Lucian stood by the wide glass wall of his office, the city sprawling beneath him ...glittering lights, cars in motion, people hurrying somewhere they belonged.
He once loved this view. It made him feel untouchable, in control.
Now, it only reminded him how small everything was ...even his own heart that refused to listen to reason.
He had lost.
And it wasn't to another businessman, not to a rival empire... but to love.
"Sir," Elias, his loyal assistant, broke the silence as he entered the office, a folder in his hand. "These are the reports from the security assigned to Miss Winslow. They've been monitoring..."
"Stop."
Lucian's voice was quiet, yet it carried the weight of finality.
Elias froze, confused. "Sir?"
Lucian turned, his face calm... too calm. "End it. Pull them back. No more surveillance. No reports."
Elias blinked. "But… sir, your orders were to make sure she's safe. With all due respect, Miss Winslow's situation..."
"I said end it." Lucian's tone hardened. "She's not my responsibility anymore."
The words tasted bitter, like ash.
Elias hesitated. He had worked for Lucian long enough to read the storm beneath that icy demeanor. This wasn't indifference... it was surrender. The kind of surrender that came after a man had given everything, and still lost.
"Understood," Elias finally said quietly, lowering his head.
Lucian turned back to the window. "From now on," he added, his voice breaking slightly, "don't report anything about her. I don't want to know where she goes, who she's with… or what she's doing."
Elias' chest tightened. "Sir… are you sure?"
Lucian gave a faint, humorless smile. "I'm done fighting battles that were never meant to be won."
A heavy silence filled the office.
Elias stood still for a long moment before bowing and quietly stepping out, closing the door behind him.
Once alone, Lucian finally allowed himself to exhale ... long, slow, trembling.
He pressed a hand to his forehead, his jaw clenched tight.
He had thought he could handle losing her once.
But this… this felt like death.
He poured himself another glass of scotch, though his hands shook slightly. The amber liquid swirled in the crystal glass as he stared into it... seeing nothing but Caliste's face in every reflection. Her smile. Her quiet strength. Her tears that she never let him see.
He had always been good at letting people go.
At ending deals, closing contracts, walking away.
But when it came to her ...Caliste Winslow... he had no defense left.
Letting her go wasn't freedom.
It was punishment.
Lucian took a slow sip, the alcohol burning down his throat. "If she's happy," he whispered to no one, "then that's enough."
But deep inside, he knew it wasn't.
Because no matter how much he tried to let go, she still lived in every beat of his heart ...quiet, unrelenting, and eternal.
He set the glass down, his knuckles white.
"I've lost," he murmured. "And this time… I won't fight anymore."
----
The faint hum of the fluorescent light filled the detention cell flickering, pale, and cruel.
Desmund Winslow sat on the narrow cot, his back straight despite the chains around his wrists. His eyes, sharp and cold, followed every step of the guard who passed his cell door.
He had been patient. Too patient.
A few months of confinement meant nothing to a man like him. Because power real power didn't always need freedom. It only needed opportunity.
That opportunity had just arrived.
The small hatch on his door slid open, and a folded newspaper was pushed inside. Desmund smirked. Only one person would dare smuggle him news like this.
He