RUTHLESS DEVOTION: THE EMPIRE BETWEEN US

TANGLED SECRETS

The rich aroma of garlic and melting butter filled the kitchen, but the cozy warmth couldn't touch the sudden chill that went down Lowin's spine. He set his knife down, his eyes locked on his phone as it buzzed against the marble counter.

An encrypted text lit up the dark screen.

[Unknown]: Boss, Justin left the country two hours ago. He's definitely landed on your side by now. There's more, someone on the inside is feeding him info. They explicitly mentioned a 'little bird' in your circle.

Lowin's fingers clamped around the edge of the counter, his knuckles turning stark white. "f**k," he muttered under his breath.

Justin was back. The brother he had spent twelve years trying to keep at bay had finally returned. But it wasn't his twin's sudden arrival that made his chest tighten with an unfamiliar panic, it was that second line. Little bird. Someone close to him, someone who sat in his inner circle, had leaked the exact nickname he used to tease Amilah.

He whipped out his phone, his thumb flying across the keyboard to text Debrin. The Salvatores were the only ones left he could trust blindly.

[Lowin]: Justin is on the ground. We have a mole in the company.

The typing bubbles popped up almost immediately.

[Debrin]: f**k, could things get any worse? I'll be there first thing in the morning. What about Dom?

[Lowin]: He's so f*****g obsessed with his damn hospital, I doubt he'll show up.

[Debrin]: We've got you. Will be in the office first thing. Sleep with one eye open.

[Lowin]: And Justin knows about Amilah too.

[Debrin]: s**t.

The soft sound of bare feet against the floor cut through his racing thoughts. Lowin quickly slid his phone into his pocket, shifting his expression before turning around.

Amilah was walking out of the bedroom, wearing his oversized black T-shirt. It reached way past her knees, making her look incredibly small, delicate, and entirely too innocent for the storm that had just arrived. She hesitated for a second, then quietly walked over to the kitchen counter and pulled out a barstool to sit down.

Lowin's eyes softened completely, all the hardness in his face melting into pure warmth. "Hang in there," he said softly, his voice dropping into a gentle rumble. "Food will be ready in just a few minutes."

"Mmh," she murmured, looking down at her lap. She fidgeted with her fingers, clearly trying to gather up the courage to speak. Finally, she looked up at him. "I'm... I'm sorry about how I acted earlier."

Lowin paused, a wave of profound guilt washing over him. He stepped closer to her, the distance between them suddenly charged with a quiet intensity. "It's okay, Amy. I was wrong. You had every right to be angry."

Amilah didn't answer. She sat in a heavy, brooding silence, watching him move around the stove. But the air between them had shifted. Lowin was too quiet, his movements too calculated, his mind clearly miles away. Is he mad at me? Did I finally push him too far? An unexplainable, aching weight tugged at her heart, a sudden fear of his coldness overriding her pride.

Driven by an impulse she couldn't control, Amilah slipped off the stool. She stepped up behind him, her movements silent, and wrapped her slender arms around his waist, pressing her cheek firmly against his broad, solid back.

Lowin froze. The unexpected friction of her soft body against his spine sent a jolt straight to his core. Instantly, the suffocating thoughts of Justin, the mole, and the impending corporate warfare vanished, replaced entirely by the intoxicating warmth of her touch.

A low chuckle escaped his chest. "Are you trying to tempt me again, little bird?"

"No," she whispered, her voice muffled against his shirt, her grip tightening as if he might slip away. "Are you mad at me?"

Lowin turned around in her embrace, genuinely stunned by the vulnerability in her voice. He looked down into her wide, searching eyes, his hands coming up to cup her face, his thumbs gently brushing over the slight swelling on her cheek.

"Why would I ever be mad at you?" he murmured, leaning down until his lips brushed against her forehead. A dangerous, wicked glint returned to his eyes, his voice dropping to a gravelly, possessive whisper. "If I were mad at you, sweetheart, I wouldn't be ignoring you. I'd punish you by devouring you right here on this counter... until you couldn't walk for a week."

Amilah's face turned bright red. She smacked his chest and quickly scurried back to her stool, her heart pounding.

Minutes later, dinner was served. But as they ate, the playful mood faded into a heavy quiet. The only sound in the penthouse was the clinking of their cutlery. Both of them were completely lost in their own heads, Amilah drowning in emotional confusion, and Lowin mapping out a bloody chess board to keep her alive.

Early the next morning, Mark came to pick them up, bringing a change of clothes for Amilah.

The night before had been the longest, most frustrating night of Amilah's life. After dinner, Lowin had gently but firmly sent her to bed alone, insisting on cleaning the kitchen himself. When he finally joined her hours later, he had barely settled into the sheets before his phone buzzed. He had slipped out of the bed like a ghost, never returning to the mattress.

The silence and the distance were becoming unbearable for Amilah, but she couldn't find the right words to ask him what was wrong.

The entire drive to her boutique was completely silent.

