Leon had changed locations again.
This time, he was in the private lounge of a luxury hotel somewhere deep within Dilrik's capital. The room was lavish in the way only old money could afford: velvet furniture, dim golden lighting, expensive paintings hanging carelessly on the walls, and a breathtaking view that could be seen through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Leon lounged across a cream-colored couch like a king with nothing better to do.
Several burner phones littered the table before him, some still glowing from recently ended calls and messages. Beside them sat a massive bowl of popcorn, half-finished.
He was thoroughly entertained.
The anonymous message Rowan received earlier? Leon had sent it personally.
Why?
Because he was bored.
And because people became far more interesting once you applied pressure to their emotions.
He wanted movement, panic, possessiveness, and desperation. He wanted everyone around Sienna to start colliding with one another until the entire situation became deliciously chaotic.
Only he gets to choose who his sister has to be with.
His secretary approached quietly, holding a tablet.
"Master," the man said carefully, "the information you requested regarding Isaac—I uncovered something significant."
Leon lazily tossed popcorn into his mouth. "Hm?"
The secretary hesitated.
"It concerns Miss Ianthe's disappearance twenty-two years ago as well."
That got Leon's full attention.
The playful laziness vanished from his posture almost instantly.
He took the tablet.
At first, he read casually, his usual carefree smile resting on his lips. But the longer he scrolled, the more dangerous that smile became.
The atmosphere in the room shifted.
Even the secretary unconsciously straightened.
Leon stopped scrolling halfway through the document, and silence stretched through the room.
Then he laughed.
But there was nothing pleasant about the sound.
"It isn't just Subrind anymore," he murmured. "Seems my game board needs to expand into Dilrik too."
His eyes lowered back to the screen.
There were reports, bloody records of innocent lives, and classified authorizations that should not have existed.
His little sister had been experimented on and moved around like disposable cargo between powerful hands.
Leon leaned back against the couch, one hand covering his mouth as his smile deepened into something genuinely terrifying.
"Who knew little Isaac was pitiful too?" he muttered. "Maybe I should give him a cookie."
Because buried within the files was another ugly truth.
Isaac himself had once been tied to the same people connected to Sienna's disappearance.
The documents irritated Leon more than he expected.
They had treated his sister like a laboratory rat.
His Ianthe.
Something murderous flickered through his eyes.
For one dangerous second, Leon genuinely considered simply killing everyone involved. Politicians, scientists, and royalty. All of them.
But no.
Death was too quick and merciful.
People who loved to destroy like this deserved to suffer first.
He wanted them terrified, wanted them watching everything they built collapse piece by piece. He wanted them alive long enough to understand despair.
"Print every page," Leon ordered.
His secretary immediately nodded. "Yes, Master."
"Let's hand someone a knife."
---
Far away from Dilrik, in the nation of Jibot, a different situation was unfolding within the Devereaux estate.
The first young master of the Devereaux family, David Devereaux, stormed into the old master's private painting studio with his children trailing behind him.
Rhoda and Francis entered right after their father, both carrying expressions filled with indignation.
The old master didn't even look up or react at their barging in.
He sat before a large canvas, brush moving steadily as he painted.
The artwork was peculiar.
A single perfect apple trying to blend among a pile of rotten ones.
"Father, I need your authorization to deploy my elite guards to Dilrik. Ianthe must be brought home immediately," David spoke.
The old master's brush paused briefly.
"Well," he drawled, voice dripping with sarcasm, "aren't you a caring uncle?"
David's expression tightened.
Before he could reply, Rhoda stepped forward quickly.
"Grandfather, Leon has accomplished nothing meaningful since arriving in Dilrik," she said. "All he does is wander around sightseeing."
"The last time I checked," the old man replied calmly, resuming his painting, "Leon was still more competent than the three of you combined."
The words landed brutally.
Rhoda's face darkened instantly. Francis looked equally offended. Even David's jaw tightened.
Still, he persisted.
"Father, I want to challenge Leon formally."
That finally made the old master glance up.
His sharp, aged eyes swept over his eldest son with quiet disgust.
"We both know this has nothing to do with concern for Ianthe."
Silence.
"You simply want access to the empire Fabian locked away."
David's face shifted for a fraction of a second before smoothing over again.
"That is nowhere near the truth," he said firmly. "I only want my niece returned safely."
"Yes, Grandfather," Francis added quickly. "Father is only worried about family."
The old master almost laughed.
Family?
If David cared about family even half as much as he cared about wealth, perhaps Fabian would still be alive.
"All I want," David continued carefully, "is permission to compete with Leon. Whoever brings Ianthe home first and destroys Subrind and its queen should receive greater authority within the family."
The studio fell silent.
The old master stared at his son for a very long time.
Then he sighed tiredly.
"I know you will fail terribly," he said bluntly. "But fine."
David's face lit up instantly, completely ignoring the insult.
"Thank you, Father."
"Thank you, Grandfather!" Rhoda and Francis chorused immediately.
Without wasting another second, the three of them hurried out of the studio.
The old master watched them leave quietly.
Then he shook his head slowly.
Disappointment filled his aged eyes.
He had five children in total, five extraordinary children, each gifted in their own way.
He and his late wife had raised them carefully, teaching them loyalty, love, and unity above all else. They were supposed to stand beside one another, not compete like wolves over scraps.
And for a long time, they had.
But among them all, one child had always shined the brightest.
Fabian Devereaux.
His fourth son.
Fabian had been brilliant beyond measure. A genius in business, strategy, technology, and finance. He built an empire almost entirely by himself without relying on the Devereaux family name.
And instead of hating him for it, his siblings had admired him. Looked up to him. Tried desperately to become worthy of standing beside him.
All except David.
David had never wanted to stand beside Fabian.
He wanted to stand above him; he believed that is what was supposed to happen since he was the first son. So he hated Fabian for being better.
The old master remembered it clearly now.
Fabian had noticed his older brother's jealousy years ago. Yet instead of retaliating, he tried repeatedly to help David. Offered him partnership, money, and guidance.
David interpreted every act of kindness as mockery and showing off.
Eventually, distance formed between the brothers.
Then Fabian died.
Even now, years later, the memory still hollowed out the old man's chest.
At one point, he had genuinely suspected David might have orchestrated the murder himself.
The thought sounded monstrous.
But grief had made him suspicious of everything.
Unfortunately, there had never been proof.
So officially, Fabian's death remained the work of an enemy.
After Fabian died, David immediately attempted to seize his businesses and properties.
He failed.
Because Fabian had prepared for exactly that possibility.
Every document, ownership certificate, hidden account, and estate had been sealed within the Devereaux Crest Vault.
And the vault only responded to one person's palm print.
Ianthe Devereaux.
Fabian's only daughter.
At the time, everyone believed the child had died alongside her parents.
Eventually, David gave up.
But now?
Now Ianthe was alive.
And the greed buried inside David had awakened all over again.
The old master stared at the unfinished painting before him.
One perfect apple among the rotten, and slowly he continued.