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“You will always be a Nightfang.”

I stared at the screen, my pulse quickening.The words felt like a taunt, a reminder of the past I’d tried so hard to escape.I deleted the message and tossed the phone aside, but the words lingered, echoing in my mind.I dialed the only person who would understand.

Dean answered on the second ring.“You sound like hell.”

My older brother was the only Nightfang who got out before me.He’d left the mob behind and built a cybersecurity empire that even Interpol relied on.While I tried to cleanse our family name by becoming a famous athlete, he retreated from the world into his fortress of technology.If anyone knew how to battle the taint of our bloodline, it was him.

“I need a favor.”

A pause.“Let me guess.Violet’s making moves.”

I paced the length of the office.“The association’s breathing down my neck.If this goes public—”

“You’ll lose everything.”Dean’s words hung between us, cutting to the chase.

I dragged a hand down my face, my skin tight with frustration.“I didn’t call for a recap.”

“No, you called because you’re backed into a corner.”A chair creaked on his end of the line, and I could picture him leaning back, his eyes calculating as he strategized.“So here’s your play, you control the story before it controls you.”

I scoffed.“And how the hell do I do that?”

“An autobiography.”

I froze mid-step.“You’re joking.”

“Dead serious.You’ve got a story people will pay to hear.Soccer prodigy.Self-made billionaire.The Nightfang heir who walked away.But more importantly, it’s your chance to define the narrative.Show the world who you are, not who they think you are.”

“You’re asking me to spill my life onto paper like some damn confessional.”

“I’m asking you to fight back,” he growled.“Violet’s weaponizing your past.So you take that weapon and you break it over your knee.”

The image hit me.I could already picture the satisfaction as I used her own tactics against her, watching as her smirk dissolved into horrified shock.My reflection in the window hardened as I considered my brother’s words.

“And if it backfires?”I ground out.“If I pour my history onto the page and they use it as a roadmap to bury me?”

Dean exhaled.“Then you make sure the ghostwriter understands what’s at stake.Someone ruthless with words.”His chair creaked.“Call Discreet Talent Connections.They specialize in this.”

My chest burned.Partly from anger at being forced to reveal myself to the public, and partly from fear of losing everything I had built.

“Fine.”I ended the call and stood there, the phone still clutched in my hand.

At that moment, I realized that I had climbed to the top of the world, but what did any of it mean?Dean had Nina.I had what?A shiny glass office that felt like a cage and a legacy that threatened to crumble at the first whisper of my bloodline.

I grabbed my phone and wrote a text to my assistant, Clara, with instructions to find me a ghostwriter at Discreet Talent Connections.If they filled the role today, there was a one-hundred-fifty-thousand dollar reward.One hundred for the agency and fifty for the writer.

I had barely hit send when she shot back a response.

Clara: “Yes, Mr.Nightfang.Anything else?”

Me: “Clear my schedule for the rest of the afternoon.And when the writer arrives, send them to the gym.”

Clara: “Understood.”

Some overpriced wordsmith would fix this?I had my doubts.But if they could spin my past into something even half as pristine as the association’s reputation, it might just buy me enough time to outmaneuver Violet.

I headed for the elevator.The gym was my sanctuary, a place where I could channel the storm inside me into something physical, something I could control.

The doors slid open, and the scent of rubber, stale sweat, and disinfectant hit me, reminding me of why I was here.I stripped off my suit jacket and rolled up my sleeves, the cool air against my skin making the hairs on my arms stand up.