21
976 Words
Author's POV
Esmeralda blinked slowly, her lashes fluttering as consciousness returned in fragments. She looked around slowly like the jet would talk and explain itself about how she ended up here.
The hum of the jet.
The soft leather beneath her.
The warmth that had only just left her.
“…Leo?” she murmured, her voice thick with sleep.
“I’m here.”
She turned her head slightly, her eyes finding him almost immediately.
And then she frowned.
Not in confusion.
In curiosity.
Because he was looking at her.
Not casually.
Not absentmindedly.
But intently.
“…Why are you staring at me like that?” she asked, her voice still soft but threaded with amusement.
Leoandros didn’t look away.
“Like what?”
“Like I’m…” She gestured weakly at herself. “I don’t know. Something important.”
His expression didn’t change.
“You are.”
She let out a quiet laugh, glancing down at herself.
Grey sweatpants.
White shirt.
Her hair—she could feel how bad it was.
“Leo, I look ridiculous.”
“No,” he said simply.
“Yes, I do. You didn’t even brush my hair.”
“I noticed.”
She narrowed her eyes slightly.
“…You’re not helping.”
A faint smirk touched his lips.
“I’m not trying to.”
She shook her head, laughing softly before looking back at him.
“But seriously… why are you looking at me like that?”
And this time—
He answered without hesitation.
“Because you’re my wife.”
The words settled between them.
Heavy.
Certain.
Unshakable.
“And I can look at you however I want.”
Her expression softened.
Something quiet flickered behind her eyes.
“…Even like this?” she teased lightly.
His gaze didn’t waver.
“Especially like this.”
For a moment, she just looked at him.
Then she smiled.
Not wide.
Not playful.
Just… real.
“…Thank you,” she said softly.
And for once, Leoandros didn’t deflect it.
---
Far from the quiet intimacy of that moment, another story was unfolding.
One that carried none of the softness.
None of the warmth.
Only bitterness.
---
New York stood tall and unyielding, its skyline cutting sharply against the sky like a promise of power and consequence.
Deep within one of its many buildings sharpened as expensive homes, behind walls that had seen more secrets than truths, two women stood facing each other in a room thick with tension.
Bethany paced.
Daniella watched.
The air between them crackled with something volatile—something that had been building for years but had only just found its breaking point.
“You don’t understand,” Bethany snapped, her voice trembling despite the anger that fueled it. “You don’t understand what she took from me.”
Daniella didn’t move.
Her arms remained crossed, her expression cool, controlled.
“I understand perfectly,” she said. “She took what you were supposed to have.”
Bethany stopped.
Her chest rose sharply as she turned, her eyes glassy with unshed tears.
“I planned everything,” she whispered, her voice cracking under the weight of it. “Everything, Daniella.”
Her hands curled into fists at her sides.
“I got close to his people. I learned how they operate. I watched, I waited—” Her breath hitched. “I even—”
She stopped herself.
But Daniella didn’t need her to finish.
“You slept with one of his guards,” Daniella said flatly.
Bethany flinched.
The truth always hit harder when someone else said it out loud.
“I had to,” she snapped defensively. “It was the only way to get close enough.”
“And for what?” Daniella challenged. “So she could walk in and take it without even trying?”
That—
That was the part that hurt the most.
Bethany laughed.
But there was no humor in it.
“She didn’t fight for it,” she said bitterly. “She didn’t earn it.”
Her eyes darkened.
“She just existed.”
And somehow—
That had been enough.
---
Silence stretched between them.
Heavy.
Suffocating.
Then something shifted.
Bethany straightened.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
The tears in her eyes didn’t disappear—but they changed.
Hardened.
Sharpened.
“I won’t let her keep it,” she said.
Daniella’s gaze narrowed slightly.
“Bethany—”
“I won’t,” she repeated, firmer this time.
She moved toward the bed, grabbing her phone with a kind of quiet determination that felt far more dangerous than her earlier outburst.
Daniella watched her carefully.
“…What are you planning?”
Bethany’s lips curved slightly.
Not into a smile.
Into something colder.
“He has enemies,” she said.
Daniella’s expression tightened.
“Bethany, don’t—”
But Bethany was already dialing.
---
Across the city, in a place where power was measured in influence and blood, a man sat in quiet control.
Rowan Vance
A name spoken carefully.
A man who did not forgive.
A man who did not forget.
And most importantly—
A man who had every reason to hate Leoandros.
The phone rang.
Once.
Twice.
Then—
It was answered.
Bethany’s grip tightened slightly, her breathing steadying as something dark and deliberate settled over her.
This wasn’t desperation anymore.
This was intention.
“Hello… Rowan,” she said, her voice soft but unwavering.
A pause.
Then a faint, dangerous smile touched her lips.
“I believe we have a common interest.”
On the other end, silence stretched just long enough to feel deliberate.
Calculated.
Interested.
And in that silence—
Something shifted.
Because alliances built on hatred rarely stayed contained.
And what Bethany had just set into motion would not stop at revenge.
It would bleed into everything.
Into everyone.
Into a war that had only just begun.
- Writer
