That name—Blackwood—was like a blade in his chest. The name ringed in his ears.
Why him?
Why there?
"She never even met him," Nolan whispered to himself, the pieces not fitting.
"She has now," Ava said sharply, standing, suddenly rattled. "Maybe she found out about us."
"Impossible." His voice turned steel. "We were careful."
"Were we?"
"Even if we were not, she isn't the type who can figure it out so easily."
But Nolan didn't care about Ava's fear now.
He was thinking about Nyra—about the way she smiled when she didn't know she was being watched. The way her fingers trembled when she read her vows. The way she made him feel human, even when he wasn't.
She was gone.
And worse… she had made the first move.
Nolan stood before the mirror, fixing his cufflinks with deliberate calm. Behind his reflection, Ava watched in silence.
"She's not running scared," he said finally.
"What do you think she's doing?" Ava asked.
His eyes darkened. "She's planning something."
Nolan looked down at the blood on his hand. At the shards on the floor.
At the empty space where Nyra should've stood, wearing white.
Instead, she was in his rival's lair… wearing rage.
And maybe nothing else.
He didn't know.
He couldn't know.
That Nyra remembered everything.
The betrayal.
The cliff.
The weightlessness before the end.
And the fire that followed.
He didn't know this was her second chance.
But he was about to find out.
Nyra at the Blackwood
As She waited in lounge sofa for the person who was going to escort her to her new place. As everything slow down, she lean back on the sofa, closed her eyes and as soon as she did that everything started floating in like a movie scene.
Blood That was the first thing Nyra tasted when she woke up from the nightmare, Not hers.
But memory's that flood in like a wildfire.
Old blood. Sharp metallic betrayal that still clung to the back of her throat like poison.
She sat up.
The silk sheets slid from her bare shoulder and for a moment the golden morning light tried to lie to her.
Tried to whisper everything was fine. That it was all just a dream.
But that wasn't the truth as she can still feel the pain in her bones, that sharp pain of broken bones, blood streaming down her body.
But her fingers curled into the mattress.
And she knew... She knew what it was to feel the death in front of you. Because the air didn't feel new.
It felt borrowed.
Like a second chance she was never meant to have.
And when she turned. There it was. The dress. Hung neatly beside the mirror. The same fucking dress she'd worn the day she died.
Her pulse pounded. Her vision blurred.
She stumbled to the mirror.
Her hands trembled as they gripped the lace bodice.
Her eyes stared back at her. But they weren't soft anymore.
They weren't a bride's eyes.
They were a storm that is ready to destroy everything. A woman wronged.
A woman who remembered every lie dressed as a vow. Every kiss sealed with a blade.
She didn't scream, Didn't cry... She just ripped the dress apart, Thread by thread.
Beads falling like tears onto the cold marble floor. And then she walked away.
Barefoot, Blood blooming faintly on the white marble where her skin scraped. Every step forward was a funeral for the girl she used to be.
An Hour Later Blackwood Corp. Headquarters
The security guard stepped in her path. She didn't slow. Didn't flinch.
Just stared him dead in the eye.
"Ma'am, do you have an appointment—" She pushed past him, not with strength. But with fury. The kind that makes people hesitate.
Another guard moved. She spun, "Touch me and I'll scream bloody murder."
Her voice was calm. Too calm.
It wasn't a threat. It was a promise.
He froze, smart man.
The receptionist stood, eyes wide.
Mouth already forming a protest.
Nyra slammed her hands on the counter. "You call Damien Blackwood. Tell him his enemy's bride is here."
She didn't wait for permission. She stormed toward the elevator And no one followed.
When the doors opened on the top floor. She stepped into an office made of obsidian and steel.
It was cold. Perfect, Like the man she was about to face.
Minutes Later
He walked in, Like sin made flesh Damien Blackwood Hair dark as secrets.
Eyes colder than judgment. He didn't stop when he saw her. Didn't blink.
Just raised a brow as if a woman in a ripped wedding dress wasn't sitting on his damn desk like a loaded gun.
"Miss Callahan," he said smoothly.
"You're either lost or looking to make headlines." "I'm here to burn everything down," she said.
And slid off the desk Her bare feet hit the floor with a soft slap. But the sound carried like thunder.
He took her inFrom the ruined silk hanging off her hipsTo the firestorm in her eyes
"Well, You've certainly dressed for it"
She didn't smileDidn't blink.
And then a voice made her open her eyes again. She saw a man talking to the assistant. And then after few second he left and again silence filled the space.
The silence in Blackwood Corp's executive lounge wasn't empty.
It was mocking.
Heavy with the weight of a hundreds of secrets that no one dare to say or explore.
Gleaming floors stretched like still water under her bare feet.
Her dress—ripped, dirty, stained with sweat and memories—clung to her like the ghosts she carried like a curse.
She remembered again that how a while ago They'd tried to stop her
Security had approached.
But something in her eyes made them hesitate.
Some women screamed for help.
But how she had walked in like a loaded gun.
And no one dares to stop a bullet once it's been fired.
Now she is waiting on the black leather couch in Damien Blackwood's office.
Head held high, Heart roaring like war drums.
Every minute passed like an itch beneath her skin.
Tight, Relentless, Unbearable
Her fingers still trembled. Her body still shook with cold fury
But her spine refused to bend. She wouldn't cry.
Not here. Not in front of him.
Because if Nolan had buried her with betrayal.
Then Damien Blackwood would be the man she clawed her way back with.