When lilies burn

The city outside Passion's penthouse was still awake, even in the early hours of the morning. London buzzed with distant traffic, glowing windows, and the occasional sound of laughter from streets far below. But inside, the air was thick with silence. Passion stood by the tall window, one hand wrapped around a glass of red wine she hadn't touched. She stared out, but she wasn't seeing the city.

She was seeing a hallway, a nursery window, her mother's blood, Fifteen years, and she could still feel little Bella slipping from her arms

Behind her, the soft rustle of movement signaled Elena's entrance. "You should rest," the older woman said gently, walking in with two mugs of tea. She handed one to Matteo, who joined her quietly on the couch.

"I can't," Passion said. Her voice was flat, but her eyes were restless. "Not yet."

Matteo, ever watchful, leaned forward. "It went well. You made a strong impression. You kept your cool."

"I saw him," Passion whispered. "Bishop."

The room fell still. Elena lowered her tea. "Did he, did he seem to recognize you?"

"No. Why would he? I was eleven. And my face isn't the same." She gave a bitter smile. "Nothing is."

Elena reached for her hand, squeezing it. "You did well. We always knew this day would come. And we trained you for it."

Matteo nodded. "We didn't just save you, Passion. We prepared you, built a company around your new name, gave you power and reach. You're not that little girl anymore." Passion turned away, sipping the wine at last. It was dry and empty just like she felt.

The silence in the penthouse stretched, heavy and familiar. Passion walked over to a drawer and pulled out a small box. She opened it and revealed a collection of newspaper clippings, old photographs, and hand-sketched faces. Some had red Xs through them. Others were untouched. Jason's face was among them. A photo from his twelfth birthday. She stared at it for a long time.

"Still no word?" she asked quietly.

Elena shook her head. "We searched for years. But it's as if he vanished."

"He didn't die. I never saw a body. Just like I didn't see Belle go under, until it was too late."

Matteo's voice was soft. "Do you want us to renew the search? Quietly?"

"Yes. And I want surveillance on the Bishop family, every one of them. Especially the father."Her gaze had shifted from the window to the city's reflection in the glass. She wasn't looking at it—just staring through it.

"Do you remember," she said suddenly, "when I couldn't even say their name?"

Matteo looked up from his notes. Elena raised a brow gently, unsure where the question was going.

"I used to choke on it," Passion continued. "The Bishops. I couldn't say it without shaking." She laughed once, bitterly. "Now I can sip wine and plan their ruin like it's any other business strategy."

"That's not a bad thing," Elena said. "It's strength."

"No," Passion murmured. "It's distance. It's the only way I've survived. Distance from what happened, from who I used to be."

Elena walked over and gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind Passion's ear. "You've taken pain and turned it into power. Not many people can do that."

Passion gave a small nod. She reached for the box again, flipping through the contents—faces of the past, fragments of horror. Then, carefully, she took out Jason's photograph and laid it on the table before her.

"I don't care how many years it's been," she said. "I need to know what happened to him. If he's alive, if he's being used—anything."

"We'll find something," Matteo promised. "We'll triple the effort."

She nodded slowly. "It's strange. I've built a reputation with this rage. I've stood in boardrooms and silenced men twice my age. I've negotiated with killers and smiled while doing it. But I'd give everything I've built just to know if he's out there."

The room grew quiet again.

Passion returned the box and its contents to the drawer then walked across the penthouse, barefoot, her steps silent on the polished floor. She stopped before a framed painting hanging by the hallway—a gift from Matteo years ago. An abstract depiction of fire and lilies. She'd pretended not to see the symbolism.

Now she stood before it, letting herself look.

"They called us weak," she said. "Soft. The Kent family was 'too gentle' for business. But we weren't weak. We were kind. And they hated us for it."

She turned to face Elena and Matteo.

"Tomorrow," she said. "I want a full breakdown of Bishop Industries' shell accounts. I want to know where their charity money goes, who they bribe, who they protect. Any political ties, any deals in the shadows. I want it all."

"We've already begun," Matteo said. "But we'll accelerate the digging

"Do you think he knows?" she asked. "Scott? About what his father did?"

Matteo shook his head. "Unlikely. From everything we know, he was sheltered and protected but he's a Bishop. Never forget that."

She nodded slowly. "He looked normal. Well trust fund, spoilt kid normal. Like the kind of man you could..." She trailed off and frowned. "But that doesn't mean anything. His family destroyed mine. I can't forget that."

"You won't," Elena said, firm. "But you also need to be smart. If he's innocent, he might be a tool. If he's not, well, then he's just another target."

"This is just the beginning," she said. "They think Lily Kent died that night. Let them keep thinking that. Passion Coleman is the name they will fear."

And with that, she finally allowed herself to close her eyes.

But even then, the ghosts didn't sleep.