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I’ll Burn Their World To The Ground

Hypothetical Question: If you could swap bodies with a corpse and pretend to be dead for a day, would you have some fun with their family or just let them grieve? Maybe show up at their funeral wearing their skin?

Nate

Two months.

Sixty-two days.

One thousand, four hundred, and eighty fucking hours.

And still, nothing.

Carina is gone. Vanished. Erased. And I am losing my mind.

I’ve always been a killer—cold, calculating, the guy you don’t want to see standing over you with a blade. It’s my thing. Or it was. Turns out all that skill is useless when the love of your life is snatched away by the world’s most sadistic family reunion planner. Her father. I’m sure of it. And yet, here I am, sitting in her house, drowning in her daisy-scented ghost like some kind of deranged poet.

I’ve searched. God, have I searched. But Dominic Beckett is careful. Too careful. His house in the city is empty. His country home is locked down tighter than a government security facility. Enzo tells me he can't access the security system unless he's inside. Kai says the same.

There's no signs of activity from him or his associates, nothing that indicate where he's hiding her. Not even Enzo's contacts have been able to help.

He’s made her vanish so effectively she might as well have taken up a side gig as a magician. Meanwhile, I’m here playing detective, assassin, and heartbroken housewife all at once.

I close my eyes and exhale slowly, forcing myself to push back the dark thoughts clawing at my sanity. I can’t let myself think about what she might be enduring, who might be hurting her. The pain of imagining it is paralyzing.

I would tear them apart, piece by piece. Break their bones with my bare hands.

I’ve always cared—always had a reason for what I do, for the lives I take. But this? This is something else entirely. It’s not just caring. It’s desperation. And it’s tearing me apart.

“Nate?” Enzo’s voice snaps me back into the present.

Ah, Enzo. Carina’s friend who flies across the world because he senses the exact level of dysfunction you’re spiralling into. He’s been here ever since she was taken. Though, I’m not stupid enough to believe his presence is only to do with her. He leaves the house for a couple hours each day, always a little non-committal on where he’s going. Clearly some super-secret Mafia shit. I don’t care so long as he stays focused on her too.

There's always guards parked outside the house, watching, as if we're the ones under threat.

He’s been keeping me fed and somewhat functional. It’s like having a terrifying Italian grandmother with a knife collection.

I haven’t killed anyone in months. I want to. God, do I want to. It’s like an itch I can’t scratch. But all my focus is on Carina. On getting her back. It’s the only thing that matters.

And truthfully, I don’t want to do it without her. It’s not the same anymore.

“What?” I snap, my voice sharper than I intend.

“When was the last time you ate, assassino ?” Enzo asks, his tone almost teasing.

“Why the fuck does it matter?” I shoot him a glare, narrowing my eyes.

He holds my gaze, unblinking, until I finally sigh in defeat. “I don’t know. What day is it?”

“Tuesday.”

“Then it was probably yesterday. Whenever you made that beef thing.” I wave my hand dismissively.

“That was Sunday!” he exclaims.

My stomach growls in protest, as if to remind me just how long it’s been since I’ve bothered to eat. I don’t even think about it anymore. Unless Enzo’s around, forcing me to sit and eat whatever Italian masterpiece he’s cooked up, food slips my mind entirely. It’s not intentional—it’s just that other things occupy my head more than my hunger does.

“Eat.” Enzo shoves a plate of risotto in front of me. It’s probably delicious, but I don’t even taste it. Food has become just another task, like breathing or pretending I’m okay.

Once the plate is empty, I push it aside, my gaze drifting back to the scattered sheets in front of me. Every bit of information I’ve gathered is written here. And yet, it all boils down to one thing: nada. Nothing. Fuck all.

“Have you found anything?” I ask, my voice raw and cracked as I glance up at Enzo.

He sinks onto the couch beside me, his hand landing on my shoulder in a rare gesture of comfort. His smile is warm, but it doesn't reach his eyes. “Not yet.”

I scrub my face with a shaky hand, frustration clawing at me. Enzo is the best in the business. He made Carina vanish from the internet and helped her steal Edward’s fortune. The man is part of the goddamn Mafia, for Christ’s sake. If even he can’t find a trace of her, maybe it’s time to accept the truth: I might never find her.

“Turn on the TV!” Kai bursts into the room, the door slamming shut behind him as he skids to a stop in the living room doorway.

“What?” I ask, my mind still tangled in worry.

“Turn on the TV!” he insists, urgency lacing his voice.

