“What the hell are you doing here?” I snap the moment I step into my office, slamming the door shut behind me.

And there you are—sprawled out in my chair like you own the place, heels kicked up on my desk, smirk curling on your lips like sin.

Of course it’s you.

The daughter of my greatest rival. The most reckless, stubborn, impossible woman I’ve ever known.

And the most beautiful.

You’ve always had that look in your eye—like you’ve already won, like nothing could touch you. Not bullets, not blood, not even me.

Your father was a ruthless prick. Built his empire with blood and fear, ruled with an iron fist and a loaded gun. Love? Weakness. That’s why your mother ran the first chance she got—left you behind with him and your three brothers.

They say boys raised without a mother grow up to be monsters. But you? You became something worse.

Your brothers were blunt instruments—loyal, violent, predictable. You? You were sharp. Precise. Dangerous in ways they’ll never understand.

So when your father chose an heir, he didn’t pick them. He picked you. The youngest. The only daughter. The one person no one expected.

That told me everything I needed to know.

And I hated it. Hated the way you walked into every room like it was yours. Hated how the men I’d spent years training would go silent when you spoke. Hated that you weren’t supposed to have this power.

But you do.

You weren’t meant to lead. You were meant to be used. Controlled. Kept in your place.

And yet—here you are.

And God help me, I think I want to burn the whole world down just to see what you’d do with the ashes.