Hundred and six

Henry’s POV

The pub smelled of whiskey, cigars, and the bitter scent of deceit. It was a place where men like Tristan and I discussed business where power changed hands with a glance, and loyalty was as thin as the rim of a glass.

I entered the private booth without hesitation. Tristan was already there, seated in his usual spot, a glass of bourbon in hand, his smirk in place like he had all the time in the world.

I didn’t waste time. Sliding into the seat across from him, I leaned back, watching him. A waitress approached, her eyes scanning me with interest, but I dismissed her with a look. I wasn’t here for distractions.

Tristan took a slow sip, savoring the alcohol before finally speaking. "You're late."

I ignored him. "Shipments. Eastside distribution. Updates."

His smirk deepened, as if amused. “Straight to business, huh?” He shook his head in mock disappointment. "You used to have better social skills, Henry."

I stared at him. "And you used to have better results. I asked for updates."

Tristan chuckled, setting his drink down. "Everything’s moving as expected. We had a small issue with one of the new guys, thought he could get creative with the numbers."

I didn’t blink. "And?"

"He’s not a problem anymore," Tristan said flatly.

I nodded. That was how it worked. You stole from us, you didn’t get a second chance.

"Investors?" I asked.

Tristan exhaled, looking mildly bored. "Some of them are getting nervous. The heat’s been turning up, and they don’t like the attention."

"They’ll get reassurance when they see results."

Tristan leaned back, swirling his drink. "Money talks. But fear speaks louder. Keep things quiet, and they'll stay loyal."

I didn’t respond. My mind was on what mattered, ensuring our operations ran smoothly. I didn’t have time for distractions.

But Tristan? He lived for them.

His smirk widened as he tilted his head. "Speaking of distractions," he started, voice laced with amusement. "Sophia."

I didn’t move.

His grin grew. "You haven’t mentioned her."

I stayed silent.

He exhaled a slow breath, studying me. "You know, everyone’s talking about her. About you and her. What’s the deal?"

I ignored him and continued. "Security at the docks needs to be tighter. I want—"

"Ah, so we’re pretending she doesn’t exist now?" Tristan interrupted, clearly entertained. "That’s cute."

My jaw clenched, but I didn’t take the bait.

Tristan chuckled and leaned forward. "What’s the matter? She getting too close? Or are you the one getting attached?"

Silence stretched between us.

Tristan smirked, shaking his head. “You know, I never understood what you saw in her. A little bitch like that—”

“Repeat that.”

My voice was quiet, but the weight behind it was lethal.

Tristan’s smirk faltered.

I leaned forward, my hands resting on the table, but my body coiled tight with warning. “Say that again.”

He hesitated, then scoffed. "Relax, Henry. I was just—"

I didn’t let him finish.

In one swift motion, I grabbed his collar and slammed my fist into his face. His head snapped back, the crack of impact echoing in the booth. His drink spilled across the table, the glass tipping over as bourbon splashed onto the floor.

Tristan cursed, grabbing his bleeding lip. "What the fuck?"

I didn’t move. My breathing was steady, my pulse controlled. "If you ever call her that again, you’ll lose more than just a few teeth."

Tristan blinked at me in shock, wiping at the blood smeared across his chin. "Jesus, Henry. That serious, huh?"

I didn’t answer.

His laughter was weaker this time, his confidence shaken. "Damn, I was just messing around."

I adjusted the cuffs of my sleeves. "Then consider this a warning."

His smirk twitched, but the amusement was gone.

I stood up, rolling my shoulders back. I felt his eyes on me, but he didn’t say another word.

Without looking back, I walked out of the pub.

The cold night air hit me like a shock to the system, but I welcomed it. The scent of spilled liquor and blood still lingered on my skin. I could hear the muffled sounds of the city, horns blaring, people laughing in the distance, a world that kept moving, unaware of the violence that lurked beneath.

I got into my car, gripping the wheel tightly. My hands still ached from the impact, but I didn’t regret it.

Let Tristan laugh. Let him think whatever he wanted. But one thing was clear, Sophia wasn’t to be disrespected. Not by him. Not by anyone.

\---

I arrived home just past midnight.

The estate was silent, except for the occasional flicker of light from the hallway chandeliers. I stepped inside, shutting the door behind me. My body was exhausted, my mind still restless.

Then I heard the voice.

“Henry.”

I turned, already irritated.

Alexandra stood near the staircase, dressed in a silk robe that barely clung to her body. Her blonde hair was styled perfectly, lips painted a deep red. She looked like she had been waiting for me.

I sighed, rubbing the tension from my temples. “What do you want?”

She took slow, deliberate steps toward me. "You’ve been avoiding me."

"Have I?" My voice was flat.

She smiled, her fingers trailing down the banister. "You know, we used to have fun together."

I didn’t reply.

She reached out, lightly tracing her fingers along my arm. "We could have that again, Henry."

I grabbed her wrist, stopping her. My patience was gone. "No, we couldn't."

Her smile faltered. "Come on. You know I’m better than—"

I shoved her hand away. "Go to bed, Alexandra."

She let out a frustrated laugh. "All because of her?"

I turned away without answering.

"She's nothing, Henry," Alexandra scoffed. "A distraction. She won’t last."

I stopped mid-step but didn’t turn around. My voice was cold, final. "You don't get to talk about her."

Silence.

Then, her voice dropped into a whisper. "You're making a mistake."

I walked away.

Reaching my bedroom, I shut the door behind me and locked it.

I exhaled, pressing my back against the wood.

The anger still burned inside me, but it was something else too something heavier. I ran a hand through my hair, closing my eyes. Sophia. Even now, she was in my thoughts.

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