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CHAPTER SEVEN

IRENE

I rene stumbled, her feet sinking into the filthy mud. She ran without knowing where she was going, her legs trembling, weak, as though the ground beneath her threatened to collapse, as though her body were moments from giving out.

She didn’t know how much longer she could hold on.

A voice ripped through the night behind her:

"She’s not dead! Get her!"

She glanced over her shoulder, breath ragged. They were there, her pursuers, still on her trail. Blood and pus seeped from the bite on her arm, agony screaming through every nerve. Irene wiped her face with a trembling hand, smearing a sticky, wet streak across her cheek.

Damn it.

She forced herself to keep running, her mind floating somewhere between reality and delirium. The slums began to consume her, swallowing her into their labyrinth. The walls around her seemed to lean in, twisting and bending as though ready to crush her, only to vanish into a formless haze. One moment, she clung to the rough texture of a wall; the next, it dissolved, and she collapsed to her knees in the freezing mud.

Drums and flutes echoed through the air, sharp, chaotic bursts of sound that drilled into her skull.

Her body felt detached, disconnected from her mind, every step weighted down by the poison coursing through her veins. The creatures of The Gutter had done their work: flashes of blinding light and surreal, unreal colors painted trails before her eyes. Voices—songs, screams, moans of pleasure and pain—blurred together into a suffocating chaos.

She collided with a man.

“Get out of my way, you bitch!” he snarled, shoving her violently. The acrid smoke of his pipe hit her face like a slap.

Irene staggered, almost blind yet seeing too much. She tripped over something—a stone? A body? She didn’t know. Her legs no longer obeyed her; her arms felt foreign, as if they belonged to someone else.

She murmured, hoarsely, to no one:

“Where is he…”

No one heard her.

The slums never slept. They breathed, seethed, and writhed in the night—a living hell of sin, lust, and death.

Irene lifted her head, her jaw clenched. The streets around her seemed to close in, devouring her. She wasn’t even sure where she was anymore. Was this Jackals’ territory? The Vultures’? Or had she wandered back into the vipers’ nest?

A sharp laugh erupted to her right. A heavily painted woman was tugging a man by the hand, their shadows flickering across the broken facades. A barefoot child darted past, gripping a knife far too large for his small hands. A brothel breathed heat and moisture into the night, its doors yawning wide open.

Every brothel, every gambling den, every tavern. Every inch of territory, every dock, every ship the Vipers now owned… Irene had bled for it all.

Eleven years. She had spent eleven years building this empire, by his side.

They had burned together to create it, every victory binding them closer even as it tore them apart.

And he had chosen to take it all from her.

Because now Irene understood: Dax had never been sincere. Their rivalry, their fire, their battles—it had all been a game. A game she was always meant to lose.

She stumbled, a cry tearing itself from her throat.

“WHERE ARE YOU!” she screamed, her voice splitting the night as she threw her head back toward the rooftops, her cry cutting through the chaos.

Tears burned her eyes, blurring an already distorted world. She kept running, but where could she go?

For eleven years, she’d only ever known two homes: the sea and the vipers’ lair. Now, she had neither.

She was running toward her grave—or her salvation.

If fate decided she deserved to live, she would survive. She would sail again, find the sapphire she dreamed of claiming, and prove to the world that she was born to be captain. If she could defeat him, she wouldn’t need to prove anything ever again. She would finally end eleven years of rivalry, eleven years of fire and blood.

And if not? Her name and body would join the pile of the wretched dead from the slums. Those who dared to dream bigger than themselves.

She staggered once more, collapsing against a wall. A hand grabbed her arm, yanking her roughly back to reality.

A tall woman with a painted face grinned at her, predatory and cruel. “Come, darling… I’ll take care of you,” she purred in a low, smoky voice.

Irene ripped her arm free, stumbling again, her legs threatening to collapse beneath her. The faces around her twisted and warped. Was it the exhaustion, the poison, or her own demons?

