In a dimly lit condominium unit just a few blocks away from Hunter and Angel's official residence, a man stood still behind large glass windows. He held a pair of binoculars, observing the same couple he had seen at the Southbay Port just days ago. From his vantage point, he watched as Hunter kissed Angel goodbye, her smile radiant, her hands caressing his cheek before he entered his car and drove off.
The man clenched his fist. He had been observing the couple from the moment they returned to Southbay. It was as if all his efforts to tear them apart had been wasted. Seeing them still in love, stronger than ever, ignited a dangerous fire inside him.
"It's not over," he muttered through gritted teeth. "It’s never over."
He turned away from the window, walking into the shadows of his unit where maps, photos, and a chaotic array of scribbled notes were pinned against the wall. His obsession had grown. This wasn't just revenge anymore; this was personal. The unity of the Foster and Mondiego families was a threat to his ambitions—a union that would make them untouchable. And he couldn’t let that happen.
He had devised many plans. Silent attacks. Smear campaigns. But now, he needed something more brutal. Something that would guarantee fear, separation, and absolute chaos. And he knew exactly how to start.
That day, not long after Hunter left for his long shift at Mondiego Empire in Southbay, the man moved.
Angel was outside, locking the gate. The day had been calm, and she thought she would spend the afternoon cleaning and maybe reading a book. But as she turned to head back inside, a strong arm yanked her backward.
A cloth soaked in sleeping chemicals was pressed tightly against her nose and mouth. She struggled, eyes wide with terror, but the scent overtook her. Within seconds, she was unconscious in the assailant's arms.
Before leaving, the man pulled out a can of red spray paint and left a bold message on the ground inside the gate: "If you want her alive, come alone."
He vanished with Angel.
It was around 5:00 PM when Hunter returned. He noticed the front gate was slightly ajar—a detail that instantly set off alarms in his mind. He stepped out of his car, cautiously looking around. As he pushed the gate open, his eyes caught the red writing.
His heart dropped.
He rushed inside, calling her name. No answer. Panic set in as he read the message again and again.
The address written was an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of Southbay City—a place known for its isolation and eerie silence. Without hesitation, he got back into his car and sped away.
In the cold, shadowed interior of the warehouse, Angel slowly stirred. Her body ached, and her wrists were sore from the ropes tied around them. The fire in a nearby tin drum flickered, casting distorted shadows across the rusted walls.
Her eyes scanned the room—empty, grim, with a scent of metal and old oil lingering in the air. Then a figure emerged from the dark—a man in a hooded black jacket, cap, and mask.
"Who are you?!" Angel screamed. "What do you want from me?!"
The man walked closer but didn’t reveal his face.
"If your family had just agreed," he said in a low, distorted voice, "this wouldn’t be necessary. But you all made your choice. Now I’m making mine."
Angel froze. Her family? Her mind raced. She had no clue who he was or what deal he was talking about.
"Your bloodline will end here. Neither you nor your sister will continue the Foster legacy. And once you're gone, your father's empire will crumble. Then it will be mine."
Tears streamed down Angel’s face. She struggled harder but was careful not to harm the baby. The man disappeared into the shadows again.
Moments later, a loud creak echoed as the warehouse doors opened. Hunter stepped in, heart pounding, eyes wild.
"Angel!" he called.
Before he could take another step, something slammed into the back of his head. Pain exploded in his vision, and everything went black.
When he came to, he was zip-tied to a chair, ropes binding his legs. His head throbbed, and not far from him sat Angel, still bound, her eyes red and full of dread.
"Angel," he croaked.
She gasped. "Hunter! Are you okay?!"
He nodded slightly. "I’ll get us out of here. I promise."
Then the man reappeared, stepping into the firelight.
"Hunter Reeves," he drawled, "or should I say... Mondiego?"
Hunter’s jaw clenched. "What do you want? Money? Power? Let her go. This is between us now."
The man let out a chilling laugh. "You think this is about money? You think I care about your last name? No. I want the Foster family to suffer."
Hunter's eyes narrowed. Something about the man's build, his voice—familiar. The pieces started to connect.
"You were in prison," Hunter said slowly. "Weren’t you? One of them... one of the ones who..."
The man tilted his head. "Ding ding ding. Took you long enough. If only you had stayed the bullied orphan. Quiet. Weak. Then none of this would’ve happened. But you had to fall in love with a Foster. You had to rise."
Hunter’s blood boiled. "If you touch her U swear you—"
"You’ll do what?" the man mocked. "You’re tied up like a rat, Reeves. I’m the one who makes the rules here. I give the warnings. Not you."
He laughed again, loud and twisted.
Angel looked at Hunter, eyes full of fear, but also trust. "We’ll make it," she whispered.
Hunter nodded, locking eyes with the man.
"You made one mistake," Hunter said, voice low but lethal.
"And what’s that?" the masked man asked.
Hunter’s gaze was sharp. "You didn’t finish the job when you had the chance."
The flames crackled between them, but the war had just begun.