Lowin sat beside her, staring fixedly out the tinted window, his jaw tight and his mind completely unapproachable. Amilah bit her lower lip until it stung, her chest aching with a deep, miserable certainty that he was resentful of her demands from the night before.

In reality, Lowin was burning alive with calculation. If he deployed his standard security detail to guard Amizee Trends, he risked handing Amilah directly to the mole. Worse, a sudden spike in protection would signal to Justin that Lowin knew he was in the country, forcing his brother to change tactics and strike from an angle he couldn't predict. He had to keep her safe without anyone knowing she was being watched. He needed the Salvatores. He needed a shadow protocol.

The Porsche smoothly decelerated, pulling up to the curb outside Amizee Trends.

Amilah gripped her purse and the wrapped gift box tightly against her chest. She turned to him, her throat tight. "Have a... have a good day."

Lowin didn't move. He remained lost in the bleak glass of the window, his mind completely consumed by the shadow of his brother.

Amilah's eyes pricked with a sudden, humiliating heat. Blinking back the tears, she opened the door, stepped out into the crisp morning air, and shut the heavy door behind her with a definitive thud. Standing on the pavement, she watched the luxury vehicle merge back into the traffic until it disappeared. Her shoulders slumped. With her head bowed and her heart heavy, she walked into her boutique, feeling entirely alone.

High above the city, inside the reinforced glass sanctuary of the Vance Empire executive suite, the three Salvatore brothers sat anchored to the leather sofas. The air was thick with the scent of espresso and unspoken gravity. They all knew the history. A war between the Vance twins was a bloodbath, and this time, an innocent woman was sitting directly in the crosshairs.

The heavy glass doors slid open, and Lowin walked in, carrying a dark, suffocating aura.

Debrin stood up immediately, doing a quick sweep with a scanner to ensure the room wasn't bugged. "We're clear," he said.

Damien leaned forward, his hands clasped between his knees. "So, you have absolutely no lead on who the mole is?"

"None," Lowin said, tossing his jacket onto a chair and pacing the length of the room. "But my asset on Justin's transport team confirmed the leak came directly from someone on my payroll."

Dane crossed his legs, his eyes tracking Lowin. "Have you maintained your asset on his side this entire time?"

"I planted him twelve years ago," Lowin said coldly, stopping by the window. "Because I knew a day like this would come. I just didn't expect Justin to move this recklessly, or this soon."

Debrin leaned back against the sofa. "Well, you two think out of the same twisted playbook. If you were in his shoes right now, what's your first move?"

"Create a loud, violent distraction," Lowin countered instantly. "Force me to fixate on a burning fire in one corner of the empire while he slips into the vault from the other."

"What matters right now is Amilah's safety," Dane stated flatly.

"That's the trap," Lowin growled, turning around, his eyes flashing with frustration. "If I order Mark to deploy a security team to shadow her boutique, I might be assigning the mole's direct subordinates to her door. It's a death sentence. Furthermore, the second Justin sees high-level security around Amizee Trends, he'll know his cover is blown."

Debrin rubbed his chin. "I think Dom-"

The suite doors flew open with a sharp click, and Dominic Sinclair stepped into the room, looking thoroughly annoyed, his white doctor's coat replaced by a perfectly tailored charcoal suit.

"You four idiots are officially the most exhausting human beings on this planet," Dominic barked, checking his luxury watch. "Why am I here? I have three surgeries scheduled before noon."

Dane offered a dry, humorless smirk. "Good morning to you too, Dom."

Dominic scoffed, walking over to the bar to pour himself a glass of water. "To hell with your good morning."

"Justin is in the country," Lowin said simply.

Dominic froze mid-motion. He slowly set his glass down, turning his head to look directly at Lowin, his eyes narrowing. "I love you like a brother, cousin, but you can officially count me out of your family's psychotic blood feuds. Keep me away from that lunatic."

"Even when I tell you he's coming for you first?" Lowin countered.

The Salvatore brothers all straightened up, their attention locked onto Lowin as new pieces of the puzzle began to drop.

Dominic frowned. "What the hell do you mean?"

"Justin doesn't just want the legitimate assets of the Vance Empire," Lowin explained, his voice low and dangerous. "He wants to resurrect the illegal underground black markets that I dismantled when I took the throne. He knows you run the largest private medical citadel in the country. He's going to offer you a partnership for international organ trafficking."

Dominic's jaw tightened, an intense, professional fury flashing across his sharp features. "Do I look like a common street criminal to you? I swear an oath, Lowin."

"On paper, it's a win for you," Lowin pushed his buttons. "You get immediate transplant organs for your patients, and you help him kick me off the throne."

"Sounds like quite the temptation, doesn't it, Doc?" Damien murmured.

Dominic massaged his temples, letting out a heavy, dark breath. "Is it a temptation to eliminate my patient waitlists? Yes. But I'm a surgeon, not a butcher. I don't buy harvested blood money from street thugs. Don't worry, Lowin. I'm not touching his filth. If that monster takes over the Vance Empire, this entire city will descend into chaos."

"The chaos is already starting," Lowin said. "He's going to recruit local street gangs to start terrorizing people, and he's going to do it in my name so I get the blame."

