THE FIRST MOVE

  The first time she saw him again, it was a trick of the light.

  It had to be.

  Serena Hawthorne sat beneath the golden glow of the gala's chandeliers, a crystal flute of champagne balanced between her fingers, drowning in the polite murmur of the wealthy and the powerful. She had spent years perfecting this-this carefully curated illusion of security, of invincibility.

  And then, he walked in.

  Lukas Carter.

  A name she had buried. A man she had destroyed.

  She felt it before she saw him, an almost imperceptible shift in the air-as if the universe itself recoiled at his return.

  Her fingers stiffened around the glass. The champagne, once sweet, turned acrid on her tongue. Serena wasn't a woman easily shaken, but in that moment, with his presence suffocating the room, her breath felt stolen from her chest.

  It wasn't possible.

  Lukas was gone.

  She had made sure of it.

  Yet there he was, standing at the edge of the ballroom, watching her.

  She dared to lift her gaze.

  He hadn't changed. Not really.

  The same ruthless angles carved his face-sharp, defined, unforgiving. Those piercing blue eyes that had once looked at her with unyielding devotion now carried something else entirely. Something darker. A quiet, deliberate rage, tempered by the kind of patience that only comes with a plan.

  Lukas Carter was not the kind of man who walked into a room without reason.

  And he sure as hell wasn't the kind of man who came back from the dead without purpose.

  Serena's nails pressed into the delicate glass, her pulse pounding in her throat. The last time she had seen Lukas, his body had been broken and bloody, drowning in a night she had buried so deep she almost convinced herself it never happened.

  But ghosts don't stay buried.

  And this ghost wasn't here to haunt her.

  He was here to collect.

  A sickening realization settled in her stomach as Lukas finally moved. Not toward her. Not yet. But enough for her to see the flicker of amusement in his gaze, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking.

  As if he had planned this moment down to the very second.

  Serena forced herself to breathe, lifting her glass to her lips in a desperate attempt to steady her hands. No one else noticed him.

  To them, he was just another strikingly handsome man in an expensive suit, blending into the sea of privilege and excess.

  But Serena knew better.

  Lukas was not here to blend in.

  He was here to watch her squirm.

  A chill danced over her skin, and she set her drink down, willing herself to move, to do something. She needed to get out. Now.

  But then-

  A waiter passed by, offering a fresh glass of wine. She barely acknowledged him, her mind fixated on escape, until-

  "Miss Hawthorne."

  A voice. Deep. Familiar. Unmistakable.

  Her heart stopped.

  It wasn't the waiter speaking.

  It was him.

  Lukas.

  Her head snapped up, and before she could stop herself, her eyes locked onto his. He was standing closer now, impossibly close, yet no one seemed to notice the shift in the room-the sudden, suffocating weight of his presence.

  Serena had spent years building herself into something untouchable. And yet, with a single word, Lukas Carter had reached into her chest and wrapped his fingers around her spine.

  A slow smirk curved his lips, cold and cruel. The kind of smirk that didn't just promise destruction-it promised enjoyment.

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  "It's been a while," he said, voice smooth as silk, sharp as a blade.

  She swallowed, her throat dry.

  "You're dead," she whispered.

  Lukas tilted his head slightly, like he was amused by the idea.

  "Am I?"

  And then, before she could blink, before she could even begin to process what was happening, he stepped closer.

  Close enough for her to feel his warmth.

  Close enough to ruin her.

  THE NEXT MOVE

  Silence stretched between them, thick and charged.

  Serena had faced enemies before-competitors, rivals, people who wanted her power, her wealth, her throne. She had crushed them all.

  But this was different.

  Lukas wasn't an enemy.

  Lukas was the past.

  The past, dressed in a tailored black suit, with a gaze that burned straight through her armor.

  He shouldn't have been here.

  He shouldn't have been alive.

  And yet, here he was, close enough to touch, his breath ghosting over her cheek as he leaned in, his voice a whisper of steel.

  "Did you miss me?"

  Serena's jaw tightened, but she refused to step back. If she gave him even an inch, he would take everything.

  "I don't play games, Lukas."

  He chuckled-low, dark.

  "Oh, Serena."

  His fingers brushed over her wrist. Light. Barely there. But it was enough. Enough to remind her of everything she had tried to forget.

  "You don't get to say that."

  She yanked her hand away.

  "What do you want?"

  Lukas tilted his head, as if considering the question. Then, slowly, deliberately-

  "Everything."

  A chill ran down her spine.

  Serena had built herself into a queen, a ruler, a woman no one could touch.

  But kings don't return from the dead without a crown to claim.

  And Lukas Carter was here to take back what was his.

  Every piece of her.

  Every breath.

  Every scream.

  The game had just begun.