Eyes fixed on her. Some curious, others suspicious. Any second now, they would recognize her. She knew it. She had never been discreet.

Why did Dax want to humiliate her further? Why lure her here, into this place where he ruled, just to crush her again?

She laughed bitterly, almost hysterically. She had to face him. Here. Now.

She screamed, spinning in place:

“Come and fight me, coward!”

Her voice tore through the air, raw and broken, a challenge to the violence around her.

She raised her eyes to the balconies above. Dancers stared down at her. Barefoot children dangled dangerously from ledges. Tavern patrons leaned forward, trying to decipher the face of the madwoman screaming below.

Was it her?

It had to be.

Dax would hear her.

He always heard her.

In the middle of storms, when the sea roared and the sky spat lightning, he knew where to find her. In the chaos of raids, when blood stained the deck and the screams of their victims merged with the crash of waves, he came to her. Even when she used to wake screaming from nightmares, he had been there. She had felt him. She had believed they were destroying each other to grow stronger. That by hurting each other, they would become invincible. But all of it… all of it had been a lie.

In blood and fire, Dax always came to her.

But now, with the clarity forced upon her by prison, Irene finally understood. He had never done it to save her.

No.

He had stayed close to her because she was his greatest rival. The only one fit to be a pirate captain besides him.

She had believed they were destroying each other to grow stronger together. But all he had ever wanted was to break her.

She screamed again, spinning:

“Come and fight me, coward!”

This time, she knew. He would come to finish the job.

A cry tore from her throat, raw with fury. She doubled over, spitting onto the ground, her stomach twisted with poison and humiliation. She wanted to vomit, to purge it all: the pain, the fear, the memories.

Then the blow came. Hard.

A fist slammed into her jaw, sending her sprawling to the ground.

Irene lay there, breathless, in the mud.

“Finally,” she thought.

Irene lay sprawled on her back, her breath escaping in ragged, shallow gasps, her ribs squeezing her lungs with every inhale. It was time to end this maddening game.

Her arm, frozen and heavy, hung limp like dead weight. The bite on her flesh oozed pus and blood. She tried to push herself onto her knees, but her legs buckled, sending her crashing back into the filth.

Pain flared through her side, a searing burn that forced her to bite down hard on her lip until blood trickled into her mouth.

She turned her head and saw him—the bastard who had thrown her into the dirt. His face twisted into a vicious grin as he loomed over her, savoring his victory. Behind him, the crowd surged like an unrelenting tide, shouting insults that cut deeper than any blade.

“Traitor! Weak!” The words pounded into her skull like rusted nails.

Their faces blurred in and out of focus. They encircled her like vultures waiting for a corpse, their jeers and hatred suffocating. Irene clenched her fists and forced herself to rise. Her legs shaked, her body swayed on the edge of collapse, but she stood.

"Let’s finish this," she rasped, her voice barely more than a whisper, yet sharp enough to draw the man’s attention.

A rock struck her shoulder. Then another hit her back, harder.

“Traitor!”

The words sliced through her like broken glass, stripping her of whatever strength she had left.

The man seized the moment, stepping forward to deliver a brutal punch to her gut. She dropped to her knees, blood spilling from her mouth in thick, metallic strands. She spat it at his feet, her lips curling into a defiant, crooked grin.

"Weak," she mocked, her voice ragged, taunting even as her body betrayed her.

With all the strength she could summon, she lashed out, landing a wild punch across his jaw. It wasn’t clean or powerful, but it was enough to jolt him back a step. And then, impossibly, she rose again—wobbling, barely upright, but unbroken.

"Come on, little boy," she taunted, her words dripping with venomous sarcasm.

The man growled, his face twisting with rage, and lunged at her. His weight slammed into her, driving her back into the mud. Her head hit the ground with a sickening thud, and her vision blurred with pain.

She tried to get up, but her limbs refused. The agony was relentless, but it wasn’t the physical pain that gutted her—it was the humiliation.