I groan, reaching for the remote buried under a pile of papers on the coffee table. I click the power button, my fingers numb.

“Turn it to BBC,” Kai demands.

I flip the channel, my breath catching in my throat when the screen flickers to life.

There she is.

“Turn it up!” Kai shouts, his voice tight with disbelief.

I hit the volume button, the words on the screen clearer now.

“Naomi Beckett, newly reunited daughter of Onyx Logistics CEO, Dominic Beckett, set to marry Lucian Moretti, a renowned international tech mogul and the founder of a leading cybersecurity firm specialising in protecting global corporations from cyber threats.”

My blood turns to ice. Married. She’s getting married. The words echo in my mind, but my eyes are locked on her face, unable to look away.

She looks broken. Her eyes are hollow, sunken, as if the weight of the world is pressing down on her. There’s no spark, no fire in them—only emptiness. Her face is thinner, gaunt, like she’s barely holding herself together. She looks like she hasn’t eaten in days, maybe longer. Even her hair—the pink she loved so much—is gone. Clearly dyed back to her natural brunette. She would hate that.

My princess. My queen. No matter the cost, I will find you. I will bring you back, and I will make you whole again.

The room falls into silence after the announcement, the weight of the words sinking in. Enzo and Kai exchange uneasy glances, but I can’t tear my eyes away from the screen.

Carina. Marrying him.

Lucian Moretti isn’t just a cybersecurity mogul. I know his type—ruthless, power-hungry, and dangerous in ways that don’t rely on brute force. If Dominic wants Carina tied to him, there’s a reason. This isn’t about family or love. It’s about control. About using her like a pawn in whatever game he’s playing.

My hands clench into fists, the remote cracking under the pressure. She looks so frail, so hollow, like a ghost of the woman I love. Her fire is gone, and I’d bet every drop of blood in my veins that Dominic snuffed it out, him and Lucian.

But it’s the first sight of her I’ve gotten since she was taken. All this time she’s been right under my nose, and I had no idea. There must be a reason they are letting her out now, why they’re bringing her into the public light. They must be holding something over her because my Carina wouldn’t have hesitated to oust them if they didn’t.

“She doesn’t want this,” I murmur, my voice low and guttural.

“No shit,” Kai mutters, pacing in front of the couch. “But what the hell are we supposed to do about it? She’s locked away in his world, Nate. That’s not a fortress you can just waltz into.”

I drag a hand through my hair, my mind spinning. I don’t respond because Kai doesn’t understand—I’m not just some ordinary man fighting for the woman I love. I’ve built a career out of infiltrating the impossible, of making people disappear. If Dominic thinks he can outplay me, he’s dead wrong.

I’ll burn through every obstacle. Tear apart every man standing between me and Carina.

“We don’t have much time,” Enzo says, breaking the silence. His voice is calm, steady, but his eyes betray his concern. “That marriage announcement isn’t for show. He’ll want it done quickly, before she has time to fight back.”

Before I have time to reach her.

“He’s trying to make her untouchable,” I say, my jaw tightening. “If she’s married to Moretti, it’s a chain he can yank whenever he wants. No court, no law, no one will stand against them. ”

Enzo nods. “Which means you need to figure this out now . No more waiting.”

I exhale, pushing back the frustration clawing at my chest. “I need to get to her. But I can’t storm in blind. Not with Moretti involved. This has to be precise.”

Kai scoffs. “Precise? How the hell do you plan something precise when you don’t even know where she is?”

“I do now,” I reply, my gaze locked on the screen where Carina’s haunted face still lingers. Dominic’s game isn’t subtle. If they’re making this public, then they’ll host some elaborate engagement party, something flashy enough to make headlines. It’s the kind of move men like Dominic thrive on—showing off their power.

Kai’s brows furrow. “You think they’ll parade her around?”

“They’ll have to,” I say. “Dominic’s type thrives on appearances. He won’t just lock her away until the wedding. He’ll make her play the part of the dutiful daughter, the perfect fiancée. If I can figure out where that party is…”

“You’ll make your move,” Enzo finishes, his tone grim.

I nod. “Not to take her, not yet. But I need to get close enough to plant a seed. To let her know I’m here. That she’s not alone. It’ll give her the strength to fight back. I know it will.”

“And if Dominic’s watching her every move?” Kai asks, crossing his arms.

“Then I’ll make him watch me instead,” I snap, a dark smile tugging at the corner of my lips. “He wants to play games? Fine. Let’s play.”

