Chapter 267: The Queen Who Stole a Throne

I watched for a moment longer, the scene playing out like a tragic symphony of vengeance and sorrow. But Angela was lost in her pain, her sobs growing more desperate, her strikes becoming weaker, her body collapsing under the weight of her emotions.

Finally, I stepped forward, gently wrapping my hand around her wrist to still her movements. She resisted at first, her grip on the knife unyielding, but I pulled her close, prying the blade from her fingers and letting it clatter to the floor.

"It’s okay," I murmured, my voice low and steady as I pulled her against me. She collapsed into my arms, her body wracked with sobs, her tears soaking into my skin.

"It’s over, Angela. It’s over." I held her tightly, my hand cradling the back of her head as she buried her face against my chest. "You’re safe now. He can’t hurt you anymore."

She clung to me, her fists gripping my shirt, her body shaking with the force of her cries. "I hated him so much," she sobbed, her voice muffled against my chest. "I hated him every single day, but I had to pretend. I had to act like I didn’t know. Like I didn’t care." Her breath hitched, her tears flowing freely.

"I wanted to kill him so many times, but I was scared. I was so scared. And now—now it’s done, and I don’t know if I can ever stop seeing it. I don’t know if I can ever forget."

"You don’t have to forget," I said softly, my voice a steady anchor in the storm of her emotions. "You don’t have to forgive. You don’t have to do anything but live, Angela. Just live."

I held Angela tighter, my arms a shelter against the storm of her grief. She clung to me, her body wracked with sobs, each one tearing through her like a blade.

I let her cry, let her release the years of pain and rage she had carried inside her—years of pretending, of smiling through the agony, of burying her sorrow deep where no one could see. "You’re free now," I murmured into her hair, my voice steady and unyielding. "And I’m here. I’m not going anywhere."

Her tears soaked into my skin, her breath hitching as she tried to steady herself. The room was silent except for the sound of her crying, the weight of her suffering finally spilling out into the open. I didn’t rush her. I didn’t pull away. I just held her, letting her know she wasn’t alone anymore.

The remaining soldiers stood frozen, their eyes darting between me and the choppers descending from the sky. I could feel their fear—raw, electric, pulsing through the night like a living thing.

I turned to them, my voice cutting through the noise like a blade. "Take us to Walter’s place. Now." My tone left no room for hesitation. "And if any of you even think about betraying me, you’ll wish you’d never been born."

They nodded frantically, their faces pale. "Yes, sir! Right away!" one of them stammered, his voice shaking as he motioned for the others to move. "We’ll take you there!"

I turned back to Angela, who was still standing beside me, her breath steadying but her hands trembling slightly. The blade I’d used to end Walter’s life was still in my grip, its edge dark with blood.

With a flick of my wrist, the metal shifted, twisting and reshaping itself into a black t-shirt. I pulled it on, the fabric settling against my skin as if it had always belonged there. Angela watched, her eyes wide with a mix of awe and exhaustion.

"Let’s go," I said, my voice softer now, just for her. I reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face and wiping away the last of her tears with my thumb. "This fortress is yours now, Angela. Every brick, every weapon. Take control of it."

She looked up at me, her eyes still glistening with unshed tears, but there was something new in them—something fierce. "What if they don’t listen?" she asked, her voice trembling but her jaw set with determination.

I smirked, my hand resting on the hilt of the knife at my side. "Then we make them."

She took a deep breath, nodding as she squared her shoulders. "And what about the others? The ones who worked for Walter?"

"They work for you now," I said, my voice firm. "Or they die. It’s that simple."

Angela’s gaze hardened, the last traces of her grief giving way to something colder, something stronger. "I don’t want to be like him," she said quietly, her voice barely audible over the roar of the helicopters. "I don’t want to rule through fear."

I stepped closer, my voice low so only she could hear. "Then don’t. Rule through strength. Through respect. Through the kind of power that makes people follow you because they believe in you, not because they’re afraid of you." I paused, my eyes locking onto hers. "But never forget—mercy is a luxury, Angela. And right now, we can’t afford it."

She looked at me for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, slowly, she nodded. "I won’t."

We moved toward the helicopters, the soldiers falling into step behind us. As we approached, the choppers touched down, their rotors kicking up a storm of dust and debris.

The side doors slid open, and a man leaned out, his rifle pointed directly at us. His face was twisted with suspicion, his finger tense on the trigger. "Where’s the boss?" he shouted, his voice rough with suspicion. " I am asking who you guys are? Where the hell is Boss?"

I didn’t flinch. I didn’t even blink. "Your boss is dead," I said, my voice cold and final. "And if you don’t lower that gun in the next three seconds, you’ll be joining him."

The man hesitated, his eyes flicking between Angela and me. "You’re lying," he spat, but his voice wavered. "Walter would never—"

"Walter is gone," Angela cut in, her voice steady and deadly calm. "And this fortress? It’s mine now." She stepped forward, her chin lifted, her gaze unyielding. "You can either swear loyalty to me, or you can die where you stand. Your choice."