UNEASE

Nathaniel's Pov

Four years.

It had been four fucking years since that night. The night Alina died.

Or the night I killed her. Depending on how you told the story.

But stories were mine to shape. And the one I spun was airtight. Beautiful. Sympathetic.

"A tragic accident," I’d told the press with fake tears clinging to my lashes. "She had been struggling with her mental health. I tried everything. Therapy. Medication. Love. But in the end..."

A sigh. A slight shake of the head. Just enough emotion to sell the lie without overplaying it and the entire world lapped it all up. Alina had become the mentally unstable wife who stormed out and got herself killed in a drunken accident. Poor me, the grieving ex-husband.

I didn’t even need to lift a finger—their thirst for drama did the rest.

The truth? She'd discovered too much and had threatened me too... And I panicked.

But I handled it. Efficiently and ruthlessly, like I was trained to.

My company, Cross holdings Inc, had flourished afterward. Sympathy flowed like wine at a funeral. Investors lined up to offer their condolences—and their money. I played the grieving husband so well I almost believed it myself.

And Sasha? She was back in my bed the very next week. She always knew her place—she was never jealous of Alina. Just... patient.

And the patient dog you see always gets the fattest bone.

Even though your plan doesn't go according to plan...

My thoughts came to a standstill as Sasha walked into my office like she owned the place, wearing one of those silky black designer dresses I bought her last month.

“You’ve got that look again," she said, pouring herself a glass of whiskey. "Thinking about her?"

I leaned back in my leather chair, fingers steepled. "Just thinking about how much easier things are without her."

Sasha just arched her brow at me but said nothing.

So I said instead, “How is that photoshoot coming along?”

“That PR team from Vogue confirmed the shoot. You’ll be featured in the June issue."

"Of course I will," I muttered.

Vivian’s red lips curved. "They’re calling you the face of modern business resilience."

If only they knew. If they saw the blood on my hands. But the world didn’t care about truth. Just a good story. And I’d given them one.

“Mr. Cross?"

I looked up to see my assistant, Brayden, standing in the doorway, a file clutched in his hand. And he looked terribly... uneasy.

"What?"

He stepped in, his voice low. "You need to see this. It’s about the quarterly projections."

I waved a hand, already getting bored . "Later."

"Sir, you should really—"

Sasha stood. "Is it bad?"

Brayden hesitated, then handed me the file. I opened it, and for a moment, the words didn’t register.

And then they did.

Projected Losses: Q3 — $17.4M Liquidity Crisis Imminent. Emergency Measures Suggested.

I flipped through the rest. Revenue dips. Investor withdrawals. Lawsuit threats I hadn’t even been briefed on.

"What the fuck is this?" I snapped, a frown creasing my forehead.

Brayden cleared his throat. "We’ve been bleeding since Q1, but the executive team kept trying to patch it up—"

"And didn’t think to tell me?" I spat out, my anger rising within minutes.

Sasha's eyes narrowed. "Are we in trouble, Nate?"

"No," I lied automatically, tossing the file onto the desk. "I’ll fix it."

But for the first time in years, panic crawled into my chest.

We’d survived scandal before. We’d buried Alina and come out with sympathy and stock market gains. But this wasn’t PR. This was structural collapse.

"Get me every goddamn list of potential investors," I barked. "Private firms, foreign acquisitions, hell, I’ll sell my mother if I have to. We need capital. Now."

Brayden nodded and darted out like his pants were on fire.

Sasha then walked over, her fingers brushing my jaw. "Maybe it’s time we pull some old strings. Your father’s connections—"

"Dead weight," I muttered. "I’m not crawling back to that bastard."

She smiled thinly. "Then what?” her tone was demanding answers and solutions.

I raked a hand through my hair as visions of me bankrupt and barely surviving flashed through my head.

“Fuck!" I yelled.

Brayden came back half an hour later with a portfolio and I snatched it from his hands, and skimmed it until one name jumped out.

ASHEN GROUP.

A newly formed investment conglomerate. Secretive. Untouchable. Rumor had it they had enough assets to buy out entire industries overnight. No one knew who ran it. No press releases. No interviews. Just results.

"Get me a meeting," I said. “And also everything you can find on them.”

Brayden nodded briskly. “Yes sir.”

This was it.

My chance to escape my impending doom.

****

Three days later, I was standing in the sleek glass lobby of Ashen Group, feeling like I was on foreign soil.

The interior decor was pristine, minimalistic, and intimidating.

I had dressed in my sharpest charcoal suit. My Rolex glinted under the lights. I looked powerful. Confident. Unshaken.

I adjusted my tie and walked up to the receptionist but she barely glanced at me.

"Name?" She inquired, almost robotically and with an expressionless face too.

"Nathaniel Cross. CEO of Cross Holdings Inc. I’m here to see your boss," I supplied, slightly feeling muffed that she didn't recognize me.

I was famous!

"Do you have an appointment?"

"They’ll want to see me," I said with a smile I had perfected over the years.

She tapped something into her sleek little tablet and paused. Then looked up, her dark boring into mine.

"I'm sorry, sir. The boss doesn't take unscheduled meetings. You're advised to book through official channels," she told me without even blinking.

I blinked. Did she just shut me down?

"I don't think you understand who I am," I said, lowering my voice just enough to sound threatening without being aggressive.

Her expression didn't change.

"I understand perfectly. But the answer remains the same."

I stared at her, chest tightening with rage. But I forced a smile, gave a tight nod, and turned.

The moment the glass doors shut behind me, I muttered, "Fucking amateurs."  While resisting to kick at a rock in front of me.

I was fuming.

While outside, I yanked my sunglasses on, trying to bury the humiliation.

But then, I felt it.

A prickle at the base of my neck. The unmistakable sensation of being watched.

I turned around quickly, my eyes scanning the sidewalk and the street but I came up with nothing.

"What is it, sir?" I heard my driver ask..

I shook my head. "Thought I saw someone."

But my heart wouldn’t stop racing.

For the first time in years, I didn’t feel in control.

And it terrified me.