"Why go through all that trouble?" Dominic asked.

"Because he's afraid of me," Lowin said softly. "The only way he can hurt me is by turning people against me and targeting the people close to me."

"Then why the hell is he tracking Amilah?" Debrin asked, crossing his arms.

"Because someone on my payroll told him she's my weakness," Lowin whispered, the words tasting like poison on his tongue. "He thinks by putting a knife to her throat, he can force me to hand over the crown."

Dominic let out a low whistle, a cynical smile tugging at his lips. "Well... can he? Is she really the little firecracker who nearly unbuckled your pants on the sofa last night?"

The Salvatore brothers' eyebrows shot up simultaneously, their grim expressions instantly morphing into predatory amusement.

"Hold on," Dane said, pointing a finger at Dominic. "This should have been the very first piece of information you shared when you walked through that door, Dom."

"Is she actually as beautiful as the gala footage?" Damien teased, a low chuckle escaping him. "Come on, spill it, Doc."

Dominic shook his head, a genuine smirk breaking through his irritation. "She is absolutely stunning. Gorgeous, fierce, and entirely too cute when she's angry. No wonder the Ice King here has completely lost his mind."

Lowin massaged his temples, his blood boiling. This was supposed to be a serious strategy meeting, and they were busy gossiping about his girl. "Can you all cut the crap and focus?"

"We're just curious about the woman who tamed the monster," Dane laughed.

"Be curious about keeping her breathing," Lowin snapped.

Dominic waved his hand dismissively. "Consider it handled. I'll send my private team to her location. They don't belong to the Vance payroll, so the mole won't see them coming."

Lowin nodded, relief easing the tension in his shoulders. "Tell them to stay in the shadows. Watch her, follow her, but do not alert her. She's already stressed enough."

"Understood," Dominic said.

Debrin leaned forward again. "And what about the mole inside your boardroom?"

"We feed them a lie," Lowin said, his voice hardening.

"Actually, I have a cleaner play," Damien interrupted, a brilliant, calculated smile spreading across his face. "There's a high probability Justin will try to infiltrate Annah's birthday gala tonight to make his grand entrance. The second he steps into the ballroom, my tech team will clone his phone's via the local server. The second he steps into the ballroom, my tech team will clone his phone's architecture via the local server. We'll map his entire network, intercept his outgoing calls, and identify the mole by midnight."

Dominic nodded in approval. "I like Damien's play. It's clean."

"Fine," Lowin agreed, his eyes locking onto the boardroom doors. "But since the executives are already arriving, we need to call an emergency budget session right now. If we don't present an ordinary front, the mole will know we're hunting them."

Dominic stood up, buttoning his jacket. "That's my cue to leave. Your girl is protected, Lowin. Focus on your brother."

As Dominic exited into the private elevator, Lowin and the Salvatores adjusted their ties, walking toward the high-backed doors of the main boardroom, their expressions turning into seamless masks of corporate perfection.

---

Back at Amizee Trends, Amilah was in a terrible mood. She tried to focus on cutting her fabrics, but her mind kept spinning back to the quiet ride that morning, the heavy silence of the penthouse, and the cold distance in Lowin's eyes.

Did I overreact? she thought miserably, her chest aching. Why was he so distant last night? He barely even looked at me this morning.

Her eyes fell on the two gift boxes sitting on her desk, and she felt a wave of restlessness. Why did she even agree to go to this party? He had promised he would finally tell her his name today, but he wasn't even speaking to her. Would he even be at the party? Her mind kept spinning until she completely lost her appetite to work.

She opened her drawer and pulled out the business proposal she needed to hand over at the gala. She had to go, but she still desperately wanted to know that psycho's real name. Was she going to have to hunt him down at his house again?

Frustrated, she pulled out her phone and stared at his contact. Blinking back a sudden wave of emotion, she pressed the call button.

The phone rang and rang... but there was no response.

Amilah's eyes instantly stung, her vision suddenly blurring. A hot, heavy tear spilled over her lashes, followed by another, until she was sobbing uncontrollably into her hands.

She collapsed onto the plush office sofa, tucking her knees to her chest as the raw, unexplainable emotions tore through her. She couldn't understand why she was breaking down like this. Why did his silence hurt so desperately? Why was her heart aching as if the world were ending?

It's just my hormones, her period was expecting to start this week. she told herself frantically, pressing her palms against her eyes to stop the tears. Shaking, she pulled up the calendar app on her phone to check her cycle.

Her breath caught in her throat.

Her period was three days late.

Amilah stared at the small red markers on the screen, her heart skipping a chaotic beat. She quickly shook her head, forcing the terrifying thought out of her mind. No. No, it's just stress. The gala, the attack by Rose, the sheer exhaustion of the boutique... that's why I'm late.

Exhausted from the crying and the crushing weight of the unknown, she let her head fall back against the soft cushions of the sofa. Within minutes, the emotional fatigue dragged her down into a deep, dreamless sleep, entirely unaware of the shadow corporate war about to explode around her.