SHADOWLESS LOVE

The night was crisp, and the air carried an edge as sharp as a blade. Stepping out of my sleek black Aston Martin, I was greeted by the imposing façade of the Ivanova Mansion.

The estate loomed like a shadowed titan, its dark marble walls gleaming faintly under the pale moonlight. Elaborate turrets reached skyward, as if trying to pierce the heavens, while ivy-clad balconies hung like silent sentinels. A vast fountain, carved from onyx and adorned with statues of mythical beasts, gushed water that shimmered an eerie, iridescent blue.

Before me, five rows of The Thugs, the Special Guards of the House of Ivanova, stood at attention. Dressed in pitch-black combat uniforms, their presence exuded discipline and a quiet menace.

They were rumored to be as ruthless as they were loyal, the kind of men who could kill without hesitation and sleep soundly afterward.

The leader of the unit stepped forward, bowing a precise ninety degrees. His slicked-back black hair revealed a jagged scar above his left eyebrow—a testament to past violence. His dark brown eyes carried an unsettling blend of submission and pride, like a wolf willing to kneel but still capable of baring its fangs.

"We are honored by the grace of Hades," he announced, his voice as steady as his stance.

A smirk played on my lips. "You've bulked up since the last time I saw you, Yohan," I remarked, letting my tone carry a hint of mockery.

Yohan straightened, his expression impassive, though a flicker of discomfort flashed in his eyes.

Behind me, Cassian leaned casually against the car, his crooked smile twisting into something both charming and menacing. His dark eyes scanned the guards, each glance dripping with a silent promise of chaos.

"He still enjoys causing unnecessary trouble," Yohan muttered under his breath, his voice tinged with exasperation. It was rare to see him break his stoic mask, even briefly.

I chuckled, brushing past him as my overcoat swirled in the cold wind. "Ever seen a psychopath turn into a saint?" I said while passing by him.

As we walked toward the mansion, the servants bowed deeply, their eyes fixed on the ground. The massive double doors opened with a groan, revealing a grand hallway bathed in the dim glow of chandeliers.

"He's having issues with the first guy," Yohan said, his voice low. "And the one they're presenting to you isn't his real daughter. She's the fake I told you about."

I let his words linger, the puzzle pieces clicking into place. Jonathan Ivanova's audacity knew no bounds. To present a fake daughter in a proposal to the House of Valentino? It was bold—dangerously so.

"Hmm, that's... interesting," I murmured, a crooked smile curling my lips.

We stopped just before the entrance to the mansion's famed greenhouse. Its towering glass dome shimmered like a diamond, the light within casting intricate shadows across the frost-covered garden. Inside, the silhouettes of countless exotic plants loomed, their forms both beautiful and alien.

Jonathan's deep, commanding voice broke the silence. "I didn't know Hades had taken such a keen interest in my subordinate."

I turned slowly to face him. Despite his age, Jonathan Ivanova's presence was formidable. His once-black hair, now a distinguished gray, was slicked back, emphasizing the hard angles of his face. His piercing gray eyes met mine, calculating and cautious. Though he leaned slightly on a polished cane, his posture was upright, his demeanor unyielding.

"Well, I enjoy collecting talented individuals," I said, my tone light but deliberately provocative.

"Though it seems your dog is particularly loyal, Jonathan." Patting Yohan's cheek, I directed my glance toward Jonathan.

His lips tightened, and his gaze sharpened. "Haven't you learned how to properly address your elders, Aeron Valentino?" he asked, his voice calm but laced with warning.

I took a step closer, closing the distance between us. "Perhaps you could teach me," I replied with a smirk, my voice dripping with mock politeness. "After all, we'll be family soon, won't we?"

He held my gaze for a moment before nodding curtly, his displeasure barely concealed.

Jonathan gestured toward the greenhouse. "This way," he said tersely.

As we approached the entrance, he added, "Let me be clear—just because the proposal came from our side doesn't mean I'll tolerate any harm coming to my daughter."

The corner of my mouth twitched into a sly smile. His protectiveness only confirmed what I had suspected. This marriage wasn't his doing; it was orchestrated by the woman waiting inside.

"If I had intended trouble," I said, turning slightly to face him, "I wouldn't have come at all."

His shoulders relaxed slightly, but I caught the flicker of doubt in his eyes.

The greenhouse doors creaked open, and a wave of warmth and the scent of exotic blooms greeted me. Beyond the maze of vibrant flora, she waited—the "fake daughter" of Jonathan Ivanova. A mystery, a puzzle, and perhaps a blade waiting to be unsheathed.

As I stepped inside, anticipation coiled in my chest. Every piece of the game was falling into place.