Chapter 126: The Fire in the Vault

The press release went out at 3 p.m. London time. A model of corporate regret, it spoke of “shifting priorities” and “a renewed focus on core European markets.” The financial news channels lit up with speculation. Rogers Industries stock dipped, then stabilized—a two-billion-dollar sigh from the markets. Inside the penthouse, the atmosphere was not one of defeat, but of a coiled spring, wound to its breaking point.

Anton was in his study, already fielding the first, concerned calls from board members. His voice was a masterpiece of composed disappointment. Sabatine listened from the doorway, hearing the lies delivered with such conviction it was chilling. He saw the cold, focused fury that had replaced Anton’s earlier ice. The plan was in motion: the feigned retreat, the lure for Thorne.

When Anton ended the call, he didn’t look at Sabatine. He stared at the cityscape, his jaw a hard line. “He took the call,” Anton said, his voice flat. “Thorne. Offered his ‘sympathies.’ Said it was a ‘prudent, if difficult, decision.’ He’s gloating already.”

Sabatine stepped into the room. The silence that had followed the ultimatum, the feeling of being a precious, sheltered asset in the keep, had become intolerable. The price had been paid in his name, and he had been told to sit and wait.

“I’m not a piece in your vault, Anton,” he said, his voice quiet but firm.

Anton turned slowly. “I know what you are.”

“Do you?” Sabatine walked to the desk, placing his palms flat on the cool surface, leaning forward. “Because right now, you’re treating me like the crown jewels. Locked away, protected, used as a bargaining chip without my consent. They used me as leverage, and you… you just paid the ransom. You made me the transaction.”

“I made a strategic play,” Anton corrected, his eyes flashing. “To protect you.”

“By making me the reason for a two-billion-dollar concession!” Sabatine’s own temper, banked for days, flared. “You’ve just told Thorne and Silas that I am your weakness. That I’m the button they can push to make the great Anton Rogers jump. You think that makes me safer? It makes me a permanent target! And you’ve taken me off the board. You’ve made me a liability to be managed, not a partner in the fight.”

The words landed. Anton’s controlled mask didn’t crack, but a muscle ticked in his jaw. “Your safety is the priority. The strategy serves that.”

“My safety is my responsibility!” Sabatine shot back, pushing off the desk. “And my responsibility is to you, and to ending this! I am not some damsel to be locked in a tower while you joust with dragons. I am the one who knows how they think! I am the one who can find the threads you can’t! I built the ghost they’re using to haunt me!”

He was breathing heavily, the fire he’d kept banked—the fire of his own competence, his own agency—blazing in his eyes. “You want to annihilate them? Fine. But you don’t get to do it by sidelining me. You don’t get to pay a price with my past and my future without me having a say in the currency.”

Anton watched him, his gaze intense, sweeping over Sabatine’s heated face, the set of his shoulders, the raw defiance in his stance. The cold fury in his own eyes didn’t diminish, but it changed. It blended with something else—a fierce, undeniable admiration.

He saw it now. Not just the man he loved, but the warrior. The survivor. The operative who had navigated hellscapes Anton could only imagine. The fire in Sabatine’s eyes wasn’t just anger; it was the same ruthless, determined flame that had built a fire in the snow, that had faced down a gunman on an alpine slope. It was the fire Anton had fallen in love with.

“You’re right,” Anton said, the words surprising them both. He took a step closer, circling the desk. “I was treating you as a vulnerability to be secured. A prize to be protected. I was so focused on the threat to you, I forgot the threat you are.”

He stopped in front of Sabatine, close enough that Sabatine could see the flecks of silver in his storm-grey eyes, the faint lines of exhaustion, and the dawning, respectful calculation. “They think paying the ransom means we’re cowed. That we’re licking our wounds. That you are now a neutralized factor, a spent weapon.” A slow, dangerous smile touched his lips. “What if you’re not?”

Sabatine held his gaze, the fire in his own chest banking into a focused heat. “What are you thinking?”

“Thorne is celebrating,” Anton said, his mind racing ahead, weaving Sabatine’s fury into the tapestry of his strategy. “He’s just won a major, public victory over me. He’s feeling secure, powerful. His guard will be down, especially regarding the ‘resolved’ issue—you.” He reached out, not to pull Sabatine close, but to grip his shoulder, a commander’s gesture. “I want you to disappear.”

Sabatine went still. “Disappear?”

“Not from me,” Anton said quickly, his grip tightening. “From them. Voss reports the external surveillance has lessened since the Kijani announcement. They think the pressure is off. I want you to use that. Go fully dark. Use every ghost protocol you have. Let them think you’re broken, that you’ve been stashed away in shame after being used as a blunt instrument. And while they’re not looking for you…”

“…I found the knife,” Sabatine finished, the plan snapping into crystalline focus in his mind. “The real, unbreakable link between Thorne and Silas. The one that isn’t a cut-out or a shell company. The personal connection. The meeting, the handshake, the photograph.”

“Exactly,” Anton said, his eyes alight with a feral approval. “You become the hunter they think they’ve put in a cage. You use your past, not as a shackle, but as a cloak. You go into the shadows where you’re a king, and you bring me back the head of the serpent.”

The fire in Sabatine’s chest blazed hotter, but it was a clean, purposeful flame now. Anton wasn’t sidelining him; he was unleashing him. He was recognizing his true value, not as a weakness, but as the ultimate weapon.

“It’s dangerous,” Sabatine said, stating the obvious.

“Everything is dangerous,” Anton replied, his voice dropping, the love and the fear raw in it again. “But this is your kind of danger. This is your battlefield. And I will be your fortress, your intelligence, your arsenal. You won’t be alone in the dark. You’ll have Leon, you’ll have Rico, you’ll have every resource I possess funneled to you through channels so black even I won’t know them all. But you will be the point of the spear.”

He cupped Sabatine’s face, his thumb stroking his cheek. “I admire this fire in you, Sabatine. It terrifies me, and it fills me with awe. Don’t let me smother it. Use it. Burn them down.”

Sabatine leaned into the touch, the last of his resistance melting away. This was the partnership he’d demanded. Not protection, but trust. Not a cage, but a mission.

“Alright,” he said, his voice steady. “I’ll disappear. I’ll find the link. But when I do, we strike together. No more unilateral payments. No more sacrifices without my consent.”

“Together,” Anton vowed, sealing it with a kiss that was not soft, but a brand—a pact between equals, between a king and his spymaster. “You take your stand. And I will stand with you, in the light, when you bring me the dawn.”

The fire had been acknowledged, and now it would be directed. Sabatine was no longer leveraged. He was the catalyst. The enemy had named their price, and in response, Anton and Sabatine had just rewritten the entire contract. The game was no longer about concessions. It was about a hunt. And the hunter had just been set loose.

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