Chapter 3

Adrien Cross stared at the mess of glass on the office floor, the scotch bleeding into the cracks like it wanted to sink all the way down. It looked like broken promises, nothing else. His hand clenched around the phone, the message stamped on him like a brand: Sleep well, Adrien. I’m watching.

Lucian Vega’s voice in his head was taunting, too sharp, too smug. Someone had tried to end him tonight. And worse, someone close was feeding him out like scraps. 

His Empire, which was strong, steel and untouchable suddenly felt like a child's play.

“Adrien.” Isabella’s voice was steady, but her eyes weren’t. She stood in the doorway, holding her phone tight, and then watching him like she was already counting the damage 

 “Security’s sweeping every floor. The burner’s locked down but IT’s already digging. We’ll have a name soon.”

“Soon’s useless,” Adrien bit out, his voice low and venom-laced. He stalked to the window, the city stretched calm and cruel outside, glittering like it wanted to mock him. 

“Whoever planned this knew my speech, my exact spot. That’s not a chance. That’s a knife that slid from inside.”

Isabella tightened her jaw. “I know. But for now you need to disappear. No more public shows.”

Adrien barked a laugh, it was hollow, and humorless. “Shows? I wasn’t the one pulling the trigger.”

She didn’t blink. “You’re the one painted in red now. Start acting like it.”

Before he could spit something back, another voice rumbled from the shadows; the voice was deep, like a gravel against steel. Damien Wolfe. “She’s right. You stay put. Doors locked. Nobody in or out until we clear this place.”

He leaned on the desk like it was his, his arms were crossed, the scars on his knuckles showing. He didn’t say a word, he just stood there, …until Adrien felt like there wasn’t enough space to breathe.

Adrien turned to him, his eyes narrowed. “You don’t get to play savior.

“I don’t even know who the hell you are.”

Damien held his gaze without flinching, cold and steady, like he could look right through Adrien to whatever was broken inside

“You don’t need to do anything,” he said. “Just know I’m the one between you and the next bullet.

The air snapped taut. Too close. Too much. Adrien stepped in, his pulse punching hard against his ribs. Damien was all scars and shadows, a man born for war, not champagne-soaked boardrooms. And yet Adrien’s body betrayed him—heat curling low, anger bleeding into something he refused to name. 

His voice came out cold. “You’re here for a paycheck. Do the job. Don’t lecture me.”

Damien’s mouth twitched—almost a smirk. “Then let me do it.”

Adrien wanted to fire him, to rip that calm off his face, to push him out of the room and out of his chest. But he couldn’t. Not with a sniper still out there. Not with Lucian’s words clawing through his mind. 

He turned his back, hand shaking as he poured another scotch, angry at the way his hand wouldn’t stay steady. Isabella’s phone buzzed, sharp in the quiet.

 She glanced at her phone, and her expression changed . “Adrien, he’s here. Lucian Vega. Downstairs. He says he needs to see you.”

Adrien felt his stomach twist. Lucian. Of course. The man who thrived on timing, who treated blood and trust like poker chips. “Tell him to fuck off,” Adrien said, but his voice came out small. “He’s not leaving,” Isabella pressed. “He says it’s about tonight.”

Adrien’s glass bit into his palm. Lucian wasn’t here by chance, he was circling, sensing Adrien's weakness and picking up on the crack.“Fine. Bring him up. But you stay close,” he told Isabella. Then, to Damien, each word dragged: “And you don’t move.”

Damien narrowed his eyes, but he nodded, posing by the door like a soldier. Adrien hated the wave of relief that surged through him, hated how much he wanted to lean on it.

The elevator dinged. And Lucian stepped out. Lucian Vega, five-seven of tailored danger wrapped in charm. Freckles scattered across light skin, dark hair slicked back neat, suit hugging every sharp angle of him. His smile carried knives. Hazel eyes locked on Adrien with pinpoint heat. “Adrien,” he purred, smooth and poisonous. “Rough night, hm?”

Adrien’s jaw locked tight. “What do you want, Lucian?”

Lucian strolled forward, Damien’s glare sliding off him like rain. Isabella bristled, ready to strike. He didn’t care. His cologne hit sharp, invasive, as his eyes dragged down Adrien like a hand. “Heard you caught a bullet through your window. Bold. Even for your list of enemies.” He stopped too close. “You’re bleeding.”

Adrien touched the raw graze along his ear. “I’m fine. Get to the point.”

Lucian’s smile stretched, wicked. “I know things, Adrien. Things about cracks in your walls. That shot tonight wasn't luck. Someone’s feeding me pieces of you.” His voice dropped, low, intimate. “Someone you trust.”

Adrien’s blood iced. The words from the burner, the text, Lucian’s smug grin it all fit too well. He wanted to slam him back, scream for answers, but Lucian’s closeness was a trap. 

The smell, the voice, it all dragged up memories Adrien had shoved down. Deals in dark corners. Hands too close. Promises he’d promised himself he would forget. “You’re lying,” he said, but it came out weak, and fragile.

Lucian’s laugh was soft, cruel. “Am I? Check your board. Your family. Or maybe that shiny new guard dog you’ve got here.” 

Adrien’s gaze flicked to Damien. The soldier went rigid, his hand giving a quick twitch toward his gun.

“Enough,” Damien muttered, stepping in, his voice rough and heavy, like thunder rolling too close.

“Back off.”

Lucian lifted his hands, all mock innocence. “Just helping. Adrien’s enemies live closer than he thinks.” He strolled back to the elevator, but turned with one last slice. “Oh, and Adrien? Cute speech tonight. But empires always topple when kings get sloppy.”

The doors closed. And silence filled the entire room; it was heavy, and choking. Adrien’s pulse hammered in his ears, Lucian’s words cutting deeper than the bullet ever had. Damien was still watching him, gaze locked, unreadable. Isabella finally broke the air. “He’s twisting you. But he’s not wrong. We lock this down now.”

Adrien nodded, but his thoughts spun wild Lucian’s smirk, the burner phone, the betrayal curled somewhere too close. And Damien’s stare is always too steady, too near, too dangerous.

He poured another drink, hand steady now, though inside he was falling apart. The phone buzzed again. Adrien didn’t want to look.

He looked anyway. Another number. Another line: Look closer, Adrien. The traitor’s already in your bed.

His breath caught . His gaze flicked sharp to Damien who was standing close, standing steady, standing everywhere. The room tipped sideways, the walls folding in.

Whoever was hunting him wasn’t just after his life. They wanted his soul.