  Before she could react, he stepped even closer, the scent of crisp cologne and something darker-something dangerous-curling around her senses.

  "You look good," he murmured, his gaze raking over her. "Better than I expected. But then again, you always knew how to survive."

  Serena's fingers curled into a fist at her side. "Spare me the pleasantries, Lukas. If you're here to make a scene, do it quickly and get out."

  His smirk widened. "Oh, Serena." He leaned in slightly, voice dropping lower. "I didn't come here to make a scene. I came to watch you break."

  Her breath hitched.

  Because she knew Lukas Carter.

  She knew what he was capable of.

  And if he had survived that night-if he had clawed his way out of the grave she had left him in-then he had done so with only one thing in mind.

  Revenge.

  A RECKONING IN SILK

  Serena knew how to play this game.

  She had spent years learning how to wield power, how to control a room, how to be the woman no one could touch.

  But right now-under his gaze-she felt something she hadn't felt in a very long time.

  Cornered.

  Lukas Carter had not just come back from the dead. He had come back with a plan. And if there was one thing Serena knew for certain, it was that men like Lukas didn't return without a reason.

  She forced herself to exhale, shifting her posture just enough to project indifference. It was a trick she had perfected over the years-power was perception. If they believed you were untouchable, you were.

  Even if the man before her had already touched every inch of her before.

  Even if he had buried himself so deep in her bones that she could still feel the ghost of him in the spaces he once occupied.

  Not now. Not here.

  She schooled her expression into something cool, detached. "If you want something, Lukas, you'll have to get in line. I'm very busy."

  His smirk was slow, deliberate. The kind of smile that wasn't meant to comfort-but to warn.

  "Oh, I don't wait in lines, Serena." His voice was low, rich with something dangerous. "I cut straight through them."

  A muscle in her jaw tightened. Of course he did.

  She refused to let her gaze flicker away. "Then say what you came here to say and leave."

  He tilted his head, studying her like a puzzle he had already solved. His fingers toyed with the cuff of his sleeve, his movements slow, controlled-calculated.

  And then, finally-"You owe me."

  The words settled like ice in her veins.

  Serena let out a quiet breath through her nose, refusing to let her pulse betray her. "I don't owe anyone anything."

  Lukas chuckled, but there was no humor in it. "You don't get to rewrite history, Serena. Not with me."

  She took a step back, creating space-control-but it was a mistake.

  Because Lukas followed.

  Close.

  Too close.

  "That night," he murmured, voice like silk and steel. "Do you ever think about it?"

  Serena's fingers twitched at her side. No. No, she didn't. She had burned that night from her memory. Had suffocated it under layers of power and privilege. Had convinced herself that the blood on her hands had long since dried.

  But Lukas Carter was standing before her. Alive. Whole. Unforgiving.

  And suddenly, she wasn't so sure that the past had ever really let her go.

  Her throat felt tight. "I don't know what you're talking about."

  Lukas' smile was almost kind. That was the worst part. "Oh, sweetheart." He reached up-casually, carelessly-and traced a single finger along the strap of her dress. A whisper of a touch. Barely there. "Lying to yourself won't save you."

  A sharp breath. A step back. The mask of control cracked.

  And Lukas saw it.

  Of course he did.

  His gaze flickered over her, something satisfied gleaming in those ice-blue depths.

  "I should let you enjoy the rest of your evening," he mused, stepping back at last.

  The sudden absence of him was suffocating in its own way.

  Serena hated it.

  But before she could form a response, before she could find the right words to wield as a weapon, Lukas leaned in-one last time.

  And in a voice only she could hear, he whispered-

  "I'll be seeing you soon."

  Then-he was gone.

  The air in her lungs felt thin. The world around her blurred at the edges.

  And for the first time in years, Serena Hawthorne felt something she did not allow herself to feel.

  Fear.

  A MAN WITH A PLAN

  Lukas Carter stepped out of the ballroom, his expression unreadable.

  The night air was crisp, cutting through the warmth of the gala like a blade. He welcomed it.

  She was shaken.

  Good.

  He had spent too long waiting for this moment. Too long rotting in the grave she had left him in.

  Serena thought she had buried him.

  She thought she had won.

  She had no idea what was coming.

  Lukas exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders back as he stepped toward the waiting car at the curb. The driver stood at attention, opening the door without question.

  He slid inside, leaning back against the leather seat, and pulled out his phone. A single unread message blinked on the screen.

  Unknown Number: Well?

  A slow, dangerous smile curled at the edge of his lips as he typed his response.

  Lukas: She's exactly where I want her.

  He sent the message, tucking his phone away.

  Then, as the car pulled away from the curb, Lukas allowed himself a single thought.

  Checkmate, sweetheart.