Chapter 3 THE FIRST MOVE (II)

The Moreau estate never truly slept.

Even after the last of the champagne had dried on crystal glasses and the hired musicians packed away their violins, the sprawling halls still pulsed with the heavy heartbeat of ambition and old sins.

Shadows lingered in the corners, thick and almost sentient, carrying the weight of decades of bloody history.

Catalina slipped through the west wing corridors like a whisper of smoke, the hem of her black dress trailing over the marble floors in soft, purposeful strides.

The scent of cigar smoke, leather, and cold stone filled her lungs - a sensory memory of a life she had buried long ago.

She had memorized every inch of this place once.

Back when she was just a girl clutching her father's hand, forced to smile through endless banquets and fragile alliances brokered in secret rooms.

Back before trust had shattered into a thousand irreparable pieces.

Her fingers brushed the gilded edge of a mirror that hung between two towering doorways - an old piece, carved with wolves and laurels.

A ghost revisiting the ruins of her past.

Catalina moved with calculated grace, fully aware that somewhere - from one of the estate's unseen watchtowers or hidden cameras - Dominic Moreau was observing her.

Good.

She needed his attention.

But not his suspicion.

Not yet.

Tonight had been the opening move. She had planted a seed - a spark of curiosity, a flicker of recognition he couldn't quite name.

And now, like any good strategist, she would fan it into something more dangerous.

From the folds of her clutch, she retrieved a slim black USB drive - small enough to vanish in the palm of her hand, potent enough to crack foundations.

Inside it lived years' worth of painstakingly gathered secrets: off-shore accounts, weapon shipments routed through neutral ports, under-the-table deals that could unmake entire dynasties if they came to light.

She hadn't simply found this evidence.

She had bled for it.

Lost friends. Burned bridges. Built an empire of her own in the shadows, fueled by rage and patience.

Now, it was time to weaponize it.

Catalina paused outside the heavy oak door of Dominic's personal study. The place still bore his father's mark - brutal, functional, untouchable.

But Catalina knew better.

Everything broke eventually.

Kneeling quickly, she slid the USB just beneath a bronze bust of Julius Caesar perched beside the door - positioning it carefully so it would catch the eye of someone sharp, someone already suspicious.

Not too obvious.

Not too hidden.

The perfect bait.

Because to bring down an empire like the Moreaus', you didn't fire the first shot.

You sowed the first whisper of doubt.

And doubt could tear down castles far faster than bullets.

Straightening her shoulders, Catalina smoothed her dress, let out a slow, controlled breath, and disappeared back into the shadows - her heart steady, her mind a blade honed for war.

The silent rebellion had begun.

---

Meanwhile, across the estate, Dominic leaned heavily against the wrought-iron railing of his private balcony, the cool night air tugging at the open collar of his shirt.

The amber scotch in his glass went untouched, forgotten.

He should have been reveling in victory tonight - celebrating the final cementing of his role as heir, the Moreau legacy handed to him on a bloodstained platter.

Instead, a stranger's face haunted him.

No, not a stranger.

He couldn't shake the feeling.

There was something about the woman in black - the defiance in her stare, the way she carried herself like a queen in exile - that dragged ghosts from the graveyard of his memory.

Catalina.

The name struck like a match in the darkness.

No.

She was dead.

They all knew it.

He had seen the reports. Had stood over the burnt remains of her world and accepted the cost.

And yet...

Dominic raked a hand through his hair in frustration, the old anger and guilt clawing up from the past.

Tomorrow, he decided grimly, he would find out who she was.

He had people.

Surveillance.

Resources.

Nobody entered the Moreau world without leaving footprints.

And if this woman thought she could play at shadows, she would learn just how well Dominic Moreau hunted ghosts.

---

By morning, the seeds Catalina had planted began to sprout.

It started small - a tight whisper between two senior guards in the kitchen corridor.

A misplaced ledger.

A frantic call on a secured line that wasn't so secure anymore.

Like a match dropped in dry grass, panic spread rapidly but quietly, threading its way through the staff and lower ranks.

Whispers of betrayal.

Unanswered questions about missing money, suspicious loyalties, concealed transactions.

Exactly as she had intended.

Catalina stood in the grand salon, framed by towering windows that bled morning light into the cavernous room.

She sipped black coffee from fine porcelain, the very portrait of composed elegance, while the estate churned around her like a wounded animal.

Footsteps pounded the halls.

Low, hurried voices gathered behind closed doors.

Fear lingered in the air like the sharp tang of iron.

And then -

He entered.

Dominic Moreau.

The room seemed to tense around him, as if the very walls recognized the predator in their midst.

He moved like a storm barely restrained - all crisp authority and violent focus as he scanned the salon.

When their eyes met, it was deliberate.

A collision.

Catalina lowered her coffee cup slowly, her lips curving into a smile that promised nothing and hid everything.

Dominic held her gaze, unreadable.

But Catalina knew the storm had already begun.

And the most dangerous wars were always fought in silence.

Dominic's gaze lingered on her for just a second too long.

Not with recognition.

Not with anger.

But with doubt - sharp and coiling under his skin.

Catalina felt it, the way a storm feels the first crackle of lightning in the clouds.

He doesn't know who I am.

Not yet.

But the way he looked at her - like a puzzle piece he couldn't quite place - sent a ripple of warning down her spine.

Then, one of Dominic's advisors approached, murmuring urgently into his ear.

Catalina couldn't hear the words.

She didn't need to.

Whatever had been found - whatever had been planted - it was working.

Dominic's jaw tightened.

He flicked one last glance toward her - sharp, measuring -

then turned and strode from the room, his men following in his wake like hounds scenting blood.

Catalina stood perfectly still, letting the chaos bloom around her.

Inside, her heart beat a hard, triumphant rhythm.

The first crack had formed.

Now all she had to do was widen it - until the whole damn empire shattered.