The city had stopped sleeping.
And so had she.
Selene sat at the edge of the bed, fingers curled around a mug that had long gone cold. Downstairs, the house was alive, silent, but alive, with the hum of encrypted calls, low voices, the constant arrival of men in black suits who looked like shadows carved from glass.
Alexander's war was invisible, but its echoes filled every corner.
At first, it had been simple: justice.
She'd understood his fury, the fear that had turned to fire after the twins' attack. But now, as days stretched into weeks, she began to see the shape of something else: not justice, but obsession.
Every night, another headline.
Another executive "resigned."
Another company suddenly bled dry.
And at the center of it all, Alexander Knight, calm, polished, unreadable.
She'd seen him at his desk that morning, sleeves rolled, voice cold, eyes bright with purpose.
"I don't destroy people," he'd said when Damian tried to warn him. "I remove cancer before it spreads."
But even cancer bled into what was healthy.
The first sign came through whispers.
Knight Holdings' stock began to sway, subtle at first, then sharper.
Investors grew nervous. The board murmured of instability, of reckless retribution.
Selene overheard Damian one afternoon, his voice low and uneasy as he stood outside Alexander's office.
"Sir, we've neutralized every external threat, but the backlash, regulators are circling. They're calling this corporate warfare. It could lead to…"
Alexander's reply cut through like a blade.
"Then they'll find I fight clean. They'll find nothing."
"But, sir, if the board turns…"
"Then I remind them who made them rich."
Selene turned away from the door, heart aching. It wasn't arrogance she heard in his voice, it was something worse: a man who'd forgotten where war ends.
That night, she waited for him.
When he finally came home, it was past midnight. His tie hung loose, his eyes shadowed, his phone still glowing in his hand.
"You're still awake," he said softly, surprised.
"I could say the same," she replied.
He poured himself a drink, amber light catching on his wristwatch, the sound of ice sharp in the quiet.
"Long day."
"Every day's been long," she said. "For all of us."
He looked at her then, not unkindly, but distantly, as if she were part of a life he didn't have time to inhabit anymore.
"What is it you want me to say, Selene?"
"That I don't recognize you."
His hand stilled on the glass.
"You're not fighting them anymore," she said, her voice trembling though she tried to steady it. "You're feeding on it. You're becoming what you hate."
Something flickered behind his eyes, pain, pride, maybe both.
"They came for you. For the twins."
"I know," she whispered. "But you've already punished them. Now you're punishing yourself."
He set the glass down too hard. "You think this is about guilt?"
"I think it's about control."
He stepped closer, quiet, deliberate. "Control keeps you alive."
She shook her head. "No. Control just means you die slower."
Their eyes locked, two storms circling the same grief.
He reached up, not to touch her, but to push a hand through his hair, a man trying to remember how to breathe.
"You don't understand," he said softly. "If I stop now, they'll come again. Men like them always do."
"And if you don't stop?" she asked. "What will be left of you when it's over?"
He didn't answer.
The next day, the tremor began.
A federal audit notice arrived.
Then a leaked recording, one of Alexander's private calls with a senator, edited to sound like coercion.
Headlines flared like wildfire. Knight Holdings Under Scrutiny for Corporate Retaliation.
Board members began calling for an internal inquiry.
Tristan Vale, his cousin, the man behind the betrayal, was already giving statements to the press, playing the victim.
Selene watched the news alone in the living room, hands cold around the remote.
Every frame showed Alexander, his face, his empire, his fall inching closer.
When he came home, she met him in the hall. "They're turning on you."
"I know."
"Then stop before it's too late."
He looked at her as though the words had come from a place he'd already buried.
"There is no 'too late,' Selene. Only too weak."
"Listen to yourself!" she snapped. "This isn't strength. It's pride. You're letting vengeance write your life for you."
His jaw tightened, his voice low. "And what would you have me do? Apologize to the people who tried to hurt my family?"
"No," she said, stepping closer. "But I'd have you remember who your family is."
That silenced him.
For the first time, she saw doubt flicker through his control. The faintest fracture in the marble.
