Monica was fuming.
She paced the living room like a caged lioness, her fingers crumpling the edges of the newspaper in her hands. Her chest rose and fell with sharp breaths, and her face had flushed a deep, dangerous red.
She couldn't believe what she'd just read.
It had all started innocently—she'd stepped outside to grab the mail when the headline on the newspaper caught her eye. Odd, really. She never read newspapers. In fact, that was one of the things she swore she'd never be caught dead doing. Newspapers were old school. Outdated. Useless.
And worst of all, they reminded her of her past.
Mark turned the corner just in time to spot his mother's furious pacing. He froze. Took a step back. Then another.
Uh-oh.
She looked like a volcano moments before eruption. That surprised him, considering just yesterday they'd received some of the best news of their lives—finally, a crack in Kieran and Genesis's shiny little world.
So why did she look like she wanted to murder something?
His gut twisted. Maybe it was about the money. The money he'd quietly "borrowed" from her safe. Or maybe stolen was the better word. Either way, now wasn't the time for confrontation. His head was already pounding like a drum.
But of course, the universe didn't care about his plans to sneak back in unnoticed.
Because right then, his foot landed on something—a loud, high-pitched squeak broke the silence.
He flinched. Looked down. A faded blue toy. What the hell?
How did that even get here?
Monica's neck turned sharply—like a damn owl—and her eyes locked onto him.
"Here we go," Mark muttered under his breath.
Sure enough, she flew at him.
"Have you seen the news?!" she screeched. Not quite a full screech, but close enough to make him wince.
She stormed over. He sighed and kicked the toy aside, turning to face her fully.
"What is it this time, Mother?" he asked tiredly.
Her eyes narrowed into slits. "Don't you take that tone with me. And why are you just waking up? You—"
"I know, I know," he interrupted, waving her off. "I should be at the casino. Give me a break, will you? I was up all night."
She crossed her arms, unimpressed. "And whose fault is that?"
Before he could answer, she shoved the crumpled newspaper into his face.
"Read this! Have you seen it?!" she practically shrieked.
He peeled the paper away, trying not to smother himself with it. "Mom, seriously? A newspaper? Aren't you the same person who said—"
"Forget what I said and read it!"
He took the paper from her and glanced at the headline with visible boredom… until his eyes widened.
"What the actual fuck is this?" His voice dropped an octave. "Who the hell leaked this?!"
He looked up, horrified, to see her pacing again, her fingers digging into her scalp.
"I don't know," she snapped.
He scanned the article again. "The press is focused on the Blackwoods. That's good, right? But if they dig deeper…"
"They will," Monica cut in sharply. "This won't stop here. Questions will start piling up. People will wonder what happened to Genesis after Anthony's death."
Mark nodded slowly, the panic starting to rise in his chest. "But we told everyone she went abroad. Neighbors, family friends—they all bought it."
"Because I made sure they did," Monica hissed. "But now, somehow Donald found out she stayed here. How? I don't know. But that bastard got her out, married her off to that shady son of his, and now this—" she pointed furiously at the paper "—this could ruin everything."
Mark ran a hand down his face. "Okay, I hear you. But it's not like it'll come back to us directly—"
"You idiot," she barked. "It absolutely can come back to us. Reporters are sniffing around. People will start digging. And if that little wench opens her mouth—if she tells them I never sent her abroad, that I mistreated her—"
"Fuck."
"Yes. Fuck."
"Okay, okay. Let's just calm down," he said, trying to think. "She won't talk, she's freaking mute. And she's scared of us. You should've seen her when I showed up. She practically froze in place, and went into shock. It was hilarious," he added with a dark chuckle, his eyes glazing as the memory returned.
Monica didn't laugh.
She was too busy staring at the newspaper again, like it might burst into flames if she glared hard enough.
"She can't talk," Monica said, voice low with worry, "but she might still find a way to tell the truth."
Mark gave her a calm smile and stepped closer, placing a hand on her shoulder and gently turning her to face him.
"You need to relax," he said smoothly. "If the heat ever comes our way, we'll flip it. We'll twist the story and paint the Blackwoods as even worse. The press already thinks they married Genesis off when she was barely legal or something, right? And don't forget the most important thing."
Monica took a breath and looked up at him. "And what's that? That we might end up in prison?"
He chuckled. "We have his biggest enemy on our side—Takessshi Kurooada."
Monica groaned and rolled her eyes. "It's Takeshi Kuroda, stupid."
"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Mark waved it off. "Point is, we've got the freaking Yakuza backing us. And soon, we're going to get our hands on… what do they call him again?"
Monica's lips curled into a wicked smirk. "Black Knight."
Mark snorted. "More like Stupid Knight."
Monica laughed—sharp and venomous. "I can't wait to watch him grovel."
"Me too," Mark said with a wicked grin. "Him and his new pretty little bitch."
Their laughter echoed through the room—more of a cackle than a laugh.
Across Manhattan.
Keenan stared at the tabloid, the front page burning into his memory. He exhaled slowly, closing his eyes for a moment before opening them again, his jaw tight.
His gaze drifted to the girl beside him.
"Are you ready, Princess?" he asked quietly.
She nodded. "More than ever." Her hand moved protectively to her stomach, and she bit her lower lip.
Keenan's eyes returned to the headline.
"Knight," he murmured.