Chapter 72 CONTROL
Eclipse's Pov
I met Derek at the usual spot, tapping my foot impatiently as the minutes ticked by. He was late again, which only added to my irritation. When he finally appeared, shoulders slouched and hair disheveled, I could see the exhaustion etched into his face. His clothes were rumpled, and dark circles framed his eyes, making him look smaller somehow, worn down by whatever had kept him away this time.
"You're late," I said.
"I got held up. Sorry," Derek said but he didn't sound sorry at all.
"We need to talk about the arrangement," I said.
"What about it?" Derek asked.
“Your role is almost done,” I said, my tone sharp, leaving no room for misunderstanding. “Once Medea is actually pregnant, you’re finished. You understand that, right?” I watched him closely, searching his expression for any flicker of doubt or hesitation. “This isn’t negotiable. Everything you’ve done up to this point has a purpose, but the moment she carries the child, your usefulness ends—and I won’t tolerate any mistakes after that.”
"Yeah I understand," Derek said.
"Good. Because I need to make sure you understand what finished means. It means you never contact Medea again. You never come back here. You disappear and forget this ever happened," I said.
"I got it. You don't have to keep repeating yourself," Derek said.
"I'm repeating myself because I need to be absolutely clear. If you ever try to blackmail us or tell anyone about this arrangement I will destroy you. Do you understand?" I said.
"Jesus you're paranoid," Derek said.
"I'm careful. There's a difference," I said.
I handed him an envelope thick with cash, sliding it across the table with deliberate calm. He took it without a word and immediately started counting it right there in front of me, his movements slow and deliberate. It was rude, a blatant display of mistrust or arrogance, but I didn’t say anything. I simply watched, letting him finish, the silence between us heavier than any words I could have used.
"This is the last payment. After this you don't get another dime from me," I said.
"What if your sister doesn't get pregnant? What if we need to do this again?" Derek asked.
"Then I'll contact you. But you don't contact me or Medea. Ever. For any reason," I said.
"Fine. Whatever you say," Derek said and he put the money in his pocket.
"I'm serious Derek. If you screw this up for us I will make sure you regret it," I said.
"Yeah yeah I heard you the first time," Derek said.
He left, and I stayed rooted to the spot, watching his back disappear down the corridor. Something about the way he carried himself made a cold knot tighten in my stomach. He was too casual about all of this, too relaxed, like the stakes didn’t exist or didn’t matter. That ease, that lack of urgency, felt wrong—like he knew something I didn’t, and it made every instinct in me flare with unease.
I waited until he was out of sight and then I made a phone call.
"Follow him. I want to know where he goes and who he talks to," I said.
"Yes ma'am," the person on the other end said.
I hung up and went back to my car. I had a bad feeling about Derek and I always listened to my bad feelings. They kept me alive this long.
Two days later my guy called me back with a report.
"He's been gambling. A lot. And losing. He owes money to some dangerous people," the guy said.
"How much?" I asked.
"Enough that he's desperate. I heard him talking to one of the bookies about needing a big score soon or he's dead," the guy said.
I felt my stomach drop, a cold weight settling deep inside me. This was exactly what I had been afraid of. Derek was desperate, and desperate people were unpredictable—volatile, reckless, capable of doing things they wouldn’t normally consider. My mind raced through the possibilities, each one worse than the last, and I realized just how dangerous his desperation could make him, not just for himself, but for everyone around him.
"Keep watching him. I want to know if he tries to contact anyone from Brazen Pack or if he starts asking questions about me or my sister," I said.
"Will do," the guy said.
I hung up and sat there thinking about what I needed to do. Derek was becoming a liability. He knew too much and now he needed money badly enough to do something stupid like try to blackmail us.
I couldn't let that happen. I worked too hard to let some gambling addict ruin everything.
I made another phone call, this one slower, deliberate, to someone I knew from my darker days. Someone who didn’t just handle problems—he solved them, permanently. His reputation preceded him, whispered in circles where fear and respect collided. I didn’t relish calling him, but there was no other option. Some situations demanded finality, and this was one of them. I needed results, and he was the only one who could guarantee them.
"I need your help with something," I said.
"What kind of help?" the person asked.
"The permanent kind," I said.
"I see. When?" the person asked.
"Soon. I'll send you the details," I said.
"It'll cost you," the person said.
"I know. Money isn't an issue," I said.
We talked for a few more minutes about logistics, going over every detail until I was sure nothing was left to chance. Then I hung up, the phone clicking softly in my hand. I felt a pang of guilt for about two seconds, a fleeting hesitation that made my chest tighten. But then I reminded myself why this had to be done—every choice, every difficult step, was necessary to protect him and ensure we stayed one step ahead.
Derek knew about Medea sleeping with him. He knew about the fake pregnancy. He knew everything. And as long as he was alive he was a threat to both of us.
I'd killed before to protect my interests. My parents for one. They were going to testify about something that would have ruined me and Medea so I took care of it and made it look like the pack did it for treason.
One more death wouldn't keep me up at night.
I went home and Medea was there waiting for me. She looked terrible.
"We need to talk," Medea said.
"About what?" I asked.
"About Derek. I don't trust him. What if he tells someone?" Medea asked.
"He won't," I said.
"How do you know?" Medea asked.
“Because I’m taking care of it,” I said evenly, my voice leaving no room for doubt. “You don’t need to worry about Derek anymore.” I held the silence that followed, letting the weight of my words sink in. “Whatever loose ends he represents, I’ll handle them. He won’t be a problem going forward—I’ve made sure of that.”
"What does that mean?" Medea asked.
"It means I'm handling it. The less you know the better," I said.
Medea looked at me and I saw fear in her eyes.
"Eclipse what are you planning to do?" Medea asked.
"I told you. I'm handling it. Just trust me," I said.
"I don't want anyone to get hurt," Medea said.
"Too late for that. We're already in too deep. The only way out now is forward," I said.
"This is getting out of control," Medea said.
"It's only out of control if we panic. Stay calm and stick to the plan," I said.
"What if the plan doesn't work?" Medea asked.
“It will work,” I said firmly, meeting their gaze without wavering. “And even if something goes wrong, I’ll fix it. That’s what I do—I fix things. No matter how impossible it seems, no matter how tangled or dangerous, I find a way to make it right. I’ve done it before, and I’ll do it again. Failure isn’t an option, not when so much is at stake.”
Medea didn't look convinced but she nodded anyway.
"Just promise me you're not going to do anything crazy," Medea said.
"Define crazy," I said.
"Eclipse I'm serious," Medea said.
"So am I. Look Medea you came to me for help. I'm helping. But my methods might not be pretty. If you can't handle that then maybe you should have thought about that before you faked a pregnancy," I said.
"I know. I know. I'm sorry," Medea said.
"Don't be sorry. Be smart. Keep your mouth shut and let me do what I do best," I said.