I was lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling. I tried to push all my suspicious thoughts aside and close my eyes. I exhaled a ragged breath, turned to a side and snuggled into the pillow.

[I found myself standing in the middle of Anthony's office, waiting for him to come in. My mouth tasted bitter with something. I gulped once, trying to wet my dry throat and hacked a cough.

I had no clue what I was doing in his office. As far as I remembered I had found the damned guest room on the first floor and pounced on the bed as soon as the door opened. Then how had I ended up here?

My head felt light. I blinked a few times and stared around me, but my surroundings looked a little misty. I hadn't drunk 'that' much.

It was moments later I realized that I was dreaming, and what a strange dream it was. I was standing alone in a room, doing absolutely nothing.

I heard the door creak behind me. I turned around, feeling the relief rushing through my veins. It was Anthony who had entered the room. He was dressed in casual clothes, his jeans ripped at his knees. His white shirt clung to his chest. His breathing was harsh as he approached me, his eyes holding a look of determination I had never seen before.

He reduced the space between us and grabbed my hands forcefully. I tried to snarl at him, but my voice didn't come out. He shoved me back, and I lost balance and fell over. My eyes closed instantly as my body hit the floor.

I opened my eyes slowly, ready to get up on my feet and punch his face, but I saw that I was standing behind Anthony chair holding it tightly. In my place- fallen on the floor was my mother, looking exactly as she did on the last day I saw her.

My breathing stopped as I looked at the scene in front of me. He didn't give her time to stand back up. He pounced on her, pulling out a blade from behind his jeans and pressing it to her throat.

I tried so hard to run towards them. I tried to scream at him to stop, but I was frozen.

I could only see, and it killed me.

I could do nothing.

He muffled her screams with his hand. Before I could grasp what happened he sliced through her throat. I watched as the color left her face.

My scream couldn't be heard.

She was lying there lifeless… I couldn't even drop down to my knees and cry.

His eyes snapped to me. He stood up and straightened his shirt. There was a maniacal gleam in his eyes.

"You're next, my kitten," he said as he stalked towards me. He pressed me against the wall, the knife positioned at my stomach, its sharp end poking my skin. I looked down at the object and tried to fight him. I felt my throat burn as he gripped my throat.

No…

My hands twitched and I clenched my fingers together. A gun went off and I stumbled back. I stared at Anthony. His eyes were wide and he looked down towards his own body. I, too, followed his eyes and found myself staring at a patch of red liquid which spread across his white t-shirt and colored it a bloody red.

My eyes fell to my hands… The gun was still clenched in my hands, feeling heavier than ever, but I couldn't come to regret putting a bullet in him. It gave me a sense of satisfaction that I'd never felt after I'd killed someone.

This was revenge… This was how it felt when one got what they wanted. I licked my lips as a smile spread across my features.]

I turned over in the bed, feeling perfectly content, and my body buzzing with excitement. I stretched my arms and my legs and rolled on the bed for a few moments, relishing the sweet feeling of satisfaction. I wondered if it was the after effect of my dream.

I pulled out the gun from under the pillow and tucked it under my dress for the moment. A gun was a security, but it was first and foremost a weapon of destruction. People who could use it for all its worth were the winners. Their minds didn't scream for them to stop when they pulled the gun out. Their hands didn't tremble when they raised the gun. And they certainly didn't hesitate to pull the trigger if they had to.

I've always been one of the winners. My conscience didn't hurt when I pulled the trigger. I was doing some innocent people a huge favor by killing a ruthless bastard and freeing him from his duties. It might sound immoral, or cruel, but it was true.

I had my moments of weakness, but they'd last long enough to show me that they did nothing but confuse me.

Anthony had killed my mother… both Cain and Billy had said so. Just because I had this fleeting thought that Anthony was not a murderer in a moment of weakness didn't make him innocent.

Now that I thought about it, Anthony was the only person who had a motive to kill her. She was a threat to the Empire he was going to inherit. He acted in defense. End of story.

Now that I knew exactly how good it felt to see him wounded, I wouldn't stop to think about his actions. I'd pursue him and then destroy his empire from under his nose.

I'd return victorious, free of any guilt that I couldn't fulfill my father's expectations.

Cain had wanted Anthony to die, didn't he? He'd get his wish fulfilled.

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