ZACHARIAS POV
The contact whimpered beneath my boot, blood seeping between his teeth from the last punch. I could smell the lies trying to crawl out of his mouth before he even opened it.
“One more breath wasted, and I’ll feed your tongue to the dogs.” I leaned down, pressing the blade of my knife just under his eye. “The name of the yacht. The
coordinates. Now.”
He choked on a sob. “Th–The Delilah. Registry’s fake. It left from the South Harrow dock three hours ago–Winston’s yacht. He paid the harbormaster in
cash-”
That was all I needed. I drove the hilt of the blade into his temple to shut him up and turned to my men.
“Armed intercept. I want air support on the sea in fifteen minutes. No excuses. No delays. If she’s not in my arms by the time the moon drops–don’t bother coming back to me at all.”
They nodded. Pale, tight–mouthed. They’d seen me angry. But this–this was
war.
I suited up. Black tactical gear. Custom knife with her name etched beneath the hilt. My sidearm: diamond–loaded bullets. Forged for her. Designed by her. A gift she once made me, saying, “This is how you kill gods, Z.”
Tonight, it wouldn’t be a god I killed. Just a bastard who touched what was
mine.
The helicopter lifted into the teeth of a storm. Rain hit the windshield like nails. I stood at the open side door, wind howling around me, every second a countdown to carnage.
I spotted the yacht slicing through the black waves like a serpent.
Delilah.
How poetic. The traitor’s yessel.
We descended onto the helipad with steel and fury. The moment my boots hit the deck, chaos bloomed–shouts, bullets, broken bone. My men swarmed the guards like reapers.
I didn’t stop to watch. I stormed into the lower cabins, the knife already in my
nalm
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palm.
The air inside stank of desperation, perfume, and blood.
Then I heard her voice–Scarlett. Low. Controlled. My girl was always calm. before the storm.
I followed it like a hound on a scent, rounding the corridor into the master
cabin-
And there he was.
Winston. Holding her. Blade pressed to her throat. My woman bruised, bloodied, blouse torn–but her eyes? They burned with defiance.
He saw me.
“You’re too late, Zacharias.” His voice trembled, but the knife didn’t. “You think
you scare me? She’s mine now. She was always meant to be mine—”
I raised my gun. Steady. Silent. Cold as hell.
“Let her go.” My voice didn’t rise. Didn’t shake. It didn’t need to. “Or I’ll carve your soul out through your teeth.”
His hand twitched.
And that’s when Scarlett smiled.
Because she knew.
She knew the devil had come. And this time, he wore her bullet.
Winston’s hand twitched again, the blade still pressed to her throat. My aim didn’t waver. His eyes flicked to me, then back to Scarlett. That was his
mistake.
Because her fingers were already moving.
She struck fast–glass in hand–driving it into his eye with a sickening crunch. He screamed, staggering, blood gushing down his cheek.
I didn’t hesitate.
One bullet–his thigh exploded. He went down hard, howling like a feral dog. I crossed the cabin in three steps, gun in one hand, knife in the other.
“You should’ve died the second you touched her,” I said, voice calm as winter
steel,
Winston scrambled back, eye gone, leg useless, breathing like a cornered animal. I looked at him–really looked. The sweat. The fear. The same man who once dared to speak Scarlett’s name like he owned it.
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I raised the gun.
Three bullets to the skull. Pop. Pop. Pop.
He was already gone when I turned the barrel to his chest. But I didn’t care.
Three more.
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One for every bruise on her skin. Every scream she didn’t let out. Every tear she refused to shed.
I stepped forward, spit on what was left of his face, and looked down at him like he was nothing but filth on my shoe.
“This is what happens,” I said quietly, “to anyone who takes what’s mine.”
The silence that followed wasn’t peaceful. It was holy.
Then I turned to her–Scarlett.
She was standing, barely. Covered in blood, blouse hanging open, hands shaking. Her eyes met mine–those fire–drenched eyes I’d crossed oceans for.
Then she collapsed.
I caught her before she hit the floor, her weight folding into my arms like she never wanted to stand again.
“You’re not allowed to leave me again,” I whispered against her hair, holding her tighter than life itself. “You hear me, Scarlett? That was a one–time stunt. Next time you vanish, I’ll burn the whole world blind to find you.”
She didn’t speak, but her hand gripped my shirt. That was enough.
We were back on the mainland before the sun rose.
Winston’s body was dumped into the Atlantic. No grave. No name. No legacy.
Thad his records wiped, his businesses seized, every trace of him–photos,
accounts, whispers–erased from the underworld like he never existed.
Then came Alina.
She was caught trying to flee the country in a red coat and fake passport, boarding a private jet like she hadn’t orchestrated half the hell we’d walked through.
She screamed when they cuffed her. Claimed innocence, love, delusion.
Didn’t matter.
Her betrayal went public. Court filings. Medical records. All of it. The world saw her for what she was–a snake in designer heels.
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林家77%會
I waited a week before visiting her. Just long enough for the prison stink to settle in her bones.
She was in a grey jumpsuit when they brought her into the visitation room, chained at the wrists. She still had that bratty sneer, like she thought the world owed her something.
“Zachy,” she said, fake sweet. “So dramatic. Came to gloat?”
1 didn’t sit.
I didn’t blink.
I leaned close to the glass, voice low.
“You ever breathe Scarlett’s name again,” I said, “and I’ll bribe every guard in this place to leave the cameras running while I finish what you started.”
She flinched.
Good.
“You’re done, Alina. No escape. No appeal. And if you even dream of her again… I’ll make sure you wake up screaming.”
I walked away before she could answer.
Scarlett was waiting in the car, legs crossed, sunglasses on, that quiet fury still burning behind her calm face.
She looked at me.
And for the first time in weeks, she smiled.
Not soft. Not sweet.
It was the kind of smile a queen wears when her crown is soaked in blood.
Home, at last.
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