Elena stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, the dim lighting casting a soft, almost eerie glow across her face. She had excused herself from the suffocating heat of the VIP room, needing a moment to gather her thoughts.
Maddox Armstrong had literally murdered someone. She couldn't shake the image of Annabel Winston's dead body flashing across the screen earlier. She thought about how effortlessly Maddox had orchestrated that moment, like he had done it a thousand times before.
Could he be the one who killed her parents? He had the means, and it was becoming more and more clear, he wasn't afraid to get his hands dirty.
But neither was she.
Her mission remained the same: infiltrate their lives and eliminate them. One by one. The Armstrongs would fall. But first, she needed to get closer. Much closer.
She straightened, her expression hardening as she wiped the remnants of doubt from her mind. She had to keep her cool. The pieces of her plan were slowly falling into place.
When she re-entered the VIP room, her gaze swept over the space. Harper was passed out, sprawled across the sofa in an unconscious heap. Her laughter still echoed faintly in Elena's mind. She didn't look dangerous, but Elena knew better. Harper had her own venom, and she'd be just as deadly when the time came.
Maddox was alone now, sitting back in the plush chair with a glass of amber liquid in his hand, swirling it lazily. His dark eyes flashed up to meet hers as she walked in, and a slow, knowing smirk spread across his face.
"Come sit," he beckoned, tapping the spot next to him with his finger.
Elena didn't hesitate. She glided across the room, her movements smooth and purposeful as she sat next to him, close enough to feel the warmth radiating off his body.
His surprised expression told her everything—he had expected her to refuse, to be too scared or too proud to sit next to him. He had no idea who he was dealing with.
She leaned in just enough to give him a teasing look, her voice lowering to a sultry purr. "I like your piercing," she said, her fingers gently grazing the metal on his eyebrow, tracing the cool surface.
His grin widened, and he leaned back, his posture relaxed but predatory. "Wanna see what else is pierced?" he asked smoothly, his voice laced with that signature arrogance, the same one that made every woman—probably every man—fawn over him.
Elena chuckled lightly, pulling her hand back before it could become something else. Inside, her blood was ice-cold. This man could be her parents' killer.
"How about we start slow," she whispered.
"Oh yeah?" His knee brushed hers. Not accidental.
"Yeah," she replied, leaning closer. "Can you go slow, big boy?"
A dark laugh escaped him.
"I can go as slow as you want, babydoll," he murmured, shifting closer, their faces now only inches apart. "Or fast. Or rough."
His voice dropped lower. His breath was hot on her neck, his lips almost brushing her skin.
"All you have to do is tell me."
Elena's lips curled into a soft, calculated smile. She was in control now, and she knew it. She was playing him perfectly.
She pulled back slightly, locking eyes with him. "I should go home. And you should probably take your sister home as well." She motioned to Harper, still unconscious on the couch, her chest rising and falling steadily.
Maddox paused, studying her for a moment, then leaned in closer, his lips curling into a devilish smile. "How about you come home with me?" he suggested, "I can assure you we'll have lots of fun."
Elena's smile never faltered. She rose to her feet slowly. "I'm sure we will. But I do enjoy a good chase," she purred, her voice dripping with challenge.
"Hope you can run."
His smirk widened, something sharp and excited lighting his gaze.
"I've got a feeling," he said, standing as well, "that I'm going to like you very, very much."
Elena leaned down, close enough that her lips brushed his ear.
Her voice was a whisper meant only for him.
"Men who chase me," she said softly, "usually don't survive the end."
She pulled back before he could question it, already turning away.
Maddox laughed quietly, clearly amused, clearly intrigued.
He had no idea what she meant.
And she liked it that way.
---
Back at her apartment, she stood in front of her wall of Armstrongs, the faces of her enemies staring back at her from the photos she had pinned up like a twisted collage of everything she needed to destroy. Each one had a different role, a different weakness, but all shared one thing in common: they had to fall.
She placed a bright red suspect sticker over Maddox's photo, her fingers lingering on the edge of it as she studied his face.
Was he the man who killed her parents?
She couldn't assume yet. Not until she had met them all.
Her eyes flickered to the wall of photos once more. She needed to meet them all.
The parents.
The heir.
Every monster in the family.
Only then would she know who deserved to die first.
She stepped back, folding her arms.
How do you infiltrate an entire dynasty without raising suspicion?
The sound of a loud knock at the door jolted her out of her thoughts, making her heart race for a moment. Who could it be? It was three in the morning. And no one knew she lived here.
Elena's instincts kicked in immediately. She glanced at the wall of photos, her eyes narrowing as she quickly covered it with a large, abstract painting hanging nearby. She snatched her pocket knife from the table, its cold steel reassuring in her grip.
Slowly, she crept to the door, every sense on high alert. Who was knocking at this hour? And more importantly… why?
The knock came again, louder this time.
"Who is it?" she asked.
No answer.
Just the sound of someone standing there.
Waiting.
With a deep breath, Elena slowly turned the handle and cracked the door open.