flash
The crack of her hand against my cheek echoed off the Italian marble, sharp and bright, silencing the chamber music and the murmurs of sixty terrified aristocrats. Vanessa Whitmore’s diamond rings flashed under the crystal chandelier as she pulled her arm back for a second swing, her lips curling into a triumphant sneer. / Chapter 8 / 20

Chapter 8 - The Ultimate GambitThe snow fell heavier, hissing as it touched the barrel of my gun. My finger rested lightly on the trigger, hovering just millimeters away from ending the life of the man who had spawned me.

"Choose, Avery," Thomas mocked, swirling the olive in his glass. "The old man who abandoned you, or the monster who bought you."

I lowered my pistol slightly. A tremor ran through my hands, and I looked down at the snow, appearing defeated.

"I can't do it," I whispered, my voice cracking with fabricated despair. "I can't choose between them."

Mom raised her head, tears streaming down her pale cheeks. "Don't listen to him, Avery! Run! Save yourself!"

"Shut up, you ungrateful bitch," Thomas snapped, gesturing to the guard holding the detonator. "Press the button. Let's see how much her delivery girl grit is worth."

The guard’s thumb pressed down toward the trigger switch.

In that exact microsecond, my vulnerability vanished.

Years of competitive martial arts training weren't just about striking—they were about spatial awareness, physics, and split-second redirection. While Thomas and his guards were distracted by my feigned surrender, I didn't aim at my father.

I whipped around and fired three rapid, suppressed shots directly into the snow beneath the feet of the guard holding Mom’s detonator, while simultaneously launching a lethal roundhouse kick that disarmed the nearest mercenary.

Dominic didn't hesitate for a single millisecond. Moving with terrifying, predatory speed, he drew his twin sidearms and unleashed a hail of precise gunfire, dropping three of Thomas’s elite guards before they could even blink.

"Traitor!" Thomas screamed, lunging forward to grab the detonator himself.

I didn't give him the chance. I crossed the snowy courtyard in three explosive strides, swept his legs out from under him, and pinned him face-first into the freezing mud, pressing the heel of my boot directly into the back of his neck.

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The silence in the backyard felt heavy, suffocatingly thick, broken only by the low hum of the pool’s filtration system struggling against stagnant algae. Maya’s small frame trembled violently against my chest, her fingers digging into the fabric of my jacket with desperate, claw-like strength.

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Viktor sprinted forward, slashing the heavy steel collar off Mom’s neck and pulling her safely behind a marble pillar.

"Checkmate, Dad," I whispered down into the mud.

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