( A/N: The scene time of this chapter is set before Erika enters the ballroom and when she enters the ballroom and observes her surroundings down to the stage)

Sebastian

Xavier extended his hand toward me, an eager smile fixed on his face. I only narrowed my eyes, arching a brow in response.

His hand faltered midair before retreating into his pocket. The smile that followed was one of embarrassed defeat.

From the corner of the room, a waitress approached. Her uniform clung tightly to her figure as she carried a velvet box of cigars. She stopped at my side, offering it with both hands. I selected one, and with practiced grace, she lit it for me before stepping back into her place.

The first drag was smooth, rich, grounding. Ryan had arranged my favorite brand. A thoughtful gesture. He hadn’t been exaggerating when he promised flawless arrangements.

“Good evening. My name is Xavier Williams,” the man began again, his tone carefully polite. “I’m here on behalf of Mr. Nicholas Dimitri. The Master has sent me with a proposal, Sir. If you’re interested, we can negotiate.”

The name struck me like a bell, sharp and resounding. I disliked how it echoed through my mind, yet I couldn’t ignore it. Even so, I let him squirm beneath my silence for a few moments longer.

“Sit,” I said at last. The word wasn’t a suggestion—it was an order.

He hurried to comply, slipping into the seat a polite distance away. Close, but not too close. That place beside me was reserved, and only Ryan had earned it.

“Sir,” Xavier began, wetter now with nerves, “the Master believes rivalry profits no one. He also knows you lost thirty million in your last deal. He wants to help you recover.”

A pause for breath, his eyes flickering nervously across my face.

“In a few days, a cargo ship will dock on the East Coast. Weapons. Explosives. Six hundred million, total value. Master is prepared to offer you ten percent—sixty million—in exchange for safe passage. The cargo must move north, but the territory between ports…” He swallowed, his voice dropping. “…is under Mr. Ryan’s control. And, as you know, the Master and Mr. Ryan are… not on the best of terms.”

His attempt at composure failed miserably. He glistened with sweat under the ballroom’s gentle air-conditioning, fear seeps through his carefully chosen words.

I leaned back, studying him. Sixty million for betrayal. A tempting offer, if only I were the sort to sell out allies—or forget old blood debts.

But Dimitri’s name was poison. I had razed most of their clan to the ground, and whoever this so-called “heir” was, he expected me to abandon the past in exchange for easy money. Foolish.

Still, I gave him nothing. My face remained carved from stone, my intentions buried. If he wanted civility, then I would gift him a mask of civility. I smiled faintly—and let him misunderstand it.

He perked up at once, taking false confidence from my expression. Good. Sometimes, the prey walked straight into the snare.

“Don’t worry. I’ll help you,” I told him lightly. “I’ll assign a team, see to the details, and have your message delivered to your master. He’ll remember this deal for the rest of his life.”

The relief that washed over him was almost pitiful. His shoulders slumped, his breath finally releasing as though he had been holding it far too long.

As he rambled through shipment details, I noticed his eyes drifting—not toward me, but beyond the gallery, downwards. Following his glances discreetly, I caught almost nothing. A shadow, perhaps. A slave, I thought. Still, before I could probe further, my phone buzzed in my pocket.

Alexis.

I had sent him on a brutal task tonight. Not one I would ever wish on someone unprepared.

Pulling the phone free, I rose from my chair. “Excuse me,” I said, polite once more, before stepping away. Even predators adhered to a code of manners.

I moved swiftly from the gallery toward the private elevator. Daniel, ever watchful, caught sight of my departure and gestured for two of my men to follow. I dismissed one with a glance. Too many ears made for poor conversations.

Moments later, the elevator opened onto the rooftop. The city stretched out below me in glittering silence. Wind tugged at my hair, sharp and clean, filling me with renewed clarity.

I dialed Alexis. He picked up on the first ring.

“It’s done, Sir. I’m arranging the funeral now.” His whisper carried grief so heavy it weighted the line itself.

I closed my eyes briefly. Loyal. Strong. But even the strongest warriors bled when cut by love.

“Good, Alexis. You know it had to be done. Prepare yourself—I’ll attend the funeral in the morning.” My tone remained cold, though I understood his pain too well. Killing love left behind nothing but ghosts.

A silence hung, thick and mournful. And then, faintly: “Yes, Sir.”

I ended the call, giving him the quiet he needed to wrestle his demons.

After a moment, I tried Ryan. Once. Twice. Again. The line rang, stubbornly unanswered. My irritation grew with every hollow tone. Where the hell was he?

Enough waiting. I turned back toward the elevator—and froze.

My guard was gone. Strange. He would never leave without permission. I would have words with Daniel.

I wasn’t alone. I could feel it: the heavy weight of someone’s stare.

From the corner of my vision, a figure shifted behind a pillar.

I said nothing. Simply continued to the elevator, pressing the button. The doors began to close—until a streak of motion darted forward, forcing them open.

A slight figure stumbled inside.

Gun raised.

She couldn’t have been more than early twenties. Brown skin. Grey eyes. Her delicate, oval face was streaked with grime, but her beauty was undeniable. A man’s oversized shirt clung, damp with sweat. Strands of hair slid across her cheeks, glued there by heat. Both hands gripped the pistol, trembling violently. Her whole body shivered like a fragile leaf in a storm.

But her eyes—God, her eyes—pierced me. Round, luminous, raging with desperation. They pulled at me viciously, unsettling something I thought untouchable. My pulse quickened. A new and savage desire began to coil within me: to take her, own her, make her mine.

“Take me out of here!” she shouted, voice raw, unsteady. “Now! You’re my cover!”

I smirked. So reckless. So foolish.

The sight of it enraged her further. With shaking hands, she flicked the safety off, stepping closer.

It was then I saw the collar fastened tight around her neck. Heavy, metallic, stamped with a single letter.

V.

Vincent’s slave.

And she was running. Bold, reckless, clever.

But poor little kitten had no idea. That pretty collar wasn’t just a chain. It carried a tracker buried in its steel.

In minutes, Vincent would know exactly where she stood.

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