In the Stark residence, the family had gathered by the fire. Hours had passed. Voices hummed here and there—stories traded, theories whispered, nerves stretched thin.
It had been five hours since the doctors started operating on Star. Not one had come down with answers.
Upstairs, in a private bathroom off the ninth floor, the tap ran. Adrian washed Star's blood from his hands. His heart danced violently against his ribcage as he looked at himself in the mirror above the sink. His blue eyes—usually so composed, so controlled—were now filled with sadness and fury.
A flash of memory of a figure retreating with a torch at the cliff's edge. Still lingering. Still unnamed.
He ran his hands through his locks. His heart pumped violently at the thought of Star dying. He was exhausted—but he didn't feel it. He'd run up nine flights of stairs carrying approximately a hundred and thirty pounds of dead weight. His body should have given out then. Somehow, it hadn't.
Until now.
He felt himself getting dizzy. He tried to stay awake. But his body didn't agree. He collapsed right there on the bathroom floor.
Lazarus heard the crash and rushed inside.
The ninth floor of the Stark residence was essentially a hospital. Adrian had designed it that way when he built the place. Doctors on payroll. Equipment ready. If anything happened, they came in a flash of light.
Downstairs, even in the early hours of the morning, no one slept. The whole family—visitors included—remained awake, waiting.
Bonita and her cousins played games in the corner. She wasn't a fan of what was happening. She didn't really care about being crowned, either. Maria had warned her about the ceremony. Bonita couldn't care less.
"So, Bonita." Cassian handed her a drink. "How does it feel to be the Stark heiress?"
"It's a burden when everyone looks up at you." Rowan didn't look up from the game. He was the same age as Bonita but looked older—his body built like Adrian's. Bold. Muscular. Rich. One would say they were the same age.
All the Stark men had well-built, muscular bodies. Looking at them, you always underestimated their age. If you said they were young, they turned out to be old. If you said they were old, they turned out to be young. It was a family curse—or blessing.
By the grand hearth, the elders sat in a loose circle. St. Stark was the only one missing. It was late. The old man had gone to sleep.
"Has Adrian come down at all?" Alaric asked suddenly. "Had a drink? Something to eat?"
"No." Darius shook his head. "I guess that girl must be very important to him."
The women exchanged glances. Vivian—Alaric's wife—leaned forward.
"I'm sorry, but I just have to address the elephant in the room." She was classy—the kind of woman where marrying into the Stark family had clearly been the wisest decision she'd ever made. Even now, in comfortable clothes, she was still adorned in gold jewelry. Earrings dangled as she spoke.
"The elephant in the room?" Penny—Darius's wife—raised an eyebrow, as if she didn't already know.
Alaric said that the mantle finds the heiress." Vivian's voice was measured. "How did it find the girl upstairs and not Bonita?"
Maria's frown deepened. She knew the women had been jealous of her since the moment Bonita was born. But could they really start an accusation? Here? Now?
"Bonita came last." Penny took a sip of her coffee. "It accidentally got caught by the watch. Adrian's watch. Let's not get ahead of ourselves."
"It didn't catch the watch." Alaric's voice was firm. "It caught a bracelet. That girl is wearing a bracelet."
"Maria," Vivian turned. "Who is that girl? Star?"
"Like Lazarus said." Maria's voice was calm. Too calm. "She's his friend from Crestfall University. That's all I know."
"Maybe she's David's daughter from another woman," Darius suggested.
Alaric shot him a look.
Christine had been watching. Listening. Waiting. Unknown to the others, she already had a theory. She was the elder among them—the one who remembered things the young ones had forgotten.
"I have a very good theory." She paused, drawing everyone's attention. "But this is apart from Star."
She let the silence stretch.
"Ever since I learned about the Stark family lore, I've studied it. The mantle is at least a millennium old. It was tailored by the first Stark female family member and dipped into her blood. " Her voice was slow and deliberate. "Every century, when a girl child is born, during the ceremony, the mantle finds her. Even if that female arrives after the ceremony has ended, it will always find her."
She looked around the room.
"So why did the mantle find Star instead of Bonita—who arrived just after the incident?"
No one answered.
"The mantle is never wrong."
"What are you saying, Grandma?"
Everyone turned, and Bonita stood near them, a glass in her hand, her expression questionable..
