Third POV
Julian’s eyelids fluttered open, but the world remained shrouded in darkness. Panic rose swiftly in his chest as he struggled to move, only to realize his limbs were painfully restrained. His back pressed against something hard and unyielding—most likely a wooden chair.He tried to speak, to call out for help, but his mouth was gagged. The fabric stretched tightly across his lips muffled his desperate sounds to garbled whimpers. His throat burned with the effort, but no clear words escaped.Every muscle in his body tensed as he fought against the bindings, but they held fast—cold, rough ropes biting into his skin, cutting off any hope of escape. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, a frantic drum echoing the growing fear.Then, faint creaking noises broke the silence—the unmistakable sound of a door slowly opening somewhere nearby. Julian’s breath hitched, his body freezing in anticipation.Strong hands yanked the gag from his mouth and ripped the blindThird POVElder Samuel shifted in bed, wincing slightly as the pain in his leg throbbed. He glanced toward the doorway where the nurse was taking stock of medication trays.“Excuse me,” he called out, voice calm and steady despite the discomfort.The young nurse turned, slightly startled. “Yes, Mr Samuel?”He offered a faint smile. “I think I’ve laid in bed long enough. I’d like to stretch my legs for a bit. Maybe take a short walk outside the building. The walls are beginning to feel too familiar.”The nurse looked hesitant. “Doctor said light movement is fine, but you were just stabilized three nights ago.”“I’ll keep to the front of the hospital. I won’t go far.”After a pause, she gave a reluctant nod. “Fine. But only fifteen minutes. If I don’t see you back by then, I’m alerting security.”“Of course,” he said, rising slowly, masking his limp with practiced dignity.Outside, the evening air hit his face with a whisper of freedom. His eyes swe
Third POVCassiel stepped out of his study, the hallway quiet except for the faint ticking of the grandfather clock near the wall. He made his way down the corridor, his steps purposeful but unhurried.He pushed open the door to Julian’s room, not expecting much—maybe Julian asleep, or resting in silence.Instead, he was met with laughter.Julian’s laughter.It was light, full, and alive. It caught Cassiel off guard for a moment, enough to stop him just past the doorway. Julian was on the bed, propped up on pillows, grinning ear to ear. Miss Maria was seated at his side, a small book in hand, laughing too, though she stopped the instant her eyes caught Cassiel.She sprang to her feet immediately, clutching the book to her chest, her eyes cast down.“I’m so sorry, sir,” she said in a soft, nervous voice. “I didn’t mean to be— I was just—”Cassiel held up a hand as he moved into the room.“You don’t have to be on eggshells around me, Miss Maria,” he
Third POVThe antique clock on the wall of Cassiel’s study ticked quietly in the background. Shadows stretched across the room as the last hints of daylight filtered through half-drawn curtains. Cassiel sat behind his desk, sleeves rolled up, a glass of untouched scotch resting near his hand. He was staring at nothing in particular—just the silence.A knock broke the stillness.“Come in,” Cassiel said without looking up.The door opened slowly, and in walked Enzo. His left arm was tightly bandaged and slung across his chest. His shirt was loose, boots caked with dried mud, but his steps were steady.Cassiel looked up and studied him from head to toe. “You’re not supposed to be walking around.”Enzo gave him a flat look and rolled his eyes. “You think a bullet wound’s the worst thing I’ve survived?”Cassiel didn’t argue. He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. “You took a bullet.”“I’ve taken worse,” Enzo replied, closing the door behind him. “A
Third POVA soft beeping filled the room.Julian’s eyelids fluttered. His throat burned. His lips were cracked. Every breath felt like dragging glass through his lungs.“Breathe slow,” a voice said.Not Cassiel.This one was different—gentler, clinical.“Open your eyes if you can hear me, Julian,” the voice urged.He tried. It was like lifting a mountain. But the light stung too much.“Good,” the voice said. “You're responding.”Julian winced, groaned. “W—water…”Dr. Lee reached for the glass on the bedside table, lifted his head carefully, and pressed the cup to his lips.“Just sips,” he instructed. “You’ve lost a lot of blood. Your organs went into mild shock. Your lungs are bruised. Your ribs—three fractured. The cuts… deep but clean. Whoever did this wasn’t in a rush.”Julian’s eyes slowly opened. The ceiling came into view. Pale lights. Sterile scent. He wasn’t in a hospital. He was still in the estate.Cassiel’s home.“W-
Third POVThe room was silent except for the soft hum of a hanging bulb flickering overhead. The floor was cement. Cold. Damp. The walls carried marks of violence — chains bolted to the corners, a table scattered with cruel-looking tools. At the center of it all sat Renata, her wrists bound to a metal chair. Her legs tied, body slumped, throat dry. Her eyes blinked rapidly as they adjusted to the dim light.A figure stepped out of the shadows.“You…” she croaked, disbelief coating her voice.Cassiel.He was in his usual black suit. Polished shoes. Clean shave. The same composure he wore when dealing death like a handshake.Renata tried to steady her breathing. “What is this? What have I done this time to deserve being kidnapped again?”Cassiel stepped forward. No smile. No warmth.“You’re asking the wrong question.”She tensed.“You should be asking,” he continued, “why you decided to cross me again despite the warning I gave you.”“I didn
Third POVThe bar pulsed like a living beast—breathing smoke, sweat, and sin. Music thundered through the walls like an earthquake made of bass, and the crowd was drunk on sound. Lights stuttered between blood-red strobes and toxic blue flashes, cutting across faces soaked in liquor and laughter, kisses and careless ruin.Renata was the nucleus of it all.Her hips swayed in slow, sensual motion to the rhythm, the thin leather of her pants catching the light with every shift of her waist. Her black corset hugged her frame like a second skin, her collarbones glistening with a fine sheen of sweat. Around her neck, a silver choker shimmered, shaped like a tiny dagger—no ornament, just a reminder of the sharpness she wore under her skin.She lounged on a red velvet couch, surrounded by empty bottles and hazy-eyed men who orbit her like moths around a fire they didn’t know was lethal.Her laughter was low, dark, and edged with intoxicated mischief. A half-finished cock