For the first time in weeks, the haze of despair lifts, replaced by the cold, calculating focus I know so well. Carina doesn’t belong to Dominic or Moretti. She’s mine. And they’re about to find out what happens when they try to take her from me.

“Start digging,” I tell Enzo. “I want to know every detail about Moretti’s operations, every connection he has to Dominic. I want their schedules, their security, their vulnerabilities. I want everything.”

Enzo nods, already pulling out his laptop.

“And you?” I turn to Kai. “Find out where that engagement party is happening. Don’t stop until you have it.”

Kai hesitates for only a second before nodding.

As they get to work, I stand, staring at Carina’s face on the screen. My pulse thrums with purpose, my mind already piecing together the threads of my plan.

Hold on, Princess. I’m coming. And when I do, I’ll burn their world to the ground.

The Regency Hotel looms ahead, its facade glowing with an almost oppressive brilliance. The grandeur of the place makes my skin crawl; it’s exactly the kind of setting Lucian Moretti would choose. A predator like him revels in this opulence, hiding his darkness behind a facade of wealth and power. Just like my father. Just like hers.

The forged invitation in my pocket feels heavier than it should, but Enzo assured me it’s perfect. Tonight, I’m not just Nate—the man who would burn the world for her. Tonight, I have to be someone else—someone polished, composed, invisible. A role I’ve learned to play well over the years.

As I step inside, the scent of the lobby hits me—polished wood, expensive cologne, champagne. Everything about this place screams money.

The ballroom doors are ahead, guarded by a couple of men checking invitations and waving people inside. My pulse hammers in my ears as I reach them, forcing myself to walk with calm confidence. Carina needs me focused. She needs me to stay in control.

I hand over the invitation with a small, polite smile, making some casual comment about the crowd to distract the guy. He barely glances at the paper before nodding and letting me through.

And then I see her.

She’s standing near the far end of the room, wrapped in a black dress that clings to her frame—a frame that looks far too thin. Her hair is swept up, exposing the delicate line of her neck, but the fire in her eyes, the spark that always drew me to her, is gone.

Lucian stands beside her, his hand possessively on her back as he leans in to whisper something in her ear. I see her shoulders tense at his touch, her head dipping in a mechanical nod like she doesn’t dare do anything else.

Something black and violent surges in my chest. I force myself to stay rooted, to not storm across the room and rip his fucking throat out.

I can’t. Not yet.

I grab a champagne flute from a passing waiter, slipping into the crowd. I keep my movements calm, forcing my breathing to steady, even as my eyes never leave her.

I’m here now.

And no matter what it takes, I’m going to get her out of this.

The party drags on, stretching late into the night. I stay on the edges, blending into the shadows like I’ve done a hundred times before— watching, waiting, stalking. My eyes never leave Carina.

She hasn’t left Lucian’s side once. He keeps her close, his hand always somewhere on her body—her arm, her waist, her back—as if he’s staking a claim.

Dominic looms nearby, his hawk-like gaze scanning the room. Is he searching for threats? For me? Or maybe he’s just making sure she doesn’t try to escape.

It’s only when she finally excuses herself to the restroom that I see my chance.

I slip out of the crowd, trailing behind her, careful to keep my movements inconspicuous. My heart pounds in my chest as I glance over my shoulder, ensuring no one notices me.

The restroom is quiet, muffled music barely seeping through the door.

Carina stands at the sink, gripping the counter with white-knuckled hands. Her breathing is ragged, and her chest rises and falls in deep, uneven gulps.

She hasn't seen me yet.

I step inside and turn the lock.

“Hi, Princess,” I whisper.

She whirls around, eyes locking onto mine in the mirror.

She freezes. Like she can’t believe I’m real.

For a long, breathless second, she doesn’t move. Doesn’t even blink.

Then, something flickers.

A spark.

The faintest ember of the woman I love—of the fire they’ve tried to extinguish.

She launches herself at me.

Her arms and legs wrap around me, her entire body trembling.

I catch her easily, holding her as tightly as I dare, afraid she’ll shatter. I bury my face in her neck, inhaling her scent. It’s different now—not the fresh daisies I love—but it’s still her, and that’s all that matters.

Fuck, I’ve missed her.

“N…Nate,” she chokes out, her voice breaking.

The sound shatters something inside me.

“I’ve got you, baby,” I murmur, my voice rough with emotion. “I’m here.”

She clings to me, her fingers digging into my shoulders like she’s afraid I’ll disappear.

“I’ve missed you so much,” she whispers, her breath warm against my neck.

