Smoke still curled up from the wreckage. Fire reflected in her eyes like war. Sophia stepped over the ruined gates of her childhood home in heels stained with ash, blood crusted under her fingernails. Her family was gone. And at the center of it all—calm, composed, untouched—stood Logan Carter. Black suit. Leaning against a wall like he'd been there for hours. She just walked straight up to him and slapped him. Hard. He didn't flinch. Only turned his face back towards her, slow and deliberate.

"Feel better?" he asked. "Not yet," she said, voice like broken glass. "But give me time. I'll work up to cutting your throat." He gave the faintest smirk. "Careful." "You murdered my entire bloodline." "No. They murdered themselves," he replied smoothly. "I just opened the door and watched what crawled out." "You burned down everything I've ever known." "It was already crumbling. I just gave it a little... encouragement." "Why am I the only one left alive? You want me to become like you?" "No," he said, low and certain. "I want you to become what they fear most." She looked at him then—really looked. She saw a mirror.

In His Mansion Marble floors, floor-to-ceiling windows, and gold-trimmed everything. She walked in wearing the same black dress they dragged her out of her burning home in.

"Sophia," he said, smooth as silk and twice as sharp. "Logan," she replied, voice flat. "Should I bow or spit?" A smile ghosted across his lips. "You've got spirit. I like that." "Don't flatter me. You killed my entire bloodline." His head tilted slightly. "And yet, here you are—breathing." She wanted to kill him. He walked straight up to her and leaned in. Their faces were inches apart.

"Sophia, you will marry me. Sit beside me. Not as my wife—" he stood slowly, towering over her now, "—as my queen. Learn from me. Burn them all down." She stared at him. Then she smiled—sharp and beautiful and dangerous. "You want to use me as a trophy?" "No," he said, brushing past her, "I want you to become the weapon they never saw coming."