KIERAN
"Stop crying, Princess. I'll get it all back for you—everything. And I'll make sure they beg at your feet," I said, leaning in until my forehead pressed against hers. Her eyes were red and puffy, tears still slipping down her cheeks. She hadn't slept last night. She'd cried herself into silence, and even in sleep, she trembled—curled into me like the world had turned its back on her. Her tears had soaked into my shirt, and every drop felt like acid.
I hated seeing her like that. It didn't break my heart. It enraged me.
Seeing my woman cry didn't make me sad—it made me murderous. Rage crawled beneath my skin like fire ants, whispering in the back of my skull:
Kill for her. Bleed for her. Make them scream for her.
She was trembling in my arms, small and broken. But all I could think about was putting someone six feet under.
"You don't cry for people like them," I murmured, brushing her hair back with trembling fingers. My hands were shaking—not from fear. Not even from love.
From restraint.
"You hear me, Genesis?" I gritted out, cupping her cheeks, forcing her to look at me. "They don't get your tears. They get consequences."
Her bottom lip quivered. God… that lip. I leaned in and bit it gently, just enough to make her gasp. Her pain made my eyes flutter shut like a prayer had just been answered.
"You're mine," I growled. "Not theirs. Not the world's. Mine. Only I get to make you cry and whimper."
She nodded, soft and slow, like she understood. I kissed her tear-streaked cheek, tasting the salt that twisted something sharp and ugly in my gut.
I wanted to fix it.
No.
I wanted to ruin them.
"You know what keeps me up at night, Princess?" I whispered. "It's not fear. Not stress. It's knowing those greedy little insects touched your life. Touched your legacy. Touched what's mine. And I let them breathe this long. That was my mistake. But not anymore."
I stood up suddenly, pacing like a bomb wound too tight. My fists clenched, nails digging into skin. The pain helped. A little.
Not enough.
"They paraded around in your father's name like royalty. Ate off his bones. Spat on his grave. And where were you? Sleeping on the floor like a servant. Scrubbing tiles while they wore silk."
I spun back to her, voice rising.
"You. The real heir. The daughter. The legacy. The queen. My queen."
She flinched—not in fear, never fear—but like the truth had carved straight through her ribs.
Good. She needed to feel it.
"I'll fix this," I snarled, dropping to my knees in front of her again. "I'll burn every casino. Every fake business. Every lying parasite clinging to your name. I'll make Monica watch as I tear it all down. Brick by brick. I'll take her smile, Genesis. I swear to God—I'll take it."
I leaned in, lips brushing hers, voice barely a whisper.
"And then I'll give you everything. The company. The empire. The world."
I kissed her—deep and rough, like I needed the taste of her to breathe.
When I pulled back, my voice dropped to a whisper sharp enough to slice skin.
"And when they're done choking on their ruin… they'll know exactly whose wife you are."
I stared deeply at her, really looked at her—every eyelash, every freckle, every mole on her skin. All mine. To worship. To protect. To destroy for.
And then I took her. Hard. Deep. I carved my love into her body, into her soul, into her very blood.
She didn't need to worry.
Knight would bring it all home.
LATER
I slammed my fist into the punching bag, sweat pouring off me like rain. I didn't stop. I couldn't. Every punch had a face behind it—every liar, every traitor, every greedy vulture who hurt her.
I felt Damon and Leo behind me, watching. But I didn't look back.
I didn't trust myself not to snap.
I flipped and kicked the bag. It swung, chains rattling like thunder. My knuckles were split, bleeding. Raw.
Good.
The pain kept me grounded. Focused. Breathing.
Because if I let the red in—if I truly let go—I'd paint this whole city with their screams.
"She didn't deserve any of it," I muttered, sweat dripping from my jaw. "She was just a kid. A goddamn kid."
Punch.
"Sleeping on cold tiles while they drank champagne."
Punch.
"Wearing stolen crowns like they earned it."
Punch.
"Making her mute and afraid. Treating her like nothing."
Punch-punch-punch.
"I'll show them what nothing feels like."
Damon stepped closer, careful, like he was approaching a wolf mid-snarl.
"Kieran. You need to calm down. She's stronger than you think," he said softly.
I laughed. Bitter. Low.
"That's the problem. She had to be."
Leo leaned on the wall, arms crossed. Jaw tight.
"You ready to put the plan in motion?"
"Yeah." I stopped, panting, chest heaving. "She's ready."
I turned to them, wildness in my eyes.
"I want them waking up in cold sweats hearing her name whispered in the dark."
Damon exhaled. "You're talking war."
"No," I said, wiping blood and sweat from my face. "I'm talking justice. They tore her down. It's my turn now."
Leo's eyes flicked to my busted hands. "And Takeshi?"
I looked him dead in the eye.
"He goes down with them."
A silence fell.