“You have no idea,” I reply, running my hands gently over her back, trying to soothe her trembling body.

She pulls back, her face wet with tears, and the sight guts me. “I thought—I thought I’d never—” I tilt her chin up, brushing a thumb over her cheek.

“Hey, hey,” I say softly. “No tears, okay? If you cry, then I’ll cry, and trust me, you don’t want to see that.”

She lets out a broken laugh, burying her face in my neck.

And for the first time in months—I breathe.

Her hands tremble as she moves to the mirror, dabbing at her face. “I’m ruining my makeup.”

“Who cares?” I step closer, my voice steady and sure. “You’re perfect without it.”

“He cares,” she mutters bitterly, her gaze dropping.

I don’t need to ask who she means.

A sick, twisting feeling coils in my gut.

“He’s hurt you,” I note. It’s not a question. My voice low and full of barely restrained fury.

A sob escapes her lips, and I’m pulling her back into my arms before she can crumble.

“I’m getting you out of here,” I vow, my voice fierce against her ear. “Just hold on a little longer.”

“I don’t know if I can,” she whispers, her voice breaking on the last word.

I tilt her chin up, forcing her to meet my gaze.

“You can.”

“How do you know?” she asks, her voice trembling.

“Because you’re you,” I say firmly. “Carina. My queen. The woman who survived years of hell and still came out stronger. The woman who turned her pain into vengeance so damn sexy it caught the attention of Nate Blackwell—the murder extraordinaire himself.”

Her lips twitch. A real laugh slips out. Small, but fucking real.

It feels like a victory.

“You’re right,” she says, her voice steadier now. “I’ve been through worse.”

“That’s… not exactly what I meant, but yeah, you get the idea.” I grin. “You’re a badass, Princess. And you’re mine. No matter what anyone says.”

“I love you so much, Nate,” she confesses, her voice soft but full of conviction.

The words hit like a bullet to the chest.

“I love you too, Princess,” I whisper, leaning down. “We’re going to circle back to this bombshell at a later date,” I try to joke.

She laughs again, but it’s laced with something else this time.

When our lips meet, it’s not soft or sweet—it’s desperate, consuming, like we’re trying to pour all the things we can’t say into that one moment.

The backs of her legs hit the counter, and I seize the moment, lifting her effortlessly to sit on it without breaking our kiss. My hands glide over her sides, tracing the curve of her waist, and she moans softly into my mouth—a sound that sends a bolt of need straight through me.

"God, I’ve missed you so fucking much," I groan, my lips brushing against hers as the words spill out.

"Nate…" she breathes, her voice a delicate whimper that shoots straight to my dick.

"I’m trying—really fucking hard—not to take you right here on this damn counter," I murmur, my forehead pressing against hers. "It’s been too long since I’ve been inside you."

"Then why are you holding back?" she whispers, her lips grazing my jaw as she plants soft, tantalising kisses along the stubble.

"Because..." I pause, my hands steadying her hips as I fight against the pull of desire. "You’re already going through hell, and the last thing I want to do is hurt you, baby. You deserve better."

"I need this. I need you," she whispers, her voice trembling with raw desperation. "Make me feel alive, Nate. Please."

How the hell can I deny her when she pleads like that, her eyes begging me to give her something real, something that isn’t pain?

My hands trail along her thighs, pushing her dress higher, the fabric sliding up over her smooth skin. But when I glance down, my movements halt.

Bruises. Dark, angry blotches of black and blue stain her legs like cruel fingerprints. Not just bruises either. Scars. My chest tightens, my throat constricts, but I push her dress up further anyway.

The damage doesn’t stop at her legs. It spreads, a mosaic of torment wrapping around her torso. Some bruises are faded and yellowed, others fresh and vibrant, glaring accusations of the hell she’s endured. My hands hover above her skin, trembling as fury and heartbreak collide within me.

“Nate?” she whispers, eyes firmly planted towards the floor. “Please don’t.”

My entire body hums with barely contained rage.

I can’t fucking breathe.

"He did this to you?" My voice is low and rough, barely more than a growl.

She doesn’t answer. She doesn’t have to.

"I'll kill him."

I step back, ready to storm out and destroy whoever did this to her, but her hand presses against my chest, stopping me in my tracks.

Her fingers clutch my shirt, trembling.

“Nate,” she whispers.

I look at her.

Not just at the bruises. Not just at the damage. But her.

The woman who has survived every hell thrown at her. And still, somehow, she’s here.

