Spring Beneath the Grave

Elora stared blankly at the scene of human hell before her. Her tightly wound nerves finally snapped, and she slipped into unconsciousness.

She didn't know how long she had been in the hospital before she slowly woke again.

Her wounds had been treated, but far from healed. Each breath sent sharp tugs through her injuries.

As her consciousness cleared, the image of Hugh's brutal death surged into her mind.

Her heart felt like it was being crushed by an invisible hand, and the pain made it almost impossible to breathe.

Tears streamed uncontrollably, soaking her pillow.

Hugh—her only brother—was gone.

Just as her daughter Franny had died before her eyes, now her brother was gone too.

All of this was Rodger's doing. And his mistress's.

A tidal wave of fury swept through Elora, just as the sounds of smashing and shouting echoed from the VIP ward next door.

"Useless! Worthless! Can't even contact Mr. Calder! Don't you know how to find another way?! Are you Griffiths' lackeys just here to eat?!"

The shouting was followed by a harsh, relentless coughing, clearly someone badly injured.

Elora instantly recognized the voice. It was Rodger.

The coughing subsided, and a subordinate's panicked voice reported, "Mr. Griffiths… it's not that we didn't try… Mr. Calder's stance is absolute. All other suppliers either flat-out refused or raised prices threefold. We're bleeding at the docks and the south… we're running out of cash, and we can barely cover the injured."

"Enough!" Rodger snapped, his voice harsh, followed by another violent bout of coughing. "Where's Lilah? Any news on Drake? Where is he?"

The subordinate trembled again. "Miss Phillips is resting after being startled. Drake is already home… just playing house with his kindergarten friends."

The ward fell deathly silent.

Seconds later, Rodger's roar shattered the air—frenzied, furious, humiliated.

"Playing house?!"

Bang!

A glass smashed against the wall.

"Lilah… she told me… she said…"

Rodger couldn't even finish.

What could he say?

That Lilah, crying her heart out, had sworn their son was kidnapped by Elora?

That he had been completely led by the nose, using her tears as an excuse to deal a lethal blow to the Dale family, and to please her?

He had made himself a perfect fool, completely outplayed by a woman.

He had killed Elora's only brother!

There was no chance between him and Elora.

And between him and the Dale family, it had become an unbreakable blood feud.

No room for compromise remained.

"Ah!!!" Rodger screamed, heart-wrenching and raw.

Regret consumed him!

On the other side of the wall, Elora bit her lip hard.

Just because Lilah whispered a half-truth, just because a child playing house went missing, Rodger immediately assumed it was the Dales who had kidnapped his son.

Not only did he storm in, he… in front of her, brutally murdered her only brother, Hugh!

Tears surged silently down her face.

Rodger. Lilah.

One gullible enough to believe lies, the other cunning enough to fan the flames.

Perfect. Just perfect.

Elora filed it all away—every lie, every betrayal.

The next day.

Elora forced herself to get out of bed.

She changed out of her hospital gown and stood by the window.

Her family was here, but Ravencrest was her true battlefield, her real base.

She controlled the underworld arms network of the Northvale. And she was also the one known on the streets as the feared and untouchable "Mr. Calder," whom countless people still scrambled to curry favor with.

A gentle knock sounded at the door. Elora's aide stepped in silently, bowing respectfully, "Miss, the car to the airport is ready. Everything on the Ravencrest front is set."

Elora slowly turned and accepted an antique sandalwood box from her aide.

She opened it to reveal a dark iron ring, resting quietly inside.

This was Mr. Calder's token— a symbol of absolute authority over Northvale's underground arms.

She slid the ring onto her slender finger. A perfect fit.

"Let's go."

From the moment the ring adorned her hand, she was Mr. Calder.

Accompanied by her aide, Elora stepped into the elevator. At the same time, the elevator doors on the other side opened.

Rodger emerged in a wheelchair, pushed by his men, making his way to the reception desk.

"Excuse me, Elora Dale? Which room is she in? I'd like to see her."

Regret weighed heavily on him.

Even knowing she would never forgive him, he owed her that apology.

He had to beg her, appealing to the years they had shared as husband and wife, to help the Griffiths family in their desperate hour.

The receptionist lowered her head to check the records.

Outside the hospital, the convoy waited.

Elora took her seat in the center of the armored car.

The window rose slowly, cutting her off from the world.

The car glided smoothly toward the airport.

At this moment, the wheels of fate turned mercilessly.

One carried delayed remorse toward an inevitably empty hospital room.

The other, a heart full of vengeance, stepped onto the path of ruthless retribution.

The distance between them was no more than a corner away.

Yet it felt like worlds apart.

The plane roared into the sky, heading for Ravencrest.

Elora leaned back, closing her eyes.

Rodger, the game was only just beginning.