Part 1 – The Unveiling
The spotlight was white-hot.
Liana stood behind the crystal lectern at the Global Medical Innovation Forum in Zurich. Screens behind her showed live genetic simulations, scanned case studies, and before-and-after cellular repair.
"…This treatment targets incurable mutations, activates dormant regenerative sequences, and restores integrity at the molecular level. We call it: Protocol Iris."
The crowd rose in stunned silence—then thundered in applause.
News anchors called her the New Voice of Ethical Medicine. Interviews were requested instantly. A storm of admiration ignited around her brilliance.
Alexander watched from the wings, eyes unreadable. He'd never seen her so alive—so radiant.
But even in triumph, she kept glancing toward the crowd… sensing something.
A wrongness
Part 2 – The Blood Letter
Back in Paris, a package arrived at Wolfe Tower's front desk.
Handwritten. No return address.
Elena intercepted it on instinct. Opened it.
Inside: a flash drive and a photograph.
The photo: Liana in medical school, kneeling beside a dying man… a man linked to Julian's illegal trials. A smear from the past she never saw coming.
The flash drive: doctored footage claiming she was part of the cover-up. The timestamp
faked. The headlines prepped.
The leak dropped within hours.
Social media exploded: "Liana Moreau lied." "Miracle drug created by fraud?"
At the estate, Liana collapsed onto her knees, breath stolen. "That's not what happened—I didn't even…"
"I know," Alexander said, his voice like steel. "But this was never about the truth. This was Julian trying to rip your soul out in front of the world."
He lifted her chin.
"Now we rip his apart."
Part 3 – The Silent Retribution
Cipher and Valkyrie moved that same night.
Geneva. Berlin. Dubai.
One by one, Julian's hidden shell accounts were exposed to watchdog agencies. Every falsified report traced back to his personal proxy server. Whistleblowers received immunity in exchange for testimony.
Elena released an encrypted video of Julian in a private meeting—pressuring a pharmaceutical CEO to let human test subjects die to "preserve profit margins." The footage went viral in hours.
Back in Zurich, Liana's name began trending again—#Vindicated.
But Alexander wasn't done.
In a secured bunker in Prague, Valkyrie left a message carved into the wall of Julian's private vault:
"She belongs to the wolf. You should've remembered the bite."
Julian's response came only as silence.
A silence that meant war was far from over.
Part 4 – The Flame That Devours
The estate was dark, the storm pressing against the glass, whispering secrets only broken hearts could hear.
Liana stood by the window, arms crossed, her reflection pale in the rain-streaked pane. Alexander leaned silently in the doorway behind her, the firelight casting him in shadows—more man than myth now, and more hers than he'd ever been to the world.
"He tried to erase me," she whispered, voice trembling. "Make me the villain in my own story."
Alexander crossed the room in two strides, turning her to face him. His hands found her waist.
"No one rewrites your story, Liana," he said, low and certain. "Not while I still breathe."
The dam inside her snapped.
She pulled him to her—desperate, angry, alive.
Their lips met in a violent kiss, teeth clashing, breath stolen. He gripped the back of her
neck, tilting her head as if to devour her fears. Her fingers tore at the buttons of his shirt, dragging the fabric away until skin met skin.
"I should stop," he murmured against her jaw.
"Don't," she gasped, kissing him harder. "Don't stop saving me."
They moved across the room, blindly finding the couch. Her silk robe slid from her shoulders, revealing the firelight curve of her back. Alexander's hands found every place
he'd memorized in silence, now blazing in motion.
Clothes disappeared. Time bent.
He laid her down like something sacred, then ravaged her like something wild.
"Say my name," she breathed as he traced the line of her collarbone with his lips.
"Liana." It came out rough, reverent.
He slid into her slowly—inch by agonizing inch—and her breath hitched, legs wrapping tightly around him, drawing him deeper.
Their rhythm was unrelenting. Erratic. Not love-making—something older, rawer. A claiming. A purge. A promise.
She gripped his back, nails raking down as he moved faster, harder, her body arching to meet him.
Outside, lightning ripped the sky in half.
Inside, they came undone together—broken, reborn, tangled.
Afterward, he held her against his chest, his hand stroking lazy patterns on her thigh.
"You're not just the woman I protect," he murmured. "You're the war I'd burn the world to win."
Liana pressed a kiss to his skin.
"And you're the man I'd walk into hell for."