Chapter Title: Here She Is.
Lia's POV...
"Life is survival of the fittest," a truth as ancient as time itself. We all live by it, whether we acknowledge it or not. This life—cruel, unforgiving, and wretched—demands strength. It's a battlefield where even kin might betray one another, driven by the seductive lure of power.
Power—it's intoxicating, all-consuming. It can twist the bonds of brotherhood into nothing more than stepping stones on the path to dominance. Justifications abound, but they all trace back to the lessons I've learned over the years: to reach the summit of success, sacrifices must be made. Heads will roll, and the path to the top is paved with the bodies of the fallen. Such is the price of ambition in a world that spares no one.
...
As the plane descended, I gazed out the window at the city below—Apoliom, the place I once called home. The sight that once filled me with warmth and nostalgia now stirred only disgust, disdain, and a simmering hatred. The city that never sleeps, they call it, and indeed, it wears its name like a crown. Once my haven, it is now nothing more than a pawn in the intricate game I'm determined to win. Life, after all, is anything but predictable.
Below, the city's lights blazed unapologetically, a sea of illumination that defied the darkness. The streets, even at this late hour, were alive with movement: hurried footsteps, the incessant honking of impatient drivers, and the faint hum of music drifting through the air. Apoliom never rested, its pulse a constant, restless beat.
It was as though the city itself had forgotten how to pause—how to breathe. In its relentless rhythm, I saw a reflection of my own journey, a reminder that in this game of survival, there is no room for rest.
It was as if no one in this place ever paused—no one knew how to stop.
The pilot eased the plane's thrust as the glowing runway emerged from the darkness, a beacon guiding the aircraft home. The descent was smooth, calculated, like a hunter closing in on its prey, every movement deliberate.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we have arrived at our destination. Flight attendants, prepare for landing," the pilot's voice resonated through the cabin, steady and assured.
The plane touched down with a soft thud, the wheels meeting the earth in a subtle, final embrace as the journey concluded.
Moments later, the exit door slid open, and the jet bridge extended into place with effortless precision. I rose from my seat, moving toward the exit with an ease that suggested nothing could ruffle my composure. The sharp click of my heels echoed in the quiet cabin, rhythmic and assured, cutting through the stillness as if every step had been preordained.
The guards lined up at the end of the bridge, standing in perfect formation, their presence silent yet commanding. As I passed them, each one bowed his head slightly, their right hands pressed firmly against their chests in a gesture that was more instinctive than ceremonial—a silent pledge of respect.
I didn't let my gaze waver. It remained fixed on the only person who truly mattered now. He stood there, unfazed by the world around him, his nonchalance a contrast to the perfectly orchestrated show that had unfolded around us. He looked almost detached, as though nothing could touch him—not even the gravity of my return.
Then, as though breaking free from his own thoughts, he spoke, his voice carrying a sense of recognition, but without reverence or awe. "There she is, the devil herself."
The words hung in the air, punctuating the silence with their weight. I didn't need to acknowledge them. They were an acknowledgment of my return, my presence—powerful, undeniable, and complete.
I continued my stride, my pace slow and deliberate, each step calculated as though I were simply passing through a world built to bend around me. The echo of my heels against the floor was the only sound, a rhythm that reminded everyone who was in control.
As I drew closer to where he stood, I could see him open his arms wide, his stance inviting me into his embrace as though he expected me to rush into it.
"You've got to be kidding me," I muttered under my breath, rolling my eyes in silent disbelief.
I could already feel the weight of his gaze, the unspoken expectation hanging between us. Still, I refused to be rushed. Taking my time, I closed the distance slowly, deliberately, as though the very act of approaching him had to be on my terms.
When I finally reached him, he wrapped his arms around me with a surprising firmness, as if bracing himself for me to bolt away the moment I felt the warmth of his grip.
"Missed you," he said softly, his voice low and steady, but his grip on me remained firm, as if releasing me would shatter something fragile.
I raised an eyebrow, my voice laced with quiet defiance. "Well, kid, I didn't." I pushed gently against his chest, breaking free from his embrace with a subtle but determined effort.
Turning away, I strode toward the waiting car, my movements unhurried, exuding a calm that belied the tension in the air.
As I reached the car, his voice followed me, playful yet tinged with something deeper. "You lie so smoothly, you don't even flinch."
I paused for the briefest moment, letting his words settle before slipping into the car without a backward glance, leaving him to stand in the wake of my silence.
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