The SUV roared down the private road like a predator scenting blood.
Alfreda sat in the back, dressed in black leather from neck to heel. Her fingers tightened around the grip of her silencer-equipped pistol. Beside her, Nathaniel loaded a fresh clip into his gun, his jaw clenched tight.
"You ready?" he asked, voice gravel.
"No," she whispered, eyes locked on the horizon. "But I'm going anyway."
Dano turned in the driver's seat. "Security's brutal. We go loud, we don't come out."
Nathaniel cracked his neck. "Then we go quiet… until it's time to scream."
One hour earlier
She found the courage in her pain.
She found the fire in her scars.
Alfreda had stood in front of the mirror, staring at the thin line slicing across her stomach—a reminder of what had been stolen.
That child had been hers. Theirs.
And Lucien had played God with his fate.
She wouldn't forgive. She wouldn't forget.
She would fight.
They parked a mile from the compound.
Fog crawled along the forest floor as they hiked silently toward the estate hidden in the trees.
Dano spoke into the comms. "North gate. Two guards. Machete and Glock."
Nathaniel nodded. "We ghost them. Alfie, with me."
In a matter of seconds, two bodies dropped into the foliage—silent, fast, clean.
Alfreda's heart pounded. She didn't hesitate. Not anymore.
They breached the outer wall, slipping inside the darkness of the main house. Cameras spun on slow loops. They moved like whispers through the hallways of nightmares.
"I'll find him," Alfreda said. "You deal with Lucien."
Nathaniel touched her arm—just once, just long enough.
"If anything happens to you—"
"It already did," she said, and vanished into the east wing.
She found the door by instinct.
The playroom was pristine. Too pristine.
Drawings hung on the walls. Wooden toys lined the shelves. And in the center of it all sat a boy with black hair and stormy green eyes.
Her son.
Alfreda froze.
He was beautiful.
He was whole.
He was hers.
But he didn't know her. Not yet.
She took one step forward.
The boy looked up.
"Who are you?" he asked, blinking.
Her voice cracked. "I… I'm someone who loves you more than anyone ever could."
He tilted his head. "Are you one of the mean doctors?"
"No. Never. I'm—" She swallowed. "I'm your mother."
The boy's eyes widened.
Then he screamed.
Behind her, the door clicked open.
Lucien.
Tall. Cold. Dressed in a crimson shirt like he'd bled the fabric himself.
"Well, well," he purred. "Isn't this… maternal?"
Alfreda turned, gun raised. "Let him go."
Lucien raised both hands. "Careful. That's our son watching. You don't want his first memory of Mommy to be blood on the walls, do you?"
She flinched.
Lucien's voice softened, twisted with something unholy. "He thinks I saved him. Because I did. I gave him a life while you were busy being a ghost."
"You're a liar."
He smiled. "I'm also the one who taught him how to tie his shoes. And how to shoot a gun. Cute, right?"
She trembled. "He's a child."
"He's my child now."
Downstairs, Nathaniel moved like death on legs.
He took out the guards one by one until he reached the library—Lucien's war room. Empty.
Only a laptop glowed on the desk.
A live feed.
He clicked it.
Alfreda.
The boy.
Lucien.
Nathaniel's blood turned black with fury.
He bolted.
Lucien stepped closer to Alfreda.
"You want him? You think you can just show up after all these years and reclaim the crown?" he said. "He doesn't know you. And I've made sure he never will."
"I'll tell him the truth."
Lucien's smile faded. "He won't believe you."
"I'll make him feel it."
Lucien struck her across the face.
The boy gasped.
"Mommy!"
Alfreda crumpled to the floor, blood on her lip.
Lucien turned to the boy. "She's not your mother. She's a mistake. She left you."
"I didn't," she whispered. "He took you. I bled for you."
The boy's eyes darted between them, confused.
Then—
BANG.
The door shattered.
Nathaniel stormed in, gun raised. "Touch her again and I swear to God, I'll rip your heart out."
Lucien grinned. "You're late, cousin."
"I'm right on time."
Gunfire lit the air.
The boy screamed.
Alfreda shielded him.
Nathaniel tackled Lucien, fists flying, knuckles breaking.
"You took her life," he growled, slamming Lucien into the wall. "You took my son."
Lucien laughed through the blood in his teeth. "And I raised him better than you ever could."
Alfreda held the boy close.
He stared up at her.
"Are you… really my mom?"
She sobbed. "Yes, baby. I'm so sorry."
Lucien lunged again.
BANG.
Nathaniel shot him through the leg.
Lucien fell, howling.
Sirens in the distance.
Dano had triggered the backup plan.
"Grab the boy!" Nathaniel shouted.
Alfreda reached for him—but the child stepped back.
"I want to stay with Uncle Lucien…"
She froze.
Heart. Shattered.
He looked at her, scared and unsure.
"I don't know you."
Lucien laughed from the floor, bleeding. "Told you… he's mine."
Nathaniel grabbed Alfreda's hand. "We have to go."
"No!"
"He's not safe here. But we'll come back."
Alfreda looked one last time at the boy.
Her boy.
And left.
Outside, chaos raged. Explosions rocked the gate as Nathaniel, Alfreda, and Dano escaped into the night.
Behind them, the estate burned.
But Alfreda didn't feel the heat.
Only the cold of a child's voice:
I don't know you.