Maria already knew where this conversation was going. She wanted the ground to open and swallow her whole.
"Adrian collapsed!"
Lazarus burst into the room with the news. Everyone rushed upstairs in a panic.
On the ninth floor, they gathered outside the windowed room where Adrian lay on a bed. The doctors had finished with him. He was awake now.
"What happened?" Christine asked, worried, as the doctor stepped out.
"You need to talk to him." The doctor's voice was tired. "He's stressing too much. He needs rest."
"And the girl?" Alaric asked.
Bonita looked through the window at Star's still body—cables everywhere, head wrapped in bandages, machines beeping—the only sign of life. She'd never hated Star. But she was Tiffany's friend, and being a friend meant inheriting one's traits. If anything, Bonita was jealous. Star was free. She never cared about anyone or anything. She had peace.
And that was all Bonita wanted. But you can't have peace when you're rich, from a big, reputable family of geniuses and business moguls.
Bonita sighed.
"The girl is stable for now." The doctor's voice was careful. "It's a miracle, really. Almost... divine." He paused. "Typically, her stability would be determined in twelve to forty-eight hours. We're not certain yet. But she's stable—at least for now. Even though her condition remains serious."
Christine's attention sharpened. "What do you mean?"
"She lost too much blood." The doctor shook his head. "Given when she arrived, she should be dead. But on her own, she has a will to live. She's really fighting in there." He glanced back at Star. "She's a different kind of person. If it were anyone else, given her injuries, they'd be dead right now."
Bonita's eyes drifted to the table. "The mantle. It's still ringed on her bracelet?"
The crimson fabric was now wrapped and placed on the table, separate from Star.
"The what?" the doctor asked confused.
"That crimson fabric," Alaric cleared.
"Oh." Dr. Mathews stepped forward. "The miracle worker."
Everyone frowned.
"What do you mean, 'the miracle worker'?" Darius asked.
Dr. Mathews exhaled. "When the patient arrived, that fabric was strapped to her through the bracelet. We tried to take it off, but it was as if it had a life of its own. It was strangely wrapped around her arm."
Maria excused herself and slipped away before anyone noticed.
"Adrian removed the bracelet from her," Dr. Mathews continued. "The mantle finally let go. But when it was out of the room, the lines on the machine went flat. She was becoming unstable. We were losing her. " He paused. "Adrian realized what was happening. He wrapped it beside her. She stabilized."
He looked at the fabric. Then back at the family.
"The wound is very deep. When she arrived, she had a penetrating chest injury. The blade did not directly damage the heart, but it entered a critical zone of the thoracic cavity." His voice was clinical, controlled. "It caused a pneumothorax—air entered the space around her lung. That lung partially collapsed. Her body was no longer able to maintain adequate oxygen exchange."
"English, please," Darius said.
"She was stabbed?" Christine's frown deepened.
"Yes," Dr. Mathews exhaled. "Her condition deteriorated into what we classify as critical respiratory failure risk. In simpler terms—she was struggling to breathe, and her oxygen levels were falling."
He looked at the mantle again.
"So, the mantle was like a magnet to her life." He shook his head. "I'm not superstitious, but... tonight was a lesson."
He excused himself and walked away, leaving the family in stunned silence.
***
Alex woke up, glanced at the clock, and immediately regretted it. Four in the morning. He had a tight schedule—a surgery scheduled for seven—so he got up to prepare.
He went in the bathroom, brushed his teeth as he turned the shower. By the time he was done, he was clad in his doctor's uniform, equipment kit strapped to his side, ready to face whatever the day threw at him.
He stepped downstairs.
The living room was dark. But the air felt off. The kind of off that makes the hair on your neck stand at attention.
He turned on the light.
Lucian was an inch from his face. Expression unreadable.
If Alex flinched, he didn't show it. But before he could process anything, Lucian's fist connected with his face.
Alex didn't react—not visibly. He just held his nose as blood began to drip.
"Luc—"
He couldn't finish. Lucian landed another punch that sent him to the ground. Then another. And another. Until Alex caught Lucian's fist in mid-air on pure reflex.
He was done being a punching bag.
He punched Lucian in the ribs—hard enough to send him flying across the room.