A tear slips down her cheek. Not for herself but for me.

For what I’ll do if I walk out that door.

Slowly, my rage doesn’t disappear, but it settles.

Not gone. Never gone.

But I’m not leaving her. Not now.

I cup her face, brushing a thumb over her cheek.

“I’m still getting you out of here, Princess,” I murmur, my voice raw. “I swear it.”

“You can’t.” Her voice is barely more than a broken whisper.

"Why the fuck not?" I grit out, my teeth clenched so tightly it hurts.

"There are guards everywhere, Nate," she says, her tone pleading. "They'll kill you before you even get close. Not to mention the number of media outlets here."

"I don't care."

"Well, I do!" Her voice breaks, raw and desperate.

Then the hammer drops.

"He has evidence—an entire folder of every kill you've ever made.” She swallows hard, her throat working around the words. “That's why I haven't been able to get away. That's why I can't risk it."

I freeze.

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut, twisting my insides into knots.

“Not possible,” I whisper, thinking back to every kill. I’m careful. Kai is too good.

“He showed me, Nate.”

My blood runs colds. “You saw the evidence?”

“He showed me the folder, but he pulled it away before I could see much.”

I shake my head. “There’s no way. He’s bluffing, baby.”

She sucks in a breath. “What if he’s not?”

“He is.” He has to be.

My gaze drops back to her bruised skin, to the thick scars on her thighs. My fists clench, my vision darkens, my rage burns hot enough to incinerate this entire fucking hotel.

Carina’s small voice cracking steals my focus. "Please," she whispers, raw with the weight of her emotions. "I can't... I can't talk about it. Not now. Please."

Her hands cup my face, pulling my gaze away from the bruises that scream her pain and into her striking blue eyes. They're glossy with unshed tears, yet there's something else in them-desperation, need, a plea I don't know how to answer.

Her hands trail down my chest, fingers skimming over my abs before fumbling with the buckle of my belt. But I catch them, stilling her movements, and gently move them aside.

Fuck.

“I’ve got you,” I murmur.

I release her hand and undo my belt myself, my fingers working with slow, deliberate precision.

Her breathing quickens, her chest rising and falling with anticipation.

Those eyes, hazy with longing, lock onto mine, full of trust, of something unspoken.

I free myself, but my body isn't entirely in this yet. Not when the image of her bruises is still burned into my mind.

But she touches me. A delicate, reverent stroke. And the feel of her hand, her warmth, her need—shatters the last of my hesitation.

She spreads her legs, offering herself to me.

And I cave.

“This will have to be quick, Princess. We’ve already been in here too long,” I apologise. I’ll worship her properly once I have her back for good.

“I know. So, hurry up.”

I move her lacy thong to the side and waste no more time. I push into her, her tight heat wrapping around me like a glove, her body gripping me like she's just as starved for this as I am.

“Jesus fucking—” I choke out, drowning in the feel of her.

“Nate. Fuck.”

She's so wet I glide in and out with ease, her body welcoming me like I'm something she's been craving for far too long.

It doesn't take long before my control starts to unravel. But I won't let go until she does.

I reach between us, fingers finding her clit, rubbing soft, devastating circles.

Her head throws back, her body bowing, her walls tightening around me as she falls apart with a strangled moan.

It undoes me.

My orgasm rips through me, white-hot and consuming.

I press my forehead to hers, my breathing ragged, my heart hammering against my ribs.

Her lips—fuck, her lips—call to me, and I kiss her, slow and reverent, before pulling away.

As I slip free, my release trickles down her thighs.

She reaches for a tissue, but I catch her wrist.

"Leave it," I murmur.

“What?” Her breath hitches. Eyes wide, pupils blown.

“I want you to go back out there with my cum dripping from your cunt,” I demand, my voice low, possessive, “as a reminder of who you really belong to.”

A shiver runs through her.

She sucks in a breath as lust flashes through her expression. She smiles, a real one, then rearranges her underwear and pulls her dress back down.

“I should head back out there,” I sigh, my words reluctant, knowing full well I’d rather stay here, with her. “Wait a bit so it’s not too obvious,”

She's so close, and yet I know I need to be smart about this.

Just as I’m about to turn towards the door, the real reason I came here tonight hits me. I stop in my tracks, my steps retracing towards her. I reach into my pocket, pulling out the small phone I bought for her and tucking it carefully into her bra.

"Be careful. Stay strong."

I brush my lips against hers one last time before turning to leave.

Forcing myself not to look back.