Above her, the man loomed, his shadow swallowing her. He raised his foot, ready to bring it down and crush what little fight she had left. Irene closed her eyes.

She regretted only one thing: that she hadn’t lived long enough to become what she was meant to be. A captain. She had stained her hands with sin, burned everything she touched for dreams she would never see fulfilled. In another life, perhaps…

She braced herself for the final blow.

But it didn’t come.

A thunderous roar erupted from the crowd, shaking the very air around her. Voices rose in a deafening chant that froze her blood.

“DAX! DAX! DAX!”

Her blood boiled. A familiar, unbearable heat surged through her veins, igniting her core, waking her nerves and jolting her heart.

Her body burned. She opened her eyes.

Through the chaos, she clawed at the mud, forcing her broken body to rise.

She felt him. And then, she saw him.

He was here.

Her cheeks flushed beneath the grime. Rage surged within her, scorching her from the inside out. She dug her nails into her palms until they broke skin, her blood mingling with the filth on her hands.

She had spent months imagining this moment. His face. His stance. His voice. But nothing could have prepared her for the reality of seeing him again.

The crowd parted like waves before a ship, making way for him. He towered over them all, his presence suffocating, commanding. Broad shoulders filled an immaculate shirt, partially hidden beneath a richly embroidered blue doublet. Every line of his figure was sharp, precise, as though even the chaos of the slums dared not touch him.

And yet, each step he took felt like a dagger stabbing into Irene’s chest.

The people reached out to touch him as he passed, their fingers brushing the hem of his coat like he was a goddamned deity.

He looked like a pirate king. The king of torment.

He was so devastatingly beautiful it hurt—it gutted her. Irene’s lungs burned as she stared at him, her body covered in mud, blood, and rage. Finally, his gaze landed on her. Her breath caught, and her chest heaved frantically. Her heart pounded so hard she was certain he could hear it.

There was a danger to him, a beauty that commanded stares, tightened throats, and made hearts beat faster, like something rare and venomous. Those damn eyes. Grey, blue, sharp as broken glass. He didn’t just look at her; he claimed her with that gaze.

She was unable to do anything but stare at him. Her mouth slightly open, she devoured him with her eyes, while he just… smiled. Not a cruel smile, not a taunt—no, Dax had the audacity to smile at her, as if this were some foolishly joyful reunion.

His dimples deepened, cutting into his cheeks as if this were a reunion instead of a reckoning. His eyes glinted, and for one unbearable second, it felt like he was happy to see her. Like he wasn’t the one who betrayed her, the one who turned her world to ash.

Her chest tightened. Irene knew she was broken, fractured in ways that couldn’t be pieced back together. But him? She was now certain he was more sick in the head than she was.

Because in that moment, with that smile, he almost made her forget he was here to end her.

The crowd clapped and whistled.

He stopped in front of her, towering like a shadow. She knelt in the mud, her face only inches from his thighs. His gaze burned down on her, and slowly, Irene lifted her head to meet it.

“There you are… little siren. I’ve been looking for you.”

His voice was soft, almost amused, but every word struck like a clap of thunder.

Irene glared at him, her eyes burning with fury.

She wanted to tear that arrogant smile off his face, wanted to make him choke on his own venom. Her chest heaved as her lips curled into a sneer, and she spat at his feet.

"Die," she hissed, her voice raw, sharp enough to cut through bone.

Dax didn’t flinch. Instead, his smile deepened, slow and deliberate, dimples slicing into his cheeks like they were mocking her. Before she could step back, his hand shot out, wrapping around her arm with a grip so strong it sent a jolt of fury through her veins.

In one fluid motion, he yanked her forward, her body colliding against his chest. Hard. Unyielding. Her breath hitched.

"Easy now, darling," he murmured, his voice low, brushing the edge of her sanity like the tide against jagged rocks. His lips hovered just near her ear, his words slithering into her skin. "Save that spit. You’ll need it later. Tonight’s just getting started."

