The Meng estate was quiet again — too quiet.
Alisa Meng sat before her vanity, the soft golden glow of the lamp spilling over her silk robe. Her reflection stared back — perfect, poised, and utterly unreadable.
The pearls at her throat shimmered as she tilted her head, studying herself. Not a single strand of her blonde hair was out of place. Not a single trace of emotion cracked her painted calm.
And yet, beneath that calm, her thoughts were burning.
She'd overheard enough of her father's conversation to understand. Nicolas Volkov. Scarlett Rivera.
The names echoed like poison in her mind.
He was supposed to be hers — not by choice, but by design. A union of power, bloodlines, and reputation. The Mengs and the Volkovs — together, untouchable. That was the plan.
And yet… he looked at another woman as if she were his entire war.
Her fingers tightened around the perfume bottle until the glass creaked.
She had seen the pictures, the shadows of his life in America — and now, the whispers in Italy. Scarlett. The girl who appeared out of nowhere and walked into Nicolas's guarded world like she belonged there.
A nobody.
An outsider.
And yet… she had what Alisa never could — his attention.
---
The door opened softly.
"Still awake?" Dmitri's voice drifted in, casual but observant.
Alisa didn't turn. "You're back early."
He smirked. "Father's orders. Said I shouldn't 'cause trouble tonight.'"
She finally turned, her eyes sharp. "You already did, didn't you?"
Dmitri leaned against the doorway, cigarette between his fingers, the smoke curling lazily. "Depends on your definition of trouble."
He took a drag, then exhaled, watching her. "You heard, didn't you? About Volkov. About the girl."
Her lips curved — not quite a smile. "Of course. Father forgets walls have ears."
"Then you know what's coming."
"I always do," she said softly.
Her gaze returned to the mirror. "Father wants the Volkov name tied to ours. He thinks I'll tame Nicolas like a pet." She paused, her tone dripping with disdain. "But Nicolas Volkov doesn't bend. He breaks."
Dmitri chuckled. "And you think you can break him?"
She turned toward him fully, her eyes glinting like cut diamonds. "No," she said. "I'll make him break himself."
---
He whistled low. "You sound like Father."
"I sound like a woman who's tired of being used as a pawn," she said, standing. "Father wants power. Nicolas wants control. That girl wants love."
She walked closer, stopping in front of her brother, chin lifted in quiet defiance. "I'll take everything from them."
Dmitri studied her for a long moment, amusement flickering in his dark eyes. "You've changed."
"I had to," she said simply. "You vanish to the Russian border for five years, and I was left cleaning Father's blood from the marble floors every time one of his deals went wrong. Do you think I survived this family by being soft?"
He smiled, genuinely this time. "No, Alisa. You survived by being dangerous."
---
She reached for his cigarette, taking it between her manicured fingers and drawing in a slow breath before crushing it in the ashtray.
"Scarlett Rivera," she said quietly. "That's her name, isn't it?"
"Yes."
"She's the reason Nicolas refuses the engagement."
"Partly," Dmitri admitted. "Though I'd say it's also because he doesn't trust Father — or you."
Alisa's eyes flashed. "He doesn't have to trust me. He just has to need me."
"And how do you plan to make that happen?" Dmitri asked, curious.
A slow, dangerous smile spread across her lips. "By reminding him that love is a weakness… and weaknesses can be used."
She turned toward the window, the night stretching out like an endless battlefield beyond the glass.
"Scarlett thinks she's safe," she whispered. "But safety is an illusion. Especially when the war isn't fought with guns — but with secrets."
---
Dmitri stepped beside her, watching her reflection in the glass. "Be careful, sister. You're not the only one playing this game."
She glanced at him, her voice turning coldly elegant. "Oh, I'm counting on that."
Their eyes met — two predators sharing the same blood, the same hunger.
"Let Father have his politics," Alisa said finally. "Let Osborous think he's pulling strings. When this is over, it won't be Nicolas Volkov or Moretti Meng sitting on the throne."
She smiled — soft, terrifying. "It will be me."
The chandelier flickered again as thunder rumbled faintly in the distance, the promise of another storm on the horizon.
And for the first time, Dmitri almost pitied whoever stood in her way.