The heavy mahogany doors swung open, and Tesmee Michaelson stepped in, a storm wrapped in elegance.
Her black fitted dress hugged her curvy frame, her blood-red stilettos striking sharply against the marble floor with every step.
Her steel-grey eyes, glinting like blades under the chandelier light, swept over the Hales' estate — and landed directly on him.
Tyson Hale.
Golden-eyed. Stone-faced. Rage simmering beneath the surface.
The air thickened instantly.
A current passed between them, raw and electric — a silent battlefield where words were useless.
She sat beside him at the dinner table, their bodies painfully close.
Silverware clinked. Crystal glasses chimed.
Conversations floated aimlessly around them — but between Tyson and Tesmee, there was only silence.
Their eyes met over the rim of Tesmee's wineglass — a cold, merciless stare.
Yet underneath the frost, flashes of an old night blazed in both their minds — a night neither would ever speak of, but neither could forget.
A night filled with mistakes, betrayal, and something dangerously close to passion.
Tesmee's lips quirked in a knowing smirk.
Tyson's jaw tightened, the muscles flexing hard enough to crack bone.
The Hales could feel it.
The room was thick with a tension too sharp, too personal to ignore.
By the end of dinner, Tesmee rose gracefully, offering Ashley a soft, practiced smile, and left behind an atmosphere that crackled with unspoken threats.
Months passed.
Their silent war turned bloody.
Sabotage. Territory raids. Silent deaths in the night.
Still, they smiled for Ashley — wearing masks stitched tight by duty.
Until Ashley's baby shower.
Tesmee arrived draped in black, her men shadowing her like loyal wolves.
Tyson's guards mirrored them, stationed across the estate's gates, eyes cold and fingers twitching near triggers.
Tyson spotted her immediately — the black silhouette slicing through the sea of pastel celebrations.
His fury erupted.
He strode across the hall, his boots pounding against the floor, grabbing Tesmee by the throat before anyone could react.
The room gasped.
Ashley froze, her hands flying to her mouth.
Tesmee didn't move.
Didn't blink.
Her steel-grey eyes locked onto his golden ones, taunting him in silence.
Tyson's grip tightened, his fingers digging into her soft skin. His face was inches from hers, his breath ragged with suppressed violence.
"You don't belong here," he growled, his voice low, dark, terrifying.
But Tesmee only smiled — slow, defiant, deadly.
"Then make me leave," she whispered, her voice velvet over a blade.
Around them, guns clicked.
Tyson's men. Tesmee's men.
Two armies ready to die for a single word.
Ashley stumbled forward, tears already in her eyes, screaming Tyson's name — begging, pleading, her voice breaking against the heavy walls.
Her world was crumbling before her — the two people she loved most, tearing each other apart like wild animals.
Tom Hale grabbed her, holding her back, his face grim with the weight of truths Ashley didn't yet know.
For a heartbeat, the world hung suspended.
Then Tesmee slowly raised a hand.
A single, calm command.
Her men lowered their guns instantly, their obedience absolute.
After a breathless moment, Tyson's men followed suit, tension bleeding into uneasy silence.
Tesmee's gaze flicked briefly to Ashley — pity? regret? — before she turned and melted into the crowd, her scent of danger lingering behind.
The party stumbled forward, but nothing felt real anymore.
Ashley watched Tesmee leave, her heart breaking in silent confusion.
She could feel it now, heavy in her bones:
There was a war coming.
And it had started long before to