His scent hit her then—a maddening mixture of salt, leather, and something dark, something smoky, like ash from a fire that never truly burned out. It wasn’t comforting. It was invasive. Addictive. Like poison sweetened with honey. She hated that it crawled under her skin, twisting her insides into knots.

Irene thrashed like an animal in a snare, her nails clawing at his arm, kicking wildly. It wasn't fighting—it was frenzy, desperate rage.

"Let go of me ! You bastard! I’ll kill you myself!" she snarled, her voice unhinged.

He didn’t even flinch. "Missed you too," he said, his voice almost affectionate, as if her rage was a gift.

Without missing a beat, Dax spun her around, dragging her forward with ease. He paraded her before the crowd like a trophy, his grip unrelenting, his expression shifting into something darker. The air grew heavy. Irene knew what was coming—theatrics were his art, and the slums were his stage.

"Look!" Dax shouted, his voice booming, sharp as a whip crack. He shoved her forward, his arm like an iron band around her waist. "There she is! The traitor of the wreck! The one who betrayed us all! Take a good look!"

The crowd erupted. The roar was deafening, a mixture of rage and hatred, fueled by his words. Irene felt her knees weaken as their eyes bore into her, full of loathing.

She could barely breathe. The stares—the whispers—the pointed fingers—it was like being skinned alive.

He was brilliant at this, and she hated him for it. If there’d been even the faintest glimmer of hope that the slums might believe her, he had shattered it. Dax wasn’t just turning them against her—he was ensuring no one would dare pity her, solidifying his path to claim the title of Captain of the Viper Guild for good.

“How many of you knew the Vipers lost in the wreck? Your sons! Your husbands! Your brothers! They weren’t just pirates—they were your blood, your family! And it’s because of her! She’s the reason they died at sea! She’s the reason they burned, the reason they drowned!”

"Shut up," she hissed. But he didn’t stop.

"She fed us to the mercenaries! Sold us out for her own ambitions! She wanted mutiny! She wanted the ship, my ship, my legacy—" He paused, his voice rising. "I am the son of Captain Lorax, a trueborn pirate! You work in our taverns! You walk on the docks I built! And she? She is a thief, a traitor, a stain on the vipers!"

Irene felt sick. In her mind, it had seemed so simple—confront him, end this, be done. But she had underestimated him. Dax never underestimated her. He came prepared, wielding against her the one truth that burned: after eleven years as a Viper, she still wasn’t one of them—not like him. He had been born to this. She had clawed her way in.

Her rage exploded. She shoved him hard, her hands colliding with his chest. He staggered back but smiled, letting her unravel in full view of the crowd. Letting her give them exactly what they wanted: a madwoman, rabid and unhinged.

And she hated him for it. Because somehow, he always brought out the worst in her.

Dax grabbed Irene by the arm, dragging her through the crowd. Each step deepened her humiliation, grinding her pride into the mud beneath her boots.

She fought against his hold, but her body was too weak. "Let go of me, bastard! Cut this crap! Fight me!” she screamed, her feet skidding in the dirt as he kept pulling her forward.

Dax didn’t flinch. But then, suddenly, he stopped.

He turned toward her, his face so close she could see the rain pooling on his long lashes and the faint tic in his sculpted jaw. His piercing eyes locked onto hers, pinning her in place like a blade to her throat.

“You wanted to crawl back from that hole you were in,” he growled, his voice low, venomous, barely audible above the chaos. “So own it, darling.”

The word dripped from his lips with a poisonous familiarity. Before she could snap back, he straightened, turning to the sea of faces gathered around them.

He shoved her forward, forcing her to face the crowd. The rain began again, soft at first, like a whisper, but quickly building into a relentless downpour.

With a cruel smile curving his lips, he addressed them.

“Look at her,” he declared, his voice rising above the storm. “Are you going to let her take what’s mine? My right to be captain? Are you going to let her ruin what we built?”

