Too Late For Regret: The Syndicate's Queen

Nadia POV

My fingers moved to the braided red string bracelet on my left wrist, working at the knot with methodical precision.

It was a symbol of our early alliance, tied by Leo's mother when we were just children to ward off bad luck.

I walked to the open penthouse window, held my hand out over the chasm of the city streets below—and let the red string slip from my fingers.

I watched it flutter away into the wind until it vanished completely.

The staccato click of heels on the hardwood announced her return.

Chloe strolled into the kitchen, a smug smile plastered across her face.

The scent of cheap vanilla perfume—the kind that clung to the velvet ropes of illicit clubs—rolled off her skin, making my stomach churn.

I looked at her with pure disgust.

"Get out," I warned, my voice dangerously low.

She walked straight to the refrigerator.

She pulled out the high-grade imported wagyu I had personally purchased for family dinner and tossed it directly into the trash can.

She leaned against the marble counter, a study in casual insolence, and mocked me.

"You're just a barren canary," she sneered, her eyes gleaming with malice. "You can't even produce a single heir to save your miserable life."

My shoes made no sound on the floor as I took a single step toward her.

I looked her up and down, taking in the plastic surgery and the cheap hair extensions.

"And you are nothing but a cartel corner-girl," I replied, my tone flat and devoid of heat. "There isn't a low-level soldier in this city who hasn't already had a turn with you."

The smug smile instantly vanished from her face.

I had struck her deepest, most guarded insecurity.

Her eyes widened in manic fury. A wild, desperate calculation flashed behind them—if she couldn't secure her position through charm, she would do it through destruction. A scarred, disfigured rival could never win Leo back, no matter how badly he later regretted his choices.

Her hand shot out, grabbing the heavy electric kettle from the stove, which had just clicked off from a rolling boil.

With a vicious, guttural scream, she hurled the scalding water directly at my face.

I threw my arms up instinctively to protect my eyes.

A wave of liquid fire splashed across my right forearm.

The intense, blistering heat seemed to fuse itself to my skin.

I gritted my teeth to hold back a scream, clutching my burning arm as the skin rapidly turned an angry, inflamed red.

The moment the kettle was empty, Chloe dropped it to the floor with a metallic clang and began screaming at the top of her lungs.

The sound of running footsteps echoed down the hall, and Leo rushed into the kitchen, his eyes wide with alarm.

Chloe pointed a trembling finger at me.

"Leo!" she wailed, false tears streaming down her face. "She's trying to mutilate herself for attention! She's just jealous of my babies!"

Leo looked at the water pooled on the floor, and then at my blistered arm.

He was completely blinded by his own massive ego and his desperate need to protect his new status symbol.

He believed her ridiculous lie without a single second of hesitation.

He looked at me with a level of utter, chilling disgust I had never seen before.

Sensing her victory, Chloe quickly moved to the medicine cabinet on the wall, pretending to search for burn cream.

Instead, she pulled out a large bottle of pure rubbing alcohol.

She rushed over to me.

"Let me help you clean the wound!" she cried with fake sympathy.

Before I could react, she intentionally spilled the entire bottle directly over my fresh, raw burns.

A blinding flash of pure, white-hot agony erased my vision.

The pain was so intense my knees buckled, and a ragged gasp tore from my throat.

I shoved her away hard with my good hand, desperate to get the corrosive liquid off my skin.

Chloe stumbled backward and theatrically collapsed into Leo's chest.

Leo wrapped his arms protectively around her, holding her as if she were a fragile glass doll.

He glared at me, his face a mask of rage.

"You stubborn, psychotic bitch!" he spat, his voice echoing in the kitchen. "She was only trying to help you!"

I didn't say a single word in my defense; there was no point anymore.

I walked over to the sink, turned on the cold water, and silently held my agonizing arm under the freezing stream.

I watched the water wash away the alcohol, feeling absolutely nothing inside my soul.

Leo didn't even look in my direction again.

He was entirely distracted by Chloe, who was suddenly faking a severe bout of morning sickness, gagging into a dish towel.

He scooped her up into his arms, coddling his mistress as he carried her out of the kitchen.

When the sound of their footsteps faded, I turned off the faucet and wrapped a clean towel around my blistered arm.

Twenty years of absolute Family loyalty had just been fed to the wild dogs.

In the master closet, I stripped off the heavy, ruined wedding dress and changed into a pair of tailored dark trousers and a trench coat. I retrieved a small, pre-packed overnight bag from its hiding place.

Stepping out of the luxury penthouse, a chilling, absolute calmness settled over me. I was finally ready to dismantle the foundations of his life, stone by stone.

And I knew exactly who to call to hand me the hammer.