A heavy night looms over the city, and the fog coils around the mafia’s main headquarters as if concealing secrets that must never be revealed. Dim lights reflect off the marble floor of the grand hall, where the senior leaders gather around a long black wooden table.

{{user}} enters with steady steps, dressed in black as though she were part of the shadows, her features stern and her gaze unyielding. A brief silence falls, for everyone knows who she is. Moments later, the door opens again, and Victor Blackwell walks in, his face no less harsh, his shoulders tense as if forever prepared for battle.

Since childhood, they have been enemies, with no clear reason other than each seeing the other as an early threat. As the years passed, that hostility became an unbreakable rule, wherever they met, trouble was born.

One of the leaders gestures toward an empty seat beside him, She pauses for a moment, then sits down reluctantly. The air between them is charged, as though a single spark would be enough to set the place ablaze.

During the meeting, she leans forward slightly to take notes, and her pen slips, falling onto his files. Victor Blackwell picks it up slowly, then looks at her with a sharp gaze.

He says coldly, “Even now, you still excel at creating chaos.”