"Mind telling me why you're bruising my face this morning?" Alex wiped blood off his face with the back of his hand. "I just bathed, kid."
Lucian groaned in pain as he got up. Then he chuckled. A sad, furious, cold laugh that made Alex's spine run cold.
He recognized that laugh too well.
"What's wrong?" Alex's voice dropped, deep and concerned.
"You finally did it, didn't you?" Lucian held his ribs and walked toward Alex.
Alex was genuinely confused. "I did a lot of things. You're going to have to be specific."
"You killed Star."
Lucian roared. Alex froze.
"What?" Alex's confusion deepened. "Lucian, are you okay?" He reached out to check Lucian's temperature, but Lucian moved away.
Too angry to even contain it.
Lucian hadn't found Star anywhere. The mute at the Château—Safe—didn't know anything. Was genuinely shaken up. Lucian couldn't decipher which of his enemies would kill Star that way. But he also knew someone could be too smart—to play the amateur—just to throw him off the trail.
Then he remembered Alex threatening to put a bullet in Star's head. Alex could play this lowlife trick so Lucian couldn't track him.
He hadn't slept. Not a wink. So he'd driven to the Valley to confront Alex.
And now, seeing Alex's reaction? He wasn't so sure anymore. Alex would flex about it.
"Someone crashed Star's car," Lucian said, finally seated on the couch, catching his breath. Alex sat beside him. "Kidnapped her mother and killed her in a cabin that went up in flames last night."
Alex listened carefully.
"You thought I killed your girlfriend?" Alex shook his head. "Lucian, I said I'd put a bullet in her head. But when I do, I won't do it at night. I would—"
"Okay." Lucian cut him off. "You made your point."
"I told you." Alex leaned back. "You're too attached to that girl. And your enemies see it."
"I can't think of anyone who would do this." Lucian's voice was hollow. "I should have assigned shadow guards to her."
"And where were you yesterday?" Alex asked.
"I had business." Lucian stood up. "My business." He pulled out two clear plastic bags with soiled blood samples. "I'm going to break every hideout of anyone I suspect might have done this. Run these samples for me. Quickly."
Alex looked at the bags. Then at Lucian. "Were you planning to give me these before or after killing me?"
"Just do it."
Lucian walked out.
Alex shook his head, stood up, and headed upstairs to bathe and change. Again.
***
Bonita sat in her room, fingers dancing across the keyboard as she tried to decode the encrypted files she'd stolen from Sterling Industries. The screen glowed in the dim light, casting shadows across her focused face.
A knock on her door.
"Come in," she said without looking up.
"I made you coffee." Christine entered, setting the cup on the table.
Bonita halted her work and smiled—genuinely, for the first time all night. "Oh, Granny. Thank you." She took a sip.
"What are you doing?" Christine wandered around the chamber, her expression a mixture of pity and sadness. She took in the room—the books, the closed curtains, the weight of a girl who'd been holding herself together for too long.
"Just school stuff." Bonita took another sip, smooth as silk.
"You're doing business management, right?" Christine's hand lingered on a button Bonita knew too well.
"No, no, Grandma. That's—"
Too late.
The panel of the wallpaper moved, sliding back to reveal Bonita's investigation board. Pins. Photos. Red string. Names. Suspects.
"—fire." Bonita's shoulders sagged in defeat.
"How did you know? You just came the other day." She set down her coffee, rushed to the door, and locked it before anyone could come barging in.
"They can hear us," Christine said, noting her actions.
"I soundproofed my room." Bonita's hands were shaking now. She hadn't expected her grandmother to wander in and accidentally reveal her secret work. The nerves were crawling up her spine.
Christine studied the board. Then looked at her granddaughter.
"You must really love David so much."
"Well, he's my father." Bonita's eyes glistened, but she refused to let the tears fall. "So you'd understand why I'm looking for him."
"You don't believe your mother? She said they—"
"Dad never left." Bonita's voice cracked. "He loved me. He loved his family. He was happy." She swallowed hard. "And most importantly, he loved the company. He had big dreams. AUDO was Dad's dream." She blinked rapidly. "A man doesn't just get up one day and decide to leave all that behind because he had a fight with his wife."
