Chapter 74 Chapter Seventy-four
Sebastian’s POV
The message arrives without a sound.
No vibration.
No warning.
Just two words lighting up my screen like a sentence being passed.
Burner delivered.
For a moment, my body forgets how to function.
I stare at the phone, my mind scrambling to catch up with the meaning, with the consequences packed into those two words. My chest tightens slowly, like something invisible is being cinched around my ribs.
That wasn’t supposed to happen.
Not yet.
Not to her.
I rise from my chair so abruptly it slams backward into the credenza. The noise echoes in my office, sharp and ugly, but it does nothing to release the pressure building inside me. I pace once, twice, my jaw clenched so tightly it hurts.
The entire point was distance.
Cold.
Cruel.
Convincing.
I had followed the rules. I had burned every bridge between us with my own hands. I had said things that still echo in my head when the office is quiet—things I can’t take back, things that cut deeper than any threat ever could.
And still, they crossed the line.
My fingers are already dialing before I consciously decide to call.
He answers immediately.
“You said she wouldn’t be contacted,” I say, my voice low but shaking with a rage I barely contain. “You guaranteed it.”
There’s a pause on the other end. A careful one.
“That guarantee depended on compliance,” the security expert replies evenly.
My laugh is short and humorless. “Compliance? I destroyed my own life to comply.”
“And that’s exactly why they’ve escalated.”
I stop pacing. My hand tightens around the phone.
“Explain.”
“They’re not after leverage anymore,” he says. “They’re after collapse.”
The word lands heavy.
Collapse.
I press my free hand against the edge of my desk, grounding myself. “She doesn’t know anything. She’s not involved in this.”
“She doesn’t need to be,” he replies. “She just needs to matter.”
My stomach twists violently.
I close my eyes, and the past surges forward whether I want it to or not.
Years ago.
A boardroom full of polished smiles and sharpened knives.
A hostile acquisition executed with surgical precision.
On paper, it was flawless.
Legal.
Necessary.
I told myself it was business.
But business has casualties.
The man across from me that day had built his empire on influence and ego, on being untouchable. I took it from him piece by piece—outmaneuvered him, outspent him, outlasted him. When the final vote passed, I watched something in his eyes shatter.
He didn’t just lose a company.
He lost control.
His reputation disintegrated. His power evaporated. His family became collateral damage. He walked out of that room a man with nothing left to protect—except his pride.
Men like that don’t forgive.
They wait.
“They’ve been watching you for years,” the expert continues. “You were unreachable. Isolated. Cold.”
I open my eyes slowly.
“And then Lena happened.”
“Yes,” he says quietly. “And everything changed.”
My throat tightens at her name.
They saw it before I did—the subtle shifts. The way I altered my schedule. The way I reacted when she was hurt. The way my control slipped, just enough to be noticed.
She is my first real weakness.
And they know it.
“They’re not trying to kill her,” he says. “Not yet.”
“Yet,” I repeat flatly.
“They want you to break yourself,” he continues. “The way you broke him. They want you to choose between exposure and loss.”
“And if I go to the police?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.
There’s a beat of silence.
“Then the buried details come up,” he says. “Gray-area tactics. Quiet payoffs. The things that were never meant to see daylight.”
My jaw tightens.
“And Lena gets dragged through it,” I finish.
“Yes.”
Public scrutiny. Media frenzy. Her name tied to mine, dissected, speculated on, endangered in ways no security team can fully control.
The threat doesn’t need to touch her to destroy her.
I end the call without another word.
The office feels suffocating now. The walls too close. The glass windows reflecting a man I barely recognize—tired eyes, tension carved into his face.
I almost go to her.
The urge hits me like a blow to the chest. I picture her door. The way she looks at me now—hurt, confused, still trying to understand what she did wrong.
I could tell her everything. I could explain the cruelty, the lies, the calculated distance. I could ask her to trust me one last time.
I take a step toward the door.
Then I stop.
Because the threat was explicit.
If she believes you don’t care, she survives.
If she believes you love her, she doesn’t.
If I show up now, I undo everything I sacrificed. I confirm what they already suspect. I paint a target so bright it never fades.
And Lena—proud, wounded, already shattered—would see it as control. As manipulation. As proof that everything between us was a lie.
She would never forgive me.
I sink back into my chair, elbows on my knees, hands clasped so tightly they tremble. Every instinct in me screams to fix this—to take control, to end the threat the way I always have.
But this enemy doesn’t want my money.
He wants my suffering.
And he’s winning.
If Lena hears the truth from anyone else… I won’t survive it.