Freedom tasted like revenge.

The gravel crunched under his feet. It hadn't even been two hours since Cain got out, and already he itched for blood. The forest around him sang with wind—a symphony he'd never heard in prison. Inside, all he'd gotten were thirty-minute runs where he closed his eyes and jogged, pretending it was the sprawling mansion his father had given him.

This would have been a perfect moment, if not for the muffled screams of the man who put him there.

The problem was—they were too alive and not terrified enough.

"It's ready," Kenzo said, pouring the last canister of gasoline over Senator Rossi's roped form.

The man knelt under their twin gazes, sobbing around the pathetic gag in his mouth. Cain grabbed his hair and forced him to look up—to meet that cold, unnerving stare barely containing the fury boiling in Cain's veins. "Almost perfect. Nondescript location. Ideal for screams to vanish." A cruel smile cracked across Cain's face as he ripped the gag away.

"Any last words?" Cain's tone was measured. "Or, if you beg, I'll let you live." He took a step back, flipping open his Zippo—engraved with his sigil, the serpent.

"P-please! I didn't do anything! I just signed the papers! You have to believe me—they threatened to take my daughter!" Rossi sputtered, blood staining his teeth from Kenzo's earlier punch.

Kenzo watched, silent. Something hardened in his gaze.

Cain smiled, false kindness spreading like poison. "Alright. I believe you." He flicked the Zippo with a click.

"Then you'll let me live—" Rossi's relief twisted into wails as flames devoured him, climbing his skin in seconds.

Perfection.

"The lighter slipped."

Kenzo nodded and fell into step behind Cain, fitting back into place like a shadow.

—

Cain was, undoubtedly, a busy man. And he had another order of business.

The ring glinted against the chain around his neck—a reminder of the two years he'd spent in that hellhole. His Armani suit flexed over renewed muscles, larger after prison, the top button undone.

Noblesse's third floor had special clearance, built just for him. Once, it had been built for them. Not anymore.

At one point, he'd dreamed of marrying the one good thing in his life. Now suspicion coiled in his gut like a serpent—toward everyone, including her and her pristine little law career. Kenzo had delivered the damning verdict: she hadn't even tried to defend him.

Memories of bringing her flowers curdled into something vile. Every soft gesture he'd ever made—every vulnerability shown—now felt like weaknesses to be purged. The champagne they'd shared on the rooftop, the way he'd traced the curve of her smile with his thumb, the nights he'd held her instead of working... all of it torn to shreds by her betrayal.

So he'd built a bird trap.

Photos of her sister lay scattered across his private bar as he nursed his third glass of whiskey. Cain never chased; he waited like a hunter behind a scope. His phone buzzed with another ignored message—the twelfth today. He knew the pattern by now: anger, then pleading, then silence. Soon would come the desperate arrival.

The elevator pinged.

A sound like a bullet casing hitting marble.

Cain didn't turn. He traced the rim of his glass with a thumb, watching the door's reflection in the blackened windows. The photos fanned before him—school pickups, grocery runs, a close-up of her sister sleeping—each staged to terrify, not just threaten.

The footsteps were too light for a guard. Too hesitant for Zane.

Right on time.

"You look tired, little bird." Cain finally turned, his smile a blade slipped between ribs. "Three missed calls, two texts, and now... a house visit. I'm flattered."

His eyes didn't bother meeting hers. Instead, he reached across the counter, pouring two fingers of whiskey with deliberate slowness. The liquid caught the light like molten amber as he slid it toward her.

"You look like you need the drink."

The gesture was almost casual. Almost kind. But his smile was all teeth, his unblinking stare that of a predator who'd already won.

"Or," he purred, tilting his head, "would you prefer to confess? Kneel and repent, little sinner. I might even grant you absolution."