Ever since her father left, no one had asked her how she was feeling. Not once. So she'd bottled it all up. Stayed strong. Searched for answers in secret. But now, with Grandma here—someone who actually cared—it was getting harder to stay stoic.
"David would have been proud of you." Christine pulled Bonita into a warm hug.
Over Bonita's shoulder, Christine's eyes drifted to the board. And landed on a photo.
Maria. Labeled as a suspect.
"Why do you suspect Maria?" Christine pulled back, frowning as she moved closer to inspect the board.
"She lies too much." Bonita's phone buzzed. She glanced at it and canceled the call.
Christine studied the evidence—the notes, the timelines, the connections Bonita had spent years piecing together. "So tell me about this."
Bonita hesitated. Then she explained everything. The files. The bugs. Kefas. Her mother's inconsistencies. Christine listened without interrupting, her expression unreadable.
When Bonita finished, Christine took her hands.
"What you have here is really amazing." Christine's voice was soft. "And also very dangerous."
"I'm careful, Grandma."
"I know." Christine squeezed her hands. "But be careful of the answers you're searching for." She paused. "They might bite you."
Bonita nodded, not entirely sure what Christine meant.
Her phone buzzed again. She canceled it again.
***
It was afternoon, and Star still hadn't woken up.
The doctors had assured Adrian she was out of danger now. But still—Adrian was worried. So worried, in fact, that he'd worked from home today. He set an office on the ninth floor to become a command center: laptops, blueprints, and a direct view through the glass into Star's room.
"How long until she wakes up?" Adrian asked the doctor for what felt like the hundredth time.
"Just like I told you two minutes ago." The doctor didn't look up from his chart. "I don't know."
Adrian exhaled. His jaw tightened.
Other doctors were still inside, monitoring Star's condition. Machines beeped. Screens displayed vitals.
Adrian sat in sweatpants—eyes full of bags, dark circles carved deep beneath them. He hadn't slept last night. Or today. His mind wasn't functioning well. Knowing Star was in danger had short-circuited something in him.
He looked pale. And given his salt-and-pepper hair, the exhaustion made him look like an old man at twenty-five.
Across the city, Lucian panted, trying to catch his breath.
His white shirt was covered in crimson—blood that wasn't his. His brown hair was a mess. His eyes were bagged and hollow from lack of sleep. He'd wrecked every enemy hideout he could find. Some had fled. Others he'd killed. And none of them—not one—knew who Star was. Some had even cursed him, said he got what he deserved.
Lucian pulled out his wallet. Inside was a photocopy-sized photo of Star. He'd carried it for years.
"You can't be dead." His voice cracked. "I refuse to believe you're dead."
He pressed the photo to his chest.
"I can feel you." His voice was barely a whisper. "Where are you?"
He held his heart—feeling the agony, the pain. But still. He refused.
"Boss." Lyrl approached, phone in hand. He was covered in blood too. If your boss was getting messy, you got messy with him. "My uncle is on the line."
Lyrl placed the phone to Lucian's ear.
"Alex." Lucian stood up, taking the phone himself. "Speak to me."
"I've identified all samples. They three actually" Alex's voice was clinical. "The one from the blood trail is Star's."
Lucian's heart clenched. But he said nothing.
"The ones from the burning cabin are Loise Set and Selena Grimm."
Lucian frowned. "Selena Grimm? That's Star's roommate."
"That's what I got, man."
"Did you say Grimm?" Lucian's mind whirled. "As in... Frieda Grimm?"
A pause.
"Son of a bitch."
He hung up.
Lucian got in his car and Lyrl followed. Together, they zoomed off.
They arrived at Tomas's residence. The door was locked with a note was taped to it.
"I just needed time. —F"
Lucian clenched his fists. Anger radiated off him in waves.
"She's gone," Lyrl said quietly.
"She's running." Lucian's voice was ice. "And I'm going to find her."
***
Maria was about to knock off when her office door opened and Bonita entered.
Maria frowned in confusion. A smile flickered across her face—nervous, uncertain.
"This is a first." Maria set down her pen. "I would have showed you my designs, but—"
"Is being fucked by Kefas the transaction for my brother's renderings?"
The words landed like a grenade.
Bonita's expression was calm. Unreadable. But behind her eyes? A storm was brewing. Only she knew the hell she was about to unleash in that office.
Maria was speechless.