Season 3 chapter 88
The Hidden Backstory
Filoska stared at the two most terrifying, ruthless corporate warlords in the Republic of DI as they offered her absolute, unfiltered gratitude.
For a moment, she was silent. Then, she let out a loud, highly sarcastic scoff.
"Oh ho, you guys are always like that," Filoska sighed, rolling her eyes and gripping her folders tighter. "Don't try to fool me. I know exactly what game you are playing."
Kniya frowned, genuinely offended. "Well, we are not trying to fool you in any way! We are literally giving you our emotional vulnerability! What the fuck are you even talking about?!"
"You guys are literally talking shit," Filoska snapped back, her aristocratic annoyance flaring up. "You know exactly why I thanked you the very next day, and why I asked for a job. It was not for no reason, and you hiding that fact from me right now is not a good look, Kniya."
"We are absolutely not hiding anything from you, Filoska!" Kniya yelled, throwing his hands in the air. "We literally have no idea what the fuck you are talking about!"
Filoska's eyes narrowed. She studied their faces, looking for the lie. But all she saw was genuine, stupid confusion.
"Oh, it is like that?" Filoska murmured, her voice dropping as realization hit her. "Well... I don't think so. Let me tell you the actual backstory of what happened that night when we first met. Because clearly, your egos were too massive to notice what happened after you walked out."
Salesh, entirely bewildered by the conversation, stepped forward. "Wait, what are you guys even talking about? I thought you guys were childhood friends from the start."
"Don't assume things from nowhere, Salesh, be logical," Kniya reprimanded, popping a piece of mint gum into his mouth. "We were not childhood friends. She is a royal. We are the dirt. We met at a fancy party."
"Yeah, so he deserves the right to know how it all started, too," Filoska stated firmly, looking at Salesh.
"Okay, okay," Salesh nodded eagerly, leaning against the glass door. "Tell me whatever the thing is. I want the lore."
Filoska took a deep breath, the cold Seistain wind whipping her hair as her mind dragged her backward in time to the absolute worst night of her life.
The Royal Disgrace
(Flashback to the Royal Ga)
The grand ballroom of the Royal Palace was deathly silent.
Leon Debestez, the sovereign head of the Ninth Family, had just effortlessly caught Filoska's wrist, stopping her from punching Malesh in the face. After delivering a polite but absolutely terrifying warning about shedding blood on the dance floor, Leon released her hand.
Kniya had smirked, popped his gum, and nonchalantly declared the party over. Filoska stood frozen, her chest heaving with adrenaline as she watched the two arrogant, poorly-dressed corporate peasants casually turn their backs and stroll out the grand exit like they owned the building.
The second the heavy gilded doors clicked shut behind Kniya and Malesh, the terrifyingly polite, composed aura radiating from Leon Debestez instantly shattered into a million pieces.
Leon slowly turned to face Filoska. The polite smile melted off his face, replaced by a contorted, venomous mask of pure, unadulterated hatred.
"Hey," Leon hissed, his voice dropping into a guttural, demonic whisper that only she could hear. "You absolute fucking idiot."
Filoska flinched, taking a step back in pure shock. "My Lord, I—"
"Just get the fuck out of here!" Leon roared, his voice cracking like a whip as he stepped violently into her personal space. "I don't want to see your fucking face, you absolute, incompetent peasant! You miserable motherfucker! You really disappoint me!"
Filoska's heart hammered against her ribs. The entire ballroom of aristocrats was pretending not to watch, but she could feel their judging eyes burning into the back of her velvet gown.
"My Lord, please!" Filoska stammered desperately, her aristocratic pride crumbling. "They were mocking the monarchy! They were making a total disgrace of the royal bloodline right in the middle of the ballroom! I was simply trying to defend our honor!"
"Defend our honor?!" Leon spat ruthlessly, his eyes bulging with psychotic fury. "You humiliated me! You threw a violent tantrum like a feral street dog in front of the top two hundred families! They were my precious, highly calculated guests, and you acted like a rabid fucking animal! You disgraced my guests!"
"But they were insulting you!" she pleaded, tears of pure panic and confusion welling in her eyes.
"Get the fuck out of my sight before I have you executed on these fucking marble tiles!" Leon shrieked, entirely losing his mind, spit flying from his lips. "Just get lost, you pathetic, useless motherfucker! You are a stain on this room!"
The Shattered Illusion
Filoska couldn't breathe. The sheer, suffocating weight of the betrayal crushed her lungs.
She didn't say another word. She spun around, picking up the heavy skirts of her dark velvet gown, and sprinted blindly out of the grand ballroom.
