. When he'd arrived home, he'd found the living room sofa turned upside down. He'd placed it back. He'd assumed Loise and Frieda had fought—not that Loise had been kidnapped.
"I ran to call for help, but when I came back with Olivia, she was already gone." Frieda's tears were uncontrollable now.
Tomas released her hands. Shock rippled through him. He wandered into the living room.
Frieda frowned. Tomas can't really have feelings for Loise, can he? He should be happy. The person keeping them homeless was dead—well, kidnapped. She'd put so much effort into this act. She didn't plan to fail.
"Do you think they're going to kill her?" Frieda called out, her voice laced with fear. "I'm scared, Tomas."
"Where is Star?" Tomas was lost in deep thought. He dialed Star's phone and it went straight to voicemail.
"Should we go to the police? When they took Loise, they were mumbling about their boss being impatient."
"Their boss?" Tomas turned. "Did you hear a name? Anything?"
"Yes. They said Lucian." Frieda paused. "But it can't possibly be... him?"
Tomas's blood ran cold. He might have cheated on Loise, but she was still his wife. Still someone he loved. She was his first love. And those don't just die.
"Lucian?" Tomas repeated.
"Yes. Star's boyfriend." Frieda tilted her head. "You don't know his name?"
"No, I do." Tomas walked to the cupboard where the TV stood. He reached underneath. "I just thought she was taken by the mythic mafia boss. Lucian Thorne." He removed a gun and cocked it dust coming from the mizzle.
Frieda froze. Tomas has a gun?
This was good news.
"That's him, Tomas." Frieda's voice was firm. "The mythic mafia boss of Crestfall is Lucian Thorne. Star's boyfriend. And I'm pretty sure he kidnapped Loise." She paused, thinking. "Maybe Star dumped him and he got angry."
"That's a good lie."
They both turned.
Lucian stood in the doorway. His arms were crossed. His expression was unreadable.
Frieda's heart nearly stopped. How had he gotten here in silence? She hadn't heard him enter. How long had he been standing there?
But Tomas wasn't having any of it. He strode toward Lucian and pressed the gun to his head. Fury was his partner in crime now.
Lucian looked genuinely caught off guard. Surprised.
"Where is my wife?" Tomas spat in Lucian's face, grabbing his collar.
Lucian raised his hands in surrender. A grin lingered on his lips. He was taller than this old man—much taller—and for the first time, he saw Tomas truly angry about Loise.
"Young man." Tomas's voice was low and dangerous. "You can be whatever they say you are. But if anything happens to Loise, I will fly that pudding in your head over this wall right now." His eyes were red with fury. Even Frieda shrunk back. She'd never seen Tomas this mad.
"Okay." Lucian's voice was calm. "Can you let go of my shirt? I just ironed it."
Tomas released him.
"I didn't take your wife." Lucian walked over and turned on the TV. "I came here because of this."
The national police bulletin filled the screen. Star's Ferrari—wrecked beyond repair. If someone had been inside, they shouldn't have survived.
Tomas's heart jumped out of his ribcage. "No." The word was a small whisper as he sat down.
"Another report just came in." The news anchor's voice was grave. "This is not yet confirmed, but a cabin near the city's escarpment has caught fire. Two bodies—burned beyond recognition—were recovered from the fire. Forensic investigators predict the bodies belong to someone older, possibly in their forties, and another younger, possibly in their twenties."
Lucian looked at Frieda.
Frieda already knew what he must be thinking. She'd covered her tracks well. The wrecked car. The kidnapping of Loise. The burning cabin. She'd done her homework so thoroughly that if Lucian tried to track her, he'd be thrown further away from the truth. She wanted revenge on Lucian for killing her brother—but she wasn't ready to make it known that she'd already gotten hers. Not yet. She had to act and become good at it.
"I know what you're thinking." Frieda's voice was low, meant only for Lucian. She made sure Tomas was zoned out, lost in the news. "But I was here when Loise was taken. The goons wore black masks. They were like thieves. They didn't say anything—except that it was you. Because who else would the goons belong to?"
Lucian frowned. Goons in black masks? That's a weak MO.
"I planned to kill Star." Frieda's face was straight. "But Star has something dark lingering in her now. I couldn't take that risk. She might as well kill me herself." She paused. "I know what darkness does to a person. I'm a living proof of that."
Lucian thought. Frieda was right. Even he had seen it this morning—Star looked like someone who wouldn't bat an eyelash to take a life. She wouldn't have let Frieda take hers. So who wrecked Star's car? Who kidnapped her and her mother?
"You think Loise was in that cabin?" Lucian asked.
"I'm not thinking anything." Frieda shook her head. "And I may be Tomas's mistress, but Loise being dead isn't good news. It means I'm the first suspect."
Lucian's phone buzzed and he stepped outside.
"Talk," he said into the receiver.
His face went dark at whatever he heard. He got into his Peel P50 and zoomed off.
Frieda watched him through the kitchen window. And smirked.
Minutes later, Lucian parked at the cabin by the escarpment. The place was swarming—reporters, ambulances, police. Two recovered bodies were being loaded onto stretchers as he passed. His heart refused to believe Star was dead. But his mind? Everything on display here said she was.
"This is everything recovered from the scene," a police officer said, handing evidence to another—a shoe and a scarf.
Lucian's heart hitched. He reached out and took the shoe.
He recognized it. Star's shoe.
"Do you know whose it is?"the police asked. Lucian shook his head in disbelief.
"Boss." Lyrl appeared beside him. Lucian composed himself again.
"There's a trail of blood on the other side of the cabin," Lyrl said as they moved away.
They headed behind the cabin. Lucian torched the trail—and saw a footprint alongside the blood. One shoe print. Star's shoe print alongside a bare footprint.
Hope flickered and then died when they reached the cliff. A fallen rock. Recent. She might have fallen off.
Down the cliff was the shore of a river.
"There's a ladder," Lucian said. "Come on."
He climbed down. Lyrl followed.
They didn't find the body they expected. No impact site. No blood pool. But there were droppings of blood. Leading... nowhere.
"She couldn't have just disappeared into thin air," Lyrl commented.
"No." Lucian looked up at the cliff, imagining what could have happened. "Someone caught her."
He scanned the shore. The water. The darkness.
"Who was here?" he asked.