Then Damon asked, "Where do we start?"
I looked at my bloodied knuckles, then the sweat pooled on the floor.
And I smiled.
LATER — THERAPY SESSION
"So Mr. Blackwood, do you think maybe you're slipping into a dangerous mindset… regarding your wife?" Alecia's voice snapped me from my thoughts, dragging me away from the window.
I turned to her, slow and sharp. My gaze made her shift in her seat.
"What do you mean by that?"
"We started these sessions because of your dissociative personality disorder—your alter ego, Knight," she began. "But I think you don't just need therapy for that. You also need it because… you're obsessed with Genesis."
I stiffened.
Obsessed with my wife?
That's not a diagnosis. That's a fact. And I'm not ashamed of it.
She kept talking.
"And judging by your expression, Kieran, it seems you have no issue with that. Which is a problem."
A problem?
The only problem here is her thinking she understands what's going on inside my head. Thinking she understands Knight.
Knight isn't some disorder. Knight is me. Just the side of me I keep caged—until someone threatens what's mine.
I twirled my knife between my fingers, sharp and smooth.
"You should start making sense, doc," I said quietly. "First, you say I have dissociative personality disorder. Now you're telling me I need therapy because I want everything on my wife?"
I leaned forward, eyes cold, voice steady.
"You don't get it. I'm not sick. I'm focused. And Genesis isn't my weakness."
I smiled.
"She's my reason."
She sighed. "I'm not telling you something you don't already know. Yes, you're aware of Knight—but awareness doesn't mean control. He's still you, Kieran. He's the part that craves power, dominance, chaos. That doesn't make him safe. It makes him dangerous."
I let out a low chuckle. "Dangerous to who? To the people who hurt her? Good. That's the damn point."
Alecia didn't even blink. She never did. That's what made her... tolerable. Brave, maybe. Or just stupid. Her pen tapped against the edge of her notebook—steady, rhythmic, like a ticking bomb.
"You keep saying she's yours," she said. "That only you get to touch her. Only you get to make her cry. That's not love, Kieran. That's control."
She hesitated, then added, "I didn't want to bring this up before, but I think it's time. You are obsessed with her. And it's not romantic—it's borderline delusional."
My gaze dropped to the dagger resting on my thigh. How would it feel to carve a line across her cheekbone? Not deep. Just enough to make her understand. But I wouldn't do it. I liked Alecia. Kieran liked women. And I wasn't done with her.
Yet.
She pressed on. "What if one day she wants to leave?"
I tensed up. "She can't."
"She can't?" Her brows raised. "She's a person, Kieran. She has free will. She—"
"She has me," I cut in coldly, twirling the knife faster. Her eyes flicked to it, good. Let her keep watching. "She can't leave. She won't."
"And if she tries?" Alecia leaned forward. "Will you hit her? Break her legs? Chain her to the bed?"
My voice came out low, rough. "I'd never hit her."
"But the rest?" she pushed.
I paused. Thought about it. Then said, very calmly, "There's nothing wrong with breaking her legs to keep her. Or chaining her to the bed. She's mine."
Something in her expression shifted—paler now, wary. She started writing.
"I believe Knight is speaking," she said quietly. "Not Kieran."
I laughed—low and sharp, like broken glass. "That's where you're wrong, Alecia." I stood slowly, crossing the room with unhurried steps. She didn't move. Brave, foolish thing. I leaned in, placing one hand on the desk, caging her in. "This is Kieran. I don't need Knight to think like this."
Her breath hitched. I dragged the tip of the knife lightly along her cheek—not enough to cut. Just enough to remind her.
She shivered. I smiled.
I straightened, running a hand through my hair. "And I'm not confused. I know I'm obsessed with her. But that doesn't mean I need therapy."
"You do," she said, barely above a whisper. "Not just because you're obsessed—but because you think obsession is love."
I tilted my head. "Isn't it?" I watched her, voice soft but dangerous. "What's love to you, doc? Candlelit dinners? Cheesy songs? I do all that. But I also want her past. Her future. Her silence. Her screams. Every broken piece of her. All mine."
Alecia didn't back away, but I saw the flicker in her fingers—either toward her pen or the panic button I knew she kept under the desk.
I grinned. "Relax. I'm not going to hurt you. You're still useful."
She swallowed hard. "That doesn't make this okay, Kieran. You don't want to protect Genesis. You want to own her. There's a difference."
I turned back toward the window, knife twirling lazily between my fingers, my eyes tracing the city skyline like I already owned it.
"Do you think she's unhappy?" I asked, almost gently.
Silence.
"Well?" I looked back at her. "Is she?"
Alecia didn't answer right away. When she finally did, her voice was careful. "From everything you've told me… no. I don't think she is. It sounds like she's opening up to you."
I smiled slowly. Turned back to the window.
Exactly.