The cold night wind brushed against Elizabeth Quinn's tear-streaked face as she sat in the back seat of the cab, staring blankly out the window. Streetlights flickered past like fading memories, each one peeling back another layer of pain she had buried for eighteen long years.
Stephanie's face haunted her—the fury in her daughter's eyes, the heartbreak laced in every syllable, the way she had told her to leave like a stranger who had no place in her life.
Elizabeth's heart clenched.
They had been so small when she left.
Stephanie was only eight.
Leo, just six.
She remembered how tightly they had clung to her legs, how their tiny voices begged and sobbed for her to stay. Stephanie's hands had trembled as she reached for her, and Leo had wrapped his arms around her waist, sobbing until his face turned blotchy.
"I want you to come with me," Elizabeth had whispered, crouching down to their level. "Please. You'll be safe."
But they shook their heads. "We don't want to leave Daddy," Stephanie had said, her voice breaking. "Please stay. Please don't go."
Elizabeth's heart shattered that day.
Elena had stood a few feet away, arms crossed, silent but resolute. The only one who agreed to leave with her.
When she walked out the door with her Eldest daughter in her arms, the wailing of the two she left behind had followed her like a ghost. A sound she would never forget. A sound that screamed louder than guilt.
And she hadn't even gotten the chance to explain. Not really. Not back then. Not now.
Her fists clenched as she remembered the night she returned. Two weeks later. After he died.
She came back to take Stephanie and Leo with her. Her heart had been in pieces. Her soul had been screaming to be whole again.
But she never even got to the children.
Because Margaret Quinn—her late husband's mother—was waiting.
Elizabeth had stood on the front porch, her hand trembling as she reached for the doorbell, Elena tucked against her side. But the door opened before she could touch it. Margaret stepped out, eyes full of cold fire, the porch light casting a halo around her silver hair.
"You're not welcome here," she said without pause.
Elizabeth's throat tightened. "Please. I just want to see them. Just for a minute. They're my children—"
"No," Margaret snapped. "You lost that right when you abandoned them."
"I didn't abandon—"
"You walked out," Margaret seethed, voice low but sharp as glass. "You took Elena and left the others behind. You made your choice. Now live with it."
"I didn't know what to do. I—I panicked. He—he caused that accident, and I—"
Margaret's expression turned deadly. "Say one more word about my son, and I swear to you, I will bury you in court. I'll take Elena too. You think I won't? You think I can't?"
Elizabeth's breath caught. "You wouldn't."
"I would," Margaret hissed. "And I'd win. Try me. You come near those children again, and I will strip you of everything, including the daughter you managed to poison against her own blood."
Elizabeth backed away, clutching Elena tighter.
"You're not their mother anymore," Margaret growled, stepping closer. "You're just a name they'll learn to forget."
And she had.
She had run.
Like a coward. Like a broken woman who didn't know how to fight.
The cab slowed to a stop in front of her hotel. Elizabeth stepped out slowly, heart aching as she entered the lobby, the words still ringing in her ears.
You're not their mother anymore…
She had never stopped being their mother.
She just stopped being strong enough to fight for them.
If she had just stayed… if she had dragged them out, kicking and screaming… maybe things would've been different.
Tears rolled silently down her cheeks.
Meanwhile…
Damien Voss kicked off his shoes and tossed his coat onto the sofa in his penthouse, his face sharp with dark amusement. The conversation with his father was still fresh in his mind, and adrenaline thrummed through his veins like a slow-burning fire.
Stephanie Quinn would never see it coming.
He poured himself a glass of scotch and pulled out his phone.
One name.
One ally.
Greg.
He hit dial.
Greg's voice answered quickly, deep and alert. "Talk to me."
"We need to meet," Damien said. "Now. You still working with those guys from Berlin?"
There was a pause. Then, a low chuckle. "I might be. Depends. What's this about?"
"A job. Clean. Precise. But risky."
"Who's the target?"
Damien hesitated, then said it flatly, "Stephanie Quinn."
There was silence on the other end. Then, "I thought she was your obsession."
"She was," Damien said coldly. "Now she's just in the way. And I'm done letting Nathan win."
Greg's tone sharpened. "Your old man approved this?"
"He's the one who planted the idea. I just want it executed… flawlessly."
Greg exhaled. "Alright. Let's talk terms. And tell me everything."
Damien looked out his window at the VossTech skyline. The empire that was nearly his.
"She's working with Nathan. We believe she knows more than she's letting on. If she proves it—or worse, brings it to the board—it's over for us. We can't let that happen."
"You want her gone?"
"I want her scared first. Broken. Make her back off. Disappear on her own. If she doesn't…" His voice dropped to a chilling whisper. "Then yes—gone."
Greg was quiet, but his reply came like a blade unsheathing. "Send me the details. We'll start tomorrow."
Damien ended the call and drained his glass.
War had been declared.
And Stephanie Quinn had no idea what was coming.