The city never slept — not when blood debts lingered in the air.
Michael sat in his study, the glow of a single desk lamp illuminating the files scattered before him. Every page was a thread in a tangled web of revenge, betrayal, and power. Leo Crane's death had left a vacuum, and Isabelle Crowe was ready to fill it with violence.
Connor leaned against the doorframe. "Security sweep's done. No sign of her."
Michael didn't look up. "She's out there. Waiting."
Connor hesitated. "Hazel's in the training room. Again."
Michael allowed a small, grim smile. "Good."
Because Hazel Graze wasn't a damsel. Not anymore. She was a storm — and storms didn't run from thunder.
**
In the Graze Penthouse Basement
The room was dimly lit, walls lined with weapon racks and combat mats. Hazel's reflection glared back at her in the mirror, sweat-slicked skin, hair falling loose from its tie. A gun rested on the table. Next to it — Isabelle's photo.
Hazel threw another punch at the sandbag, knuckles bruising.
"I'm not afraid of you," she whispered to the picture.
"Good," came Michael's voice from the doorway.
She didn't turn.
"Let's go again," she said.
Michael stepped onto the mat. "Hazel—"
"I need this," she snapped.
He moved toward her, taking her wrists gently. "You're not alone in this."
Hazel's eyes glistened, but her chin lifted stubbornly. "If she touches anyone I care about…"
Michael kissed her knuckles. "She won't."
For a moment, the tension cracked, replaced by something deeper, rawer.
Hazel let out a shaky laugh. "You realize we went from arranged marriage awkward dinners to plotting murder together."
Michael smirked. "I've had worse dates."
She grinned, pulling him down for a kiss that tasted of salt and defiance.
**
Meanwhile — Across the City
Isabelle Crowe sat in an abandoned high-rise, overlooking the skyline. The city glittered, indifferent to its monsters.
She held an old locket in her palm — a photo of her brother, Liam Crowe. His face a mirror of innocence long gone.
"They took you from me," she whispered. "And now, I'll take everything from them."
A voice spoke behind her.
"You sure you're ready for this?"
Isabelle didn't flinch. A tall man stepped out of the shadows — Roman Vale, ex-Crane lieutenant.
She smirked. "Are you?"
He tossed a folder onto the table. Inside — photos of Graze security rotations, Michael's schedule, Hazel's favorite café.
"I have everything you asked for," Roman said. "But this war… it won't end with just them."
Isabelle's eyes darkened. "Good."
**
The Next Day — Graze Tower
Hazel stepped out of the elevator, radiating lethal elegance in a midnight-black suit, heels clicking like gunshots. Michael waited, phone in hand, face grim.
"She sent a message," he said, handing it over.
Hazel read it.
'I'll see you tonight. Bring your best shot. Or don't bother coming at all.'
Hazel's heart raced.
"Where?"
Michael's jaw flexed. "Pier 17. Midnight."
Connor appeared, pale. "Boss… it's a trap."
Hazel grinned, eyes glittering like a predator's. "Then let's spring it."
**
Midnight — Pier 17
Fog curled off the water, thick and choking. Michael, Connor, and half a dozen armed men flanked Hazel as they approached the warehouse. Silence pressed down like a weight.
A shadow moved.
Then another.
Suddenly, floodlights snapped on, blinding them.
Isabelle Crowe stepped forward, dressed in leather and fury. Roman and his men circled behind her.
"Took you long enough," she called.
Hazel stepped ahead, unflinching. "I'm here. Now what?"
Isabelle smiled, cold and cruel. "Now we settle this. Woman to woman."
Michael growled. "Over my dead—"
Hazel cut him off. "Done."
The men tensed, but Isabelle raised a hand. "Nobody moves."
She threw a gun down on the table between them. "One bullet each. One shot. No backup."
Hazel's gaze didn't waver. "You'll regret this."
Isabelle smirked. "Let's find out.".....