“NO!” roared the crowd in unison.

“Kill her!”

“Exile her!”

The words cut through the air, each one slicing into her chest.

She would’ve preferred if they fought. That, she could handle. But this—this public display of lies—was unbearable.

Her eyes burned with rage as she glared at him, her lips trembling.

“You want to talk about rights?” she spat, her voice breaking through the storm. “I fought just as hard as you for that title! You think you’re better than me?”

Dax froze, but her fury was a flood, unstoppable now.

“You hide behind your father’s name,” she snarled, her voice rising with every word, “but you hated him as much as he loathed you!”

For a fleeting second, she saw it. The shadow that crossed his face. A flicker of something raw, unguarded. She’d struck a nerve.

So, she twisted the knife deeper.

“You knew he was going to choose me,” she shouted. “You knew I was better! "And you were too much of a coward to face it, so you dragged my name through the dirt, spun this entire story of betrayal to get me out of your way!”

Her words detonated like cannon fire.

For a moment, she saw Dax falter, his sharp features cracking under the weight of her accusations. Was it shock? Had she hit the truth? But no...

That look—it was something else. A flicker of doubt. A strange, almost incredulous glimmer in his eyes.

And then, a chilling thought clawed at her mind. Was she the one who’d finally lost her grip on reality? Had she betrayed her crew without even knowing it? Had she forgotten it entirely, her mind too fractured to remember? Or was Dax so deranged he believed his own lies?

Before she could unravel the thread of doubt, he stepped closer, his movements slow, deliberate, like a predator savoring its prey.

The rain slid down his hair, tracing the hard edges of his face, and his eyes burned with an intensity that threatened to consume her.

He leaned in, so close their faces were nearly touching. His voice was a low, dangerous whisper, meant only for her ears.

“It was always mine to take, Irene. Everything. The ship. The crew. The title.”

Her breath hitched as His hands gripped her face, firm and unyielding. She turned her head sharply, trying to break the moment, but he didn’t let her go. “Even your pain,” he said, his voice dark and possessive. “It was mine to claim.”

She could feel his breath on her lips—hot, invasive.

“I know your body,” he whispered, his voice coiled like a serpent. “I know the way you tremble like this. I know what that fire in your eyes means. You want to fight. You want to burn everything down. But in the end, you know you always lose to me. Always.”

The rain poured harder, drenching their bodies, as if the heavens were trying to smother the fire burning between them.

“There’s only one treasure in this world worth stealing,” he said, his lips hovering a breath away from hers. “And I’ll be the first pirate to claim the divine sapphire. You came back to ruin me when I gave you a way out? You —you have nothing. No crew. No ship. No guild. Nothing.”

He pressed his forehead against hers, his words landing like hammer blows.

“It’s over, Irene,” he whispered. “Fate has already decided. I’ve won. Give up. It’s the only way to save us both. Just trust me…”

Then, he shoved her away, hard, like a broken trinket he no longer had use for. He turned back to the crowd, leaving her to drown in the cold weight of his words.

But Irene wasn’t listening anymore.

The cold coiled around her throat, squeezing the breath from her lungs.

Give up.

Her fingers found the hilt of her knife.

No. Irene would rather die than exist in a world where she was nothing. If her sin was being an ambitious girl, let the heavens strike her down for it.

With a calm, deadly focus, she drew her blade.

Without a word, she lunged at him, the knife raised, ready to drive it into his back.

But she never reached her target.

A wall of muscle appeared in front of her. Dax’s massive enforcer intercepted her with ease.

His fist crashed into her face, sending her flying backward, the world spinning around her.

Irene hit the ground hard, her body heavy and cold. She tried to get up, but this time, she couldn’t.

It was over.

Blood poured from her nose, mingling with the tears streaming endlessly down her cheeks. She had lost everything—even her body refused to obey her now. Lying there in the dirt, she could only sob, suffocating on the weight of it all, her eyes squeezed shut as though she could escape reality.