Two days later, the police came.
Not for him. Not yet. But for his files.
A search warrant. Regulatory investigation. Words that looked like law but smelled like war.
Selene stood on the staircase, watching men in suits carry boxes of documents out of his study.
Alexander didn't stop them. He stood with folded arms, expression unreadable. Only when they left did she see his hand shake, once, briefly.
"Tell me this was worth it," she whispered.
He turned toward her slowly. "It will be."
"Even if they destroy you?"
"If they destroy me," he said, voice low, "they'll find I left nothing behind for them to stand on."
It wasn't madness in his tone. It was purpose. And that frightened her more.
By the end of the week, Knight Holdings' partners began withdrawing.
Contracts dissolved overnight. Projects stalled.
For the first time, the empire looked mortal.
Damian entered his office one morning, face drawn. "Sir, your father's old partners, they're selling their shares. They say it's too risky to stay."
Alexander didn't look up. "Let them sell."
"But…"
"I said let them."
The words fell like stones in water.
Selene entered moments after Damian left, carrying a stack of untouched breakfast trays.
"You're not eating. You're not sleeping. You're not winning."
He gave a short, tired smile. "I'm surviving."
She set the tray down hard. "That's not enough. Not when you're losing yourself."
He leaned back in his chair, studying her. "You're afraid."
"Yes," she said simply. "But not of them. Of you."
That hit him harder than any public attack. His throat worked once before he looked away.
It happened on a Wednesday.
A joint statement from the board: Knight Holdings CEO under investigation for ethical violations and insider retaliation. Temporary removal pending review.
The news broke like thunder.
By evening, protestors stood outside the building gates.
Cameras flashed.
The empire he had bled for, now bayed for his blood.
Selene found him in the library, lights dim, jacket gone, shirt sleeves rolled, fingers tracing an old framed photograph of his father, the man who'd built the first stone of the empire now cracking.
"He'd be disappointed," Alexander murmured.
"No," Selene said softly. "He'd be worried."
He turned, eyes heavy. "You think I've lost?"
"I think you've forgotten what winning means."
He looked down at the photo again, the faintest ghost of a smile.
"Maybe."
"Alexander…"
"I remember what my father used to say," he interrupted quietly. "'Power means nothing if you can't protect what matters.'"
He looked up. "I did protect it. I just didn't realize what I'd lose doing it."
Her breath hitched. "Then stop now, before there's nothing left."
He took a step forward, the distance between them charged with all that had gone unsaid.
"You think I can stop?" he said, almost gently. "You think I know how?"
She wanted to reach for him, and couldn't. Because she didn't know if the man standing before her was still the one she'd fallen for, or a ghost wearing his face.
That night, the house was silent. No guards. No calls. No lights in the study.
For the first time in weeks, he sat with her at the table. No words. Just breathing.
When she finally spoke, her voice broke.
"You can't win by destroying everything around you, Alexander. You'll have nothing left to come home to."
He looked at her, tired beyond measure. "Then I'll rebuild."
"With what?"
He didn't answer.
The twins' laughter drifted faintly from upstairs, soft, innocent, unaware of the storm beneath their roof.
Selene's eyes filled. "They don't need an empire. They need a father."
He closed his eyes at that, as if her words had found a wound he'd been protecting too long.
After a moment, his whisper:
"I don't know how to be both."
She reached across the table then, her hand covering his, tentative, trembling, real.
"Then start there."
He looked down at their joined hands, then up at her. Something shifted in his gaze, the first flicker of surrender after weeks of war.
Outside, the rain began again, washing the city clean.
Damian entered quietly, his voice hesitant.
"Sir… there's something you need to see."
He handed over a tablet. On the screen: an anonymous message, timestamped minutes ago.
You wanted the truth, Knight?
Then come to me before they do. Your war isn't over, it's only been redirected.
Alexander's eyes darkened. "Who sent this?"
Damian hesitated. "We traced the signal. It came from inside the mansion."
Selene froze. "Inside?"
The lights flickered. Somewhere upstairs, a door creaked open.