Sebastian

"Is she safe? Any injuries? Where is she?" I blurted out as soon as the call connected to Alexis’s phone. I hated the sound of my own voice—it sounded desperate, weak, like a man on the edge of something he couldn't quite name.

“She’s fine. She’s with me,” came his reply, cold and clipped, anger barely concealed beneath that icy tone. I rolled my eyes, refusing to rise to his bait—Alexis's moods were a constant, but right now I only cared for Erika.

“Let me talk to her,” I demanded. I suspected she was refusing, and indeed, the line hung in a silence so pointed it stung, until at last Alexis made her surrendered.

“Hello, Mr. King,” she whispered, her voice a soft melody with no weight behind it. Relief washed through me, so fierce and sudden it nearly knocked the air from my lungs. I let out a shaky breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

Yet somehow, that same incident reignited my anger—a searing, protective fury that slipped out as I scolded her, my words brittle and sharp, before I cut the call, unwilling to cause more damage than had already been done.

I leaned back in my chair, letting my head fall against the headrest, lost in a confusion of emotions I couldn't label. Erika unsettled me, agitated me in ways I couldn't explain.

Anger. Confusion. Fear. Which one belonged to her? Which one belonged to me? I couldn't tell anymore. When she tried to escape, it felt like I was losing something more important than my own life.

All I felt was a rush, an urgency, the pressing need to keep her close at all costs.

Our first meeting haunted me still—an elevator, and a woman desperate for freedom. Someday she’d take it, and she’d leave me behind.

That thought twisted inside me, sharp and maddening. I knew I was catching an obsession for her, something dark and unhealthy, and I hated it. Yet I was hopeless against the tide; these emotions had rooted deep, growing wild.

Ring!

The vibrations of my phone shattered the fragile silence, its screen glowing in the dimly lit room—a pale contrast against the golden glow of my study’s lamps.

“Xavier?” My brows knit, irritation tingling at the base of my neck. Why now? I swiped green, masking annoyance with formality.

“Yes, Mr. William?” My voice was icy, professional—a silent warning that he ought to have a good reason for disturbing me.

“Mr. King, ha!” His nervous laugh grated against my patience. “We’re halfway to the west port, and should arrive in a couple of days. Please send your team, Alexis and Daniel will lead. I’ve discussed everything with them at our cruise meeting. They only need your go-ahead.”

I listened, gathering every ounce of patience I had. Ryan wasn’t usually this skittish. He must have a strong reason. Still, it meant more meetings and more friction.

“Sure,” I replied, dull and curt. I ended the call, thoughts turning to Alexis and the challenge ahead.

Getting Ryan and Alexis to the same table was a feat—a match of fire and petroleum. Sparks inevitably flew, and stopping the explosion was impossible. But it was necessary.

I dialed Alexis next. “Xavier is halfway to port. We have just a couple of days. I want a meeting with Ryan—include you.” I paused, braced for dissent, but none came. So I pressed on. “Let Daniel escort Erika off the cruise. Meet me at Ryan’s club.”

The line held, only his steady breathing carrying through—the sound a testament to agitation carefully restrained. But business was business; emotion had no currency here.

“Yes, Master,” he replied, curt and sharp. His tone tightened around that single phrase.

“Fine,” I answered, ending the call.

Everyone was under strain, Alexis more than most. No one wished for this, yet here we were.

The next morning, Liam and Rameta joined me, our security detail crisscrossing the city streets as we made our way to Ryan’s famous Italian restaurant—the club where trouble brewed as easily as espresso.

I glanced at Rameta in the car. She was my anchor, my peace when the storm hit. Only she could calm a rampant Alexis, and today, we’d need her composure. Her eyes were swollen, heavy with last night’s tears after Avi’s confirmation. The sight pained me, but some things were beyond my reach.

I reached over, cupping her hand, my support silent and steady. She leaned into me, resting her head on my shoulder—a rare vulnerability.

Rameta was family, though by blood a distant cousin. She was the buffer between me and Alexis, the one thread holding us all—our little sister.

“How was the wedding?” I tried to draw her away from the grief, conjuring small talk in hopes it would distract her.

“It was good,” she replied, voice thin and weary.

“Did everything go well?” I pushed, earning a glare laced with irritation. I couldn’t help but smile; teasing her always lightened the mood.

“Yes, and we missed you, Seb,” came her eventual answer, delivered without a glance, but it was enough. Then she nudged, “Did you like her?”

I froze, and I knew what this was—is Erika important to you, Seb?

“Who?” I feigned innocence, sidestepping the matter.

“Don’t act innocent. You know exactly who I mean. If she weren’t important, you wouldn’t have made me her roommate. So tell me—did you like her, brother?”

“She’s just a slave, Ry. I need to be sure about her. If she’s a threat—if she leads trouble to us—what should I do?” My reply was firm, masking something brittle just beneath.

Rameta hummed, unconvinced, but let it go.

We sat in silence for the rest of the ride. An hour crawled by, the cityscape blurring behind tinted glass. Arriving, I stepped out first, the driver holding the door as Rameta followed, adjusting the weapon at her waist.

I offered her a hand, but she shook me off, rolling her eyes and sticking out her tongue, her spirit never quite gone.

Together, we entered Ryan's club, the manager leading us through gilded halls to Ryan’s private suite.

Ryan was always just a call away, predictable even when chaos reigned. But today, I awaited Alexis, the real storm.

A hostage opened the door. Instantly, I shielded Rameta’s eyes—the scene inside was obscene. Ryan was shirtless, moving with animal force atop a blonde woman, lost in the moment.

He stopped, sweat beading on his brow as he caught sight of us.

“What the hell, Seb? At least tell me Rameta is coming,” he muttered as he hurried into a shirt. My gaze remained blank—there was nothing left to say.

“Hi, Ry.” his greeting for Rameta was frosty, earning nothing but a withering look.

“Get lost, Ryan,” she spat, storming out. I followed, commanding, “Clean yourself up. I’ll wait in the dining area.”

The suite was expansive, every detail a testament to luxury. I ordered drinks and food, letting anticipation settle on my shoulders as I waited.

Ryan arrived eventually, dressed in black, hair damp, running a towel through it before tossing it aside. He smiled, seating himself next to me—an attempt at warmth amid old habits.

"Last time I thought you had it under control," I pressed, concern evident.

“It’s worse than last time,” he confessed, shame twisting through his features. It was rare to see him so vulnerable; his struggles were more mental than physical, and even therapy couldn’t tame them.

“He’ll be here soon. Don’t provoke him,” I warned, sipping my drink. Ryan merely grinned, mischief dancing in his eyes—devil may care, but not Ryan as always.

I shook my head, helpless before the madness.

Damn this man!!