When she opened them, Dax was there.

Above her, his arm pressed against her throat, pinning her to the ground. She tried to pull back, but every movement only brought another whimper of pain.

There was no escape.

His eyes, wide and disarmingly vulnerable, remained fixed on hers, as if he couldn’t fathom what he was witnessing, what had become of them. A dark strand of hair fell across his forehead. Slowly, hesitantly, his hand reached out. His fingers, strangely gentle, brushed against her cheek. The gesture was too soft.

Irene instinctively turned her face away, her jaw clenched.

He looked at her as though it were the first time he was truly seeing her. Why was he staring at her like that?

Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her breath short.

She closed her eyes and spoke, her voice shattered and raw.

“Do it. Kill me,” she gasped, opening her eyes to meet his. Her red-rimmed gaze bore into him, raw. “If you don’t kill me now, I’ll make you suffer for it. I promise you.”

But he didn’t answer.

Instead, his face came closer to hers, his lips so near she could feel the warmth of his breath. Around them, the chaos of the crowd faded, shrinking their world to this single frozen moment.

A cruel, ironic memory surfaced.

How many times had they ended up like this before, him pinning her down, during those sparring matches when their rivalry turned into playful fights? How many times had they thrown each other to the ground, their bodies tangled, laughing through their bruises and hurling insults like maniacs?

But this time, it wasn’t a game. One of them had to fall.

Her fingers searched blindly in the mud until they found her knife. She gripped it tightly. She was going to stab him. Right in the heart. And end this.

Dax, lost in his thoughts, didn’t notice.

Irene raised the blade, her muscles taut, ready to strike.

But before she could bring it down, Dax’s hand shot out, catching the knife mid-air.

His palm closed around the blade, blood spilling over their hands as it bit into his flesh. They froze like that, locked together.

He looked at her with unbearable intensity—not anger, but something softer, almost resigned. As though he was giving her permission to stab him. As though he accepted whatever was coming.

And when he released his grip, Irene plunged the knife into his side.

Dax flinched, his body stiffening with the pain. But instead of pulling away, he reached for her. His blood-stained thumb brushed against her lips, smearing a streak of red across them.

Irene opened her mouth to speak, but her voice died as he pressed his forehead against hers.

The heat of his skin against hers was unbearable. Intimate. Unreal.

She could feel the weight of his breath against her mouth, every word he whispered scorching her lips.

“This wasn’t how it was supposed to end…” he whispered, his voice rough, almost broken. “Little siren… if only you’d listened to me.”

That name. The nickname he’d given her on the first night they met, when they were just kids. He’d never wanted to explain why he called her that.

Now, the sound of it twisted her stomach.

For a moment, she froze. Her heart raced against his, and the unbearable pull of what could have been lingered between them.

Finally, Dax pulled back.

With one brutal motion, he ripped the knife from his side and threw it at her feet. He staggered, but didn’t fall.

The rain was falling harder now, but Irene didn’t feel it. All she could see was Dax’s blurry silhouette retreating, his broad back disappearing into the chaos of the crowd.

In the distance, a cannon roared.

Her eyes fluttered shut as darkness crept in, but the sounds around her stayed sharp and vivid.

Why wasn’t she dead already?

She heard his voice, hoarse and seething with rage:

“Don’t touch her! She’s mine!”

Half-conscious, Irene caught another voice. Calm. Commanding.

“She’s no longer a Viper. You said so yourself.”

The words barely registered before two strong arms scooped her off the ground. She felt the warmth of a chest pressed against hers and large hands holding her firmly yet gently, with a care she couldn’t quite comprehend.

Her mind drifted.

And then, in one last flash of lucidity, she saw a face.

A man—beautiful, his dark ebony skin gleaming even in the dim light. He smiled at her.

Then, the darkness swallowed her whole.

Fate had heard her.

Irene’s rage had finally found an echo.