The night was drowning in the scent of blood and betrayal. The once-glorious Montserrat mansion, bathed in gold and wealth, was now nothing but a graveyard of broken vows and shattered dreams. Flames crackled in the distance, devouring the past she was forced to leave behind.

Aveline Montserrat stood in the center of the chaos, her once-delicate hands now painted in crimson. Her heart should have ached, should have wept—but there was only a chilling emptiness inside her.

"Run, Aveline!" her mother's voice had screamed moments before a gunshot silenced it forever.

And she had run. She had fled through the corridors of her childhood, stepping over bodies she once called family. The people she had trusted—her blood, her own kin—had turned on her.

Betrayed. Slaughtered. Burned alive.

She had been weak, naïve, blind to the whispers of greed lurking in the shadows. And because of that, everything was taken from her.

As she reached the edge of the estate, she turned back one last time. The man responsible for this massacre stood at the top of the marble staircase, his cold gaze locking onto hers.

Her father’s most trusted ally.

A man she once thought of as an uncle.

The one who had led this slaughter.

“You should have died with them,” he called out, his voice void of remorse.

Aveline clenched her fists. No.

She should have died. But she didn't.

She would rise from the ashes of this bloodstained night.

And when she returned… she would make them all pay.

---

Chapter 1: Ashes of the Past

Pain. That was the first thing she felt.

Cold stone pressed against her skin, the scent of blood and smoke lingering in the air. Darkness surrounded her, broken only by the flickering glow of distant flames. The once-proud Valenciaga estate—her home—was now nothing but ruins.

Seraphina Valenciaga tried to move, but her body refused to obey. Every breath felt like swallowing glass. Memories came in shattered pieces: the betrayal, the fire, the screams of her family being slaughtered. And him.

The man she trusted most had been the one to destroy her.

Her uncle, Alessandro Valenciaga—the one who had raised her after her parents’ death, the one who swore to protect her—had been the mastermind behind it all. He had stolen everything. Her family’s wealth, their power, their name. And he had left her to die in the inferno.

But fate had other plans.

A weak cough escaped her lips as she forced herself to sit up. Her once-lavish gown was torn and stained with soot. Cuts covered her arms, and her long raven hair was tangled with blood. She was barely alive. But she was alive.

Footsteps echoed in the distance. Seraphina’s breath hitched. Was it Alessandro’s men, coming to finish what they started? Panic surged through her veins, but she had no strength to run.

A shadow emerged from the smoke. A man, tall and broad-shouldered, his face hidden behind a black mask. He knelt before her, his voice deep and unfamiliar.

“You should be dead.”

Seraphina swallowed hard, meeting his gaze. Even through the mask, she could feel the weight of his stare.

“Not yet,” she rasped, determination flickering in her eyes.

The man chuckled darkly. “Good.” He extended a gloved hand. “Then let’s change that.”

She didn’t know who he was. She didn’t know if he was an ally or another enemy. But she had no choice. With the last of her strength, she took his hand.

Pain clung to her bones like a lingering ghost.

Seraphina’s fingers twitched as she grasped the masked man’s gloved hand. His grip was firm, steady—too steady for someone who had just found a dying girl in the middle of the ruins. Suspicion flickered in her hazy mind, but she had no strength to resist.

He pulled her up effortlessly, her body collapsing against his chest. Beneath the scent of soot and blood, he smelled like steel and something faintly familiar—like the rain before a storm.

“Who are you?” she croaked, voice barely a whisper.

The man didn’t answer immediately. He adjusted his hold on her, lifting her as if she weighed nothing. A hiss of pain escaped her lips when her wounds were jostled, but he didn’t slow down.

She forced her heavy eyelids open, trying to get a better look at him. Even in the dim firelight, his features remained obscured by the black mask covering the lower half of his face. But his eyes—piercing silver, cold as winter—were impossible to ignore.

Not a single emotion flickered in them.

“Your name,” she tried again, weaker this time.

Still, silence.

She should have been afraid. A stranger, wrapped in darkness, carrying her away from the only home she had ever known. But fear had no place in her anymore. Not after she had already faced death.

She let her head rest against his shoulder, exhaustion pressing down on her.

The world blurred in and out, firelight flickering like distant stars. Somewhere in the ruins, the last embers of the Valenciaga name were dying.

Seraphina Valenciaga was dead.

But whoever she was about to become—that was still undecided.

—

The rhythmic sound of horse hooves against dirt pulled her from the haze of unconsciousness.

She was moving. No, they were moving. The steady rise and fall of the man’s breathing told her she was still in his arms.

A sharp wind bit at her skin, the scent of damp earth and pine replacing the suffocating stench of smoke. The air was cooler here. No longer trapped in the city ruins.

She stirred slightly, wincing as pain flared through her ribs. The man’s grip tightened around her waist, steadying her.

“You’re awake.” His voice was deep, a rough edge to it—like someone who didn’t speak often.

Seraphina swallowed, her throat dry. “Where are you taking me?”

A pause. Then, “Somewhere safe.”

Safe. The word felt foreign.

She had no home. No family. No allies. There was no such thing as safety anymore.

She forced her eyes open, taking in her surroundings. They were in a dense forest, the sky barely visible through the towering trees. The horse beneath them moved at a slow pace, careful with its footing. She could feel the warmth of the stranger’s body against her back, his arms loosely holding the reins.

“Who sent you?” she asked.

“I came on my own.”

That didn’t make sense.

She clenched her fists. “Then why save me?”

The man didn’t answer.

Frustration sparked inside her. She had lost everything, and now she was at the mercy of a man who refused to give her a straight answer.

Seraphina shifted, trying to sit upright. “If you plan to kill me, do it now,” she said, voice steadier than she felt. “I don’t like being toyed with.”

The man let out a low chuckle. “If I wanted you dead, you wouldn’t be speaking right now.”

She stiffened. There was no arrogance in his tone, just pure certainty.

A killer’s certainty.

A chill crawled down her spine, but she refused to let it show. Instead, she turned her head slightly, catching a glimpse of his profile.

He was watching the path ahead, his face unreadable beneath the mask. But his silver eyes flicked to her briefly, something unreadable in them.

“Rest,” he said. “You’ll need your strength.”

For what?

She didn’t ask.

Instead, she let herself sink back into the haze, the steady rhythm of the horse lulling her into unconsciousness once more.

Whatever was waiting for her next… she would be ready.

Because Seraphina Valenciaga may have died in the fire—

But something else had risen from the ashes.

—