Chapter 72 Chapter Seventy-two
Sebastian’s POV
I don’t sleep.
I sit in the dark of my penthouse office long after midnight, suit jacket discarded, sleeves rolled up, fingers pressed hard against the edge of my desk like the wood is the only thing keeping me upright.
The city glows beneath the windows. Beautiful. Unforgiving.
My phone rests face down beside my hand.
I don’t need to look at it to know what’s there.
The threat doesn’t repeat itself unless I disobey.
That’s how confident they are.
I leave before sunrise.
No driver this time. I take my own car, choose streets that loop and double back, habits drilled into me years ago when power stopped being theoretical and started becoming dangerous.
The café is small, deliberately forgettable, tucked between a dry cleaner and a closed-down bookstore. No cameras inside—by design. No name above the door.
He’s already there.
Marcus doesn’t look like a “private security expert.” No military haircut. No imposing presence. He looks like a tired man in his forties drinking bad coffee and reading the news on a cracked tablet.
Which is exactly why I hired him.
“You’re late,” he says without looking up.
“I’m not,” I reply, sliding into the chair across from him. “You’re early.”
He finally looks at me then. His eyes sharpen immediately.
“You look worse,” he says flatly. “That’s not a compliment.”
I don’t respond. I don’t have the energy to pretend.
He closes the tablet and leans forward slightly. “It escalated.”
My jaw tightens. “How.”
“They made contact.”
The word hits like a fist to the ribs.
“With who,” I ask quietly, already knowing the answer.
“Her.”
For a second, everything inside me goes cold.
I don’t speak. I don’t move. I don’t breathe.
Marcus watches me carefully. “She received a message last night. Anonymous number. Short. Direct.”
My fingers curl into the desk under the table. “What did it say.”
“You were told to stay out of it.”
The café fades around me. The sound of the espresso machine, the muted chatter of two women near the window, the clink of a spoon against porcelain—it all disappears.
They crossed the line.
I warned them not to.
My voice comes out steady only because I force it to. “I told you she was off-limits.”
“You told me,” Marcus says. “They don’t answer to me.”
I exhale slowly through my nose. Rage simmers beneath my skin, hot and volatile.
“Continue.”
“They want controlled damage,” he says. “They believe you’re… manageable. Predictable.”
I almost laugh.
“They’re wrong.”
“They don’t think so,” he replies. “They think you’ll do anything to keep her safe.”
He watches my face closely when he says it.
I don’t deny it.
Marcus slides a folded piece of paper across the table. I don’t open it yet.
“What do they want,” I ask.
He hesitates just long enough for my pulse to spike.
“At this point, I think they want you to publicly distance yourself from her,” he says. “No private meetings. No concern. No protection that looks like protection.”
“And if I don’t?”
“They accelerate the lesson.”
I unfold the paper.
Photographs.
Lena at her desk.
Lena outside her building.
Lena limping slightly, her crutches leaning against the wall.
My vision blurs red.
“They’ve been watching her,” Marcus continues. “Longer than you think. Longer than I like.”
My hand shakes as I set the photos down.
“How the hell did they get this close,” I demand. “I had protocols in place.”
“You did,” he agrees. “They’re not amateurs. And they’re patient.”
I close my eyes for a moment, forcing myself to think instead of react.
“She doesn’t know,” I say. “About any of this.”
“No,” Marcus confirms. “And they intend to keep it that way. Fear works better when the subject doesn’t understand the rules.”
I stand abruptly, chair scraping softly against the floor.
“Put surveillance on her,” I order. “Discreet. No tails she can spot. No names she recognizes.”
“Already in motion,” he says. “What level?”
“All of it."
He nods once. “Digital?”
“Lock it down,” I say without hesitation. “Phones. Laptop. Email. Anything that touches a network.”
He makes a note. “She’ll notice.”
“I know.”
The thought tightens something ugly in my chest.
“What about her apartment?” he asks.
I hesitate.
“Not yet,” I say finally. “I don’t want her feeling trapped in her own home.”
Marcus studies me. “You’re walking a dangerous line, Sebastian.”
“I’ve been walking it my whole life.”
He doesn’t argue with that.
“Someone went through her desk yesterday ,” he adds.
My head snaps up. “What.”
“Files moved. Nothing taken. It was a message.”
The rage finally breaks free.
I slam my hand down on the table, coffee sloshing dangerously close to the rim.
“Are you telling me they walked into my building and touched her things?”
“Yes.”
The word echoes.
I turn away, pacing the narrow space between tables, barely aware of the startled looks from the other patrons.
“They’re pushing,” Marcus says calmly. “They want you to panic.”
I laugh humorlessly. “Too late.”
I consider it then. The option I’ve been circling for days.
Moving her.
Somewhere safe. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere anonymous.
I could do it easily. Arrange it in an afternoon. Tell her it’s temporary. Convince her it’s concern, not fear
Control it.
Protect her.
But the image that rises in my mind stops me cold.
Lena’s face if she realizes I made that choice for her.
The way she’d look at me like I’d turned into someone else.
“She’d hate me,” I mutter.
Marcus hears it anyway. “She’d feel controlled.”
“She already does,” I snap. “I ended things with her like a coward because I thought distance would be enough.”
“And was it?”
I don’t answer.
Because no.
It wasn’t.
I see her everywhere now. At work. In my thoughts. In the quiet moments when my defenses slip and the truth crashes in:
I’m doing this because I love her.
And that terrifies me more than the threat ever could.
“She still looks at you like she doesn’t understand,” Marcus says carefully. “That won’t last forever.”
“I know,” I whisper.
I return to the table, my movements slower now, heavier.
“What else,” I ask.
Marcus exhales. "That's all for now."
“It didn’t feel good,” I say quietly. “It felt like cutting off my own arm.”
Silence stretches between us.
Finally, he gathers his things. “I’ll keep you informed. But understand this—every move you make now is watched. By them. And by her.”
I nod once.
As he stands, he pauses. “One more thing.”
“What.”
“They’re testing how much pain you’ll tolerate.”
He doesn’t need to explain whose pain he means.
When I leave the café, the city feels tighter. Closer. Like it’s closing in.
Back at the office, I watch Lena from behind glass walls and closed doors, my chest aching with every step she takes.
She looks tired.
She looks confused.
She looks like she’s trying to be brave
And it destroys me.
I tell myself it’s temporary. That if I endure this—if I become the villain in her story for a while—it will be worth it.
Because if losing her trust is the price for keeping her alive… I will pay it.