The journal lay open in front of Elena like a confession etched in ink and secrecy.

Rain lashed against the penthouse windows. The city blurred in streaks of gray and gold. Inside, everything was silent—except the thunder in Elena’s heart.

She flipped through her mother’s notes again.

“Only the Rossi bloodline can open the vault. The key is not metal. It's flesh.”

“The location is beneath the chapel ruins on the old estate.”

“The truth must be protected—even from the ones we love.”

Elena pressed her palm against her mouth. Her entire life had been a lie—her engagement, her inheritance, even her blood. She wasn’t just a pawn in a...