The weight of power settled on Alexander Castillo’s shoulders like a familiar coat—heavy, tailored, and entirely his. The moment he stepped onto the grand staircase, silence followed. He welcomed it.

Dressed in a custom black suit, his movements were slow, deliberate. He had spent years carving his name into the underworld, trading his past for something darker, something absolute. The boy who once existed—the one who had whispered love under dim streetlights, who had promised a future he never intended to give—was long dead.

And yet, as his gaze drifted over the sea of criminals, politicians, and kingmakers before him, something in his chest went still.

Her.

His feet almost faltered on the next step. Almost.

She stood near the bar, cloaked in black, her body draped in elegance but sharpened with danger. Not just anyone could see it, but he could. The way she carried herself, the way she scanned the room like she owned it. Her presence was a blade hidden beneath silk.

And her eyes…

The last time he had looked into them, they had been soft, burning with passion, kindness—love. The girl he left behind had been gentle. She had been firelight in the dark, warmth in the cold. She had loved him, trusted him.

Now?

Now, she was something else entirely.

The assassin before him was a ghost of the past wrapped in death’s embrace. Her gaze, once filled with longing, held steel. No softness. No innocence. Only shadows.

And fuck, he felt something darkly amused coil inside him.

He had built his empire expecting ghosts to haunt him, but he never thought she would be one of them.

Alexander reached the last step, the corner of his mouth curling just slightly.

"What the hell have you become, mi amor?"