She pushed through the massive palace doors, running out into the cold night air toward the adjacent aristocratic buildings. Tears of pure panic and confusion blurred her vision as her heels clicked frantically against the cobblestones.
Her mind was tearing itself apart. She was entirely unable to process what had just happened. She had risked her own dignity to defend the crown. She had been trying to protect the royal family and everything they stood for. And her reward was being treated like absolute, disposable garbage by the very king she was trying to protect. Why did her boss do that to her? Why did he insult her so brutally when she was entirely loyal to him?
She ran up the steps of the guest building, her breath coming in ragged, broken sobs. As she reached the top of the landing, she slowed her pace, her trembling hand reaching out. She grabbed the cold brass handle, just about to open the door to her own room, her heart completely shattered by the monarchy she had loved.
The Sovereign's Order
The heavy, gilded doors of the grand ballroom slammed shut, completely sealing Filoska outside in the cold night.
Inside the opulent hall, Leon Debestez stood perfectly still. The furious, demonic mask he had worn while screaming at Filoska instantly vanished, replaced by a cold, terrifying emptiness. He slowly pulled a silk handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiped his hands, as if the mere act of yelling at her had physically soiled him.
He didn't turn around. He simply raised two fingers in the air.
From the shadows near the grand marble pillars, three elite royal guards immediately detached themselves from the perimeter and marched over, bowing deeply.
"My Lord," the lead guard said respectfully. "What is your command?"
Leon folded his handkerchief, his dark eyes staring blankly at the closed doors.
"That girl is a stain on my evening, and she knows too much about the internal fractures of our hierarchy," Leon stated, his voice chillingly calm and entirely devoid of empathy. "Follow her. I want her dead."
The three guards exchanged a quick glance. They had seen the Vinten heiress running out toward the guest quarters.
"Yes, my Lord," the lead guard nodded without hesitation. "We will dispose of her immediately."
But one of the guards standing behind him—a man with a cruel, malicious glint in his eyes—stepped slightly forward.
"Sir," the malicious guard asked, a dark, wicked grin spreading across his face. "If she is marked for death anyway... do we have permission to have some fun with her before we kill her?"
Leon Debestez slowly turned his head, looking at the guard with an expression of absolute, aristocratic disgust. He didn't care about morality; he cared about efficiency.
"Do whatever you want," Leon dismissed coldly, turning his back on them. "She is no longer an asset to me. She is just a piece of useless trash. Torture her, break her, I do not care. Just make absolutely sure she is dead by tomorrow morning. Because if the sun rises and she is still drawing breath... you three will be taking her place in the ground. Now go."
The Dragon-Themed Execution
Outside in the cold night, Filoska stood frozen at the heavy wooden door of her private quarters. As her trembling hand gripped the cold brass handle, she had absolutely no idea that mere meters behind her, the three royal guards were already fanning out across the courtyard, stalking her in the shadows.
The malicious guard pulled a suppressed pistol from his jacket. He grinned, raising the barrel and aiming directly at the back of Filoska's knee. He was going to shatter her leg so she couldn't run.
Filoska pushed the heavy door open and threw herself inside. She grabbed the edge of the door, violently swinging it shut.
Just before the heavy wood clicked into the doorframe—
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Three massive, deafening, unsuppressed gunshots ripped through the night air right behind her.
Filoska screamed, throwing herself against the inside wall as the door slammed shut. She covered her head, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. She squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the door to be kicked open. She waited for the assassins.
But there was nothing.
The courtyard outside was completely silent.
Filoska sat shivering against the wall for nearly a full minute. Slowly, her survival instincts overrode her panic. She crept forward, pressing her trembling hand against the brass handle, and opened the door just a fraction of an inch.
The cobblestones in front of her doorway were completely empty.
But they were painted with thick, fresh, pooling blood.
Filoska cautiously stepped out onto the landing, her breath hitching in her throat. She followed the trail of blood with her eyes. A few feet away, dumped unceremoniously behind a decorative stone wall, were three bodies stacked on top of each other.
It was the three elite royal guards from the ballroom. Two of them had their skulls completely blown open. The third one was bleeding out from a catastrophic chest wound.
Filoska froze in absolute shock.
Suddenly, she heard the faint crunch of footsteps walking away down the dark alley. She peeked around the stone pillar.
Two figures were casually strolling away into the shadows. One of them was wearing sweatpants and aggressively chewing gum. The other was adjusting his ruined, untucked shirt—and fluttering in the cold night wind was the distinct, unmistakable tail of a dragon-themed silk tie.
They didn't look back. They just kept walking.