Ex-Alpha's Regret: Siren's Comeback novel Chapter 113

POV: Seraphina

Victory felt... quiet.

Here on Aethelgard, the news of our triumph at the summit had sent a euphoric shockwave through the community. For the first time in three years, the Thorne family and our followers were not seen as disgraced exiles, but as formidable players on the world stage. The mood was electric. Hope, a feeling I had long ago banished, was suddenly, dangerously, palpable in the air.

I stood on the balcony of our central command center, overlooking the bustling, modern port we had built from nothing. Below, the sounds of industry and the cheerful shouts of children playing on the beach mingled with the salty air. We had created a sanctuary, a thriving home.

"He's bleeding."

Jax's voice, sharp and predatory, cut through my thoughts. He came to stand beside me, his eyes alight with a fire I hadn't seen since we were young. "Siren, this is our chance. His alliances are fracturing. His stock is in freefall. We can begin a full-scale liquidation of his assets. We can end the Blackwood empire within a year."

His hunger for revenge was a raw, powerful force. It was a hunger I understood better than anyone. But three years of cold, calculated strategy had taught me to temper such passions.

"No."

The word was quiet, but it stopped Jax's enthusiastic planning cold. He turned to me, his brow furrowed in confusion.

Before he could argue, a third voice joined us, calm and measured as always. "Your sister is right, Jax."

Killian Vance emerged from the command center, holding two steaming mugs. He handed one to me, his fingers brushing mine for a brief, warm moment. His gaze was fixed on the horizon.

Jax opened his mouth to protest, to likely declare that he would stand in the way, but Killian gave a subtle, almost imperceptible shake of his head.

"We will be ready for him," Killian said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

What I didn't know at that moment was that he had already acted. As we spoke, the island's defensive energy shields were being raised to their highest setting. Vance Capital's elite security teams, men who specialized in extracting assets from war zones, were being quietly dispatched to all our off-island locations. And his own personal intelligence network, a web of spies and informants that rivaled any government's, was being focused with singular, lethal intent on one target.

Every phone call Damian Blackwood made, every email he sent, every flight plan he filed—it was all being watched.

Killian stood beside me, a silent, formidable shield, preparing for a war I had only just realized had begun.