Chapter 6

Callum's POV

The notification had me wide eyed. Various News headlines were flying already but all were accusing me of things.

‘BREAKING: After five years off-grid, Ethan Kesington's reappearance–and disappearance–has authorities scrambling.

‘SHOCKING: Familiar Name Tied to Shooting Incident at ‘Noir’ diner.’

My thumb hovered over the screen as I clicked one of the articles. It loaded, and my stomach dropped.

“Ethan Kesington, younger brother of billionaire CEO Callum Kesington, was reported missing early this morning. Sources close to the family suggest his disappearance may be linked to recent tensions within Kesington Corp’s board. His call log shows his brother, Callum, was the last person he called. Police are investigating possible foul play.”

A photo accompanied the text: Ethan, smirking at some charity gala, his arm slung around a woman in a red dress. The same arrogant grin he’d given me the last time I ever saw him, right before he’d said, “You’ll regret this.”

The screen blurred. My grip on the phone turned white knuckled. How the fuck did we get here? In the past five years that he was gone, there was no single news about him. And now, he is suddenly missing after giving me a phone call? Seriously?

Remy stirred, his voice groggy. “Callum?”

I locked the phone and shoved it into my pocket. “Sleep.”

But the words echoed in my skull. ‘Foul play suspected.’

And I knew—whoever had shot Remy hadn’t been aiming for him.

The angle was wrong. Remy had been sitting directly opposite me. They were aiming for me. And I'd show them why I left the underground world with a title to my name.

Remy's POV

I woke up with a start. My head was pounding, and there was a sharp, burning ache in my side that made me suck in a breath. Every part of my body felt heavy and sore. I blinked a few times, squinting at the brightness of the room. The light was too sharp. The air too still.

This wasn’t a hospital. I could feel that right away.

I was hooked to a drip, but there was no beeping, no footsteps, no nurses moving around. The walls were clean, but not clinical. A black leather jacket hung on the door. The air smelled like something expensive and strong. Something distinctly male.

I looked around slowly. The sheets were tucked too perfectly. The room was quiet, almost too quiet. My side throbbed when I tried to move, and I let out a low groan.

The memories came rushing back—Callum Kensington at my diner, the tension in his eyes, the way he poured his mind to me like he knew me from Adam. Then the sound. That gunshot. The heat that tore through my side. The shock. His voice telling me to stay awake.

Everything else was a blur.

I tried to shift again, but the pain made my vision blur. I wasn’t sure how long I’d been out. My mouth was dry. My chest was tight. I felt like I’d been hit by a truck.

Someone muttering some words like they were swearing, the figure looked familiar from the way they stood. My eyes narrowed, straining to focus. I couldn’t see his face, but I recognized the silhouette, the way he moved.

“Callum?” My voice came out cracked and dry.

He turned quickly, eyes sharp as they landed on me. For a split second, his expression flickered—relief? Guilt? Something darker?

“Sleep,” he said. His voice low, unreadable.

I pushed myself up a little, ignoring the pain. “How long was I out? Is everything okay?”

His jaw flexed. He didn’t answer right away.

“It’s nothing you should know of.”

“Nothing I should know of?” I shot back, voice rising. “I’m the one with a gunshot wound in my side. You should’ve thought about that before dragging me into this.”

My heart was beating fast. My body tensed with every word. The pain pulsed, but I didn’t care. I was too wound up. My mind went straight to my diner. My staff. I had no idea what time it was, how long I’d been gone, if anyone knew where I was. They’d be panicking.

Callum stayed by the door, watching me like he was considering whether to tell me the truth or not. I didn’t care anymore.

I pushed the blanket back and looked around. The pain was sharp, but I moved anyway. I scanned the room for my phone.

“Did you take my phone?” I asked, eyes narrowing. “I can’t find it anywhere.”

He hesitated.

“I didn’t find any phone on you when the incident happened.”

I might have left it in the kitchen after I poured the wine. I'm not sure exactly.

He stepped closer. My back stiffened, but I didn’t stop him. I didn’t like the way he was looking at me. It was intense. Focused. Like he was thinking too hard.

My chest tightened again, but not from the pain. There was something about his presence. Heavy. He didn’t say anything, but I felt like he wanted to. His eyes stayed on mine like he was waiting for a reaction.

“You should’ve taken me to a hospital,” I said quietly.

He didn’t respond.

I looked up at him. His eyes moved over my face, stopping on my mouth. I didn’t know why my breath caught.

“What?” I asked, my voice low.

“You’re not safe out there,” he said.

“Why?” I pressed. “Because someone tried to kill you and hit me instead?”

His jaw tightened. He looked like he wanted to argue but stopped himself. He was still looking at me like he didn’t know what to do with the things running through his head.

I shifted again, wincing. He reached for my side out of reflex, steadying me. His hand pressed against the blanket, just over the bandage. I held still.

Neither of us said anything.

His hand didn’t move.

My heart was racing now, and I didn’t know if it was from pain or the way he kept looking at me.

“You’ve been staring at me like that since the restaurant,” I said. “What is it?”

His eyes didn’t waver.

“You don’t want to know,” he said.

“Try me.”

He didn’t wait. He leaned in and kissed me.

It was sudden. Firm. No hesitation. His mouth was warm, his hand still pressed against my side.

My thoughts scattered.

I didn’t kiss back immediately. My body was still processing what was happening. But then my lips moved under his. I gripped the sheets beside me, grounding myself.

He kissed me deeper, removed his hand from my side and braced it against the headboard. His other hand grazed my jaw. My mind screamed that this wasn't real. That Callum Kensington wasn't gay and he was just messing with me. But my body wasn’t listening. My heart was thudding too fast. My skin burned.

Then he pulled back slowly, his breath uneven. His eyes searched mine. I didn’t know what I looked like, but I couldn’t hide the way I felt. His fingers flexed like he wanted to reach back for me.

I looked away, unsure what to say. My head was spinning again, but not from pain this time.

He stepped back slowly, like he wasn’t sure he should’ve done it.

I blinked hard and ran a hand through my hair. The silence between us stretched until I couldn’t take it anymore.

“I need to leave,” I said.

Callum didn’t react at first.

“I need to go back. I have a life, a business. People who care about me.” I pushed against the bed to sit straighter. It hurt, but I didn’t stop.

“You’re not going anywhere right now.”

“That’s not your decision,” I shot back.

He didn’t move.

“I’m not asking for permission. Just my clothes and my phone. If you actually didn’t find it, I’ll sort that out later.”

We stood in silence for a beat. Then his phone buzzed in his pocket.

He took a glance at it, then at me again. His jaw was tight, but he nodded once.

“I’ll have something brought in for you to wear.” He said before walking out of the room.

“Thank you,” I said, my voice flat.

I exhaled slowly, leaning back against the headboard, my side aching again. Everything was spiraling faster than I could catch up with.