The city of New Orleans was in chaos. Sirens blared through the streets. Helicopters hovered over shattered buildings. The remnants of the massacre at Xylo Club had spread like wildfire, filling the news with hysteria.

  And yet—on top of the Hancock Whitney Center, where the wind howled, and the city lights flickered like dying stars, a woman stood, utterly unbothered.

  She was Leo.

  Wearing a snug black outfit with a cool red lion logo stitched on her back, she radiated a vibe of absolute power. Her golden eyes sparkled with a strange sense of fun as she looked out at the far-off forest.

  A slow, playful grin appeared on her face.

  “Oh?” Her voice was smooth and kind of fun, but you could tell there was something serious behind it. “All three are dead already?”

  She let out a soft chuckle—low and unsettling.

  “Impressive.”

  For a moment, she considered heading there herself, cutting through the trees like a lion on the hunt. But she didn’t move.

  No, she wasn’t foolish enough to rush in blindly. She did not know the full extent of Ronan’s power. Nor did she know how deep the Cross Family’s influence ran.

  Throughout the year, Leo learned one important thing. Never underestimate anyone from the same place as the Lord—the Beast World.

  The wind pulled at her coat, but she held her ground, staring at the moonlit forest as memories came rushing back.

  A year ago, she was a whole different person.

  Someone weak. Someone powerless.

  Someone forgotten.

  ***

  It was the same place, the same routine, a year ago.

  This place always had that smell of greasy food and cheap beer hung in the air.

  Leo—back then, just Leona Alvarez, a waitress.

  She was once again behind the counter of a small, messy diner, holding a tray. She was ready to bring it out.

  She would always hold it so tightly that her knuckles turned white.

  If she made a mistake while bringing food or drinks, she would get in trouble for it, even though it usually wasn’t her fault. Today was no different.

  “Hey, babe,” a tipsy dude shouted from one of the booths, waving his drink slowly. “Gimme another round. And maybe a smile this time, huh?”

  Leona didn’t respond. She didn’t even look at him. She had long since learned that eye contact was an invitation.

  “Damn, girl.” Another one whistled. “What’s with the attitude? You too good to smile for us?”

  More laughter. The kind that made her stomach twist.

  She turned, walking away quickly.

  “You bitch! How dare you ignore me?!”

  It was bad enough to get insulted, but then out of nowhere, someone grabbed her butt.

  Leona froze. It was an instinct—one beaten into her over years of dealing with men like this.

  Don’t react. Don’t escalate. Just walk away.

  She shivered as the guy's fingers now gripped her arm. His strong, alcohol-laced breath hit her shoulder.

  “Come on, give me some face.” He held on a bit harder. “Just say somethin’ nice for me.”

  Her teeth clenched. She wanted to scream. She wanted to rip his hand away. To throw his drink in his face. To break every single one of his disgusting fingers.

  But she didn’t.

  Because she couldn’t.

  Because this was how it always was.

  Her manager stood by the bar, watching but not interfering. The other waitresses pretended not to notice.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Because in their world, this was normal.

  This was what it meant to be weak.

  A commodity. A toy. A thing.

  And when the man finally let go—laughing like it was all a joke—Leona turned and walked away.

  She didn’t cry. She didn’t react. She just kept moving.

  Because that was the only thing she could do.

  Her life was the same every day. After work, she went home.

  Leona hated going home.

  As always, the second she stepped through the door, she would see her father.

  Not only that, the ones that would greet her first before anything was the overwhelming stench of alcohol and cigarette smoke.

  Her father?

  He was an alcoholic. A gambler.

  He was lounged back on the couch, his shirt all stained, eyes red and puffy, with half a bottle of whiskey sitting on his belly. The definition of a useless father.

  He would always greet her with the same lines as she walked in.

  “You're late.” His speech was a bit muddled. “Where's my money?”

  "Your money?" Leona gripped her purse tightly. “I told you—I barely make enough to—”

  THWACK.

  The bottle slammed onto the coffee table. Her father slowly sat up, glaring at her.

  “Don’t start.” His voice was low, dangerous. “Just hand it over.”

  She figured it was pointless to argue, as always. Talking to him was useless.

  With no other choice, she reached into her purse and took out the crumpled bills she had saved from tips.

  "Why so slow?!" Her father grabbed them right out of her hands.

  "What? Is this all you've got?" He shot Leona a dirty look. "Did you blow it all already?"

  Leona was shaking with fear and anger, but she just shook her head. Her eyes were fixed on the floor. "No... I'll think of something to get some extra cash."

  Then, he leaned back as if she wasn't there and took a long drink from his bottle.

  Leona just stood there. This was her life.

  Day in. Day out. The same thing.

  Until that day, it had gotten so much worse.

  The loan sharks came on a Thursday.

  Leona had just gotten off the bus after a long shift at the restaurant. Her uniform smelled like smoke, her feet hurt from standing all day, and she was hungry because she hadn’t eaten since morning.

  But hunger could wait. Sleep could wait. Everything could wait.

  Right now, she just wanted to take a shower, go to bed, and pretend for a few hours that her life wasn’t a total mess.

  That was when she heard voices.

  Men. Low, laughing.

  And beneath them—her father’s voice.

  Slurred. Desperate. Begging.

  Her fingers clenched around her keys. Something was wrong. She opened the door slowly, breathing unevenly as the voices grew clearer.

  The sight before her made her tremble. This was new. This was different.

  Her father knelt in the living room. Three men in suits stood over him, their presence heavy and uncomfortable, like smoke in a dark bar.

  "What's... happening?" she asked. Her voice was trembling.

  Even though her father had problems and never treated her well, she still worried about him.

  The bald man with cold, dead eyes turned and smiled.

  "Oh? There she is."

  Her father quickly turned his head, his eyes wide and red. His lips shook as he reached out a trembling hand toward her.

  “Leona,” he said. “You—you can fix this, right? You—you can help your father, right?”

  Leona’s fingers locked up. Her gut twisted. Some deep, primal part of her already knew—

  “…What?” she whispered.

  The bald man sighed and rolled his shoulders as if this were just another day at work.

  “Look... Your father over here,” he said, “he owes a lot of money.”

  He pointed to their small, old apartment. The wallpaper was peeling, the couch was sinking, and there were empty beer cans piled in the corner.

  "Well, look at him," the bald man added. “No car. No savings. Not a single valuable thing left.”

  Then, he turned back to her and smiled widely.

  “But he is lucky,” he said as he pointed to her as if she were a special prize on display.

  “He still has you.”

  A heavy, horrible silence descended.

  Leona felt nauseous. Her blood ran ice-cold.

  Her father wouldn’t.

  He couldn’t.

  She turned to him—to the man who was supposed to protect her, to the man who was supposed to be her father—

  And she saw it.

  The guilt.

  The shame.

  But no regret.

  Her world tilted. Her breath came short and shallow.

  He had done it. He had actually done it.

  The bald man sighed. “It’s nothing personal, sweetheart. Just business.”

  Then he stepped toward her.

  Leona’s body locked up. Every instinct told her to run, to fight, to do something, but she couldn't.

  She was finding it hard to breathe. Because this was it. This was how it ended.

  Her chest tightened, her mind spiraled, and for the first time in her life—

  She wanted to die.

  She wished she had never been born.

  She wished she could just disappear.

  She wished—

  SHHHK.

  A head rolled onto the floor. Blood splattered the walls.

  Leona gasped.

  The bald man twitched, his mouth still locked in a smug, predatory grin—but his head was already separated from his body.

  A shadow stood in the doorway.

  No—not a shadow.

  Not a man.

  Something else.

  The remaining two men staggered back, hands darting toward their guns.

  But the shadow moved first. It was fast. Too fast.

  The second man’s body was torn in half before he could even scream.

  The third managed to fire a single shot—but the bullet vanished into the darkness like it had never existed.

  And then—he was gone, too.

  Leona stood still; her breath was shallow, and her body shook.

  Her father, who was still kneeling on the floor, sobbed. Too drunk, too weak, too pathetic to do anything else.

  Then, the shadow turned to him.

  The old man looked up, his face twisting in terror. “P-Please—”

  It was the Lord. It was the first day Leona met the Lord.

  Despite her father's begging, the Lord did not hesitate. "You should die."

  A black tendril shot forward, wrapping around her father’s throat.

  Leona watched—silent, unblinking—as the darkness squeezed.

  There was no struggle. No screams. Just a sickening crunch.

  Then, the darkness let go. Her father’s lifeless body slumped onto the floor.

  Leona did not move. She did not even cry. To be honest, she did not feel anything at all.

  She just stared at the man—the thing—that had just changed everything.

  Then, with a voice smooth as velvet, the Lord spoke.

  “Power. I can give it to you.”

  Leona’s breath hitched.

  “A way out. I can give it to you.”

  Her heart was racing in her ears.

  "Do you wish for a new life?"

  This was it. Leona believed that this was her fate. She could die here, or she could become something else.

  Her hands balled into fists.

  Slowly, she looked up.

  Then, in a voice stronger than she expected, she quietly said, “Yes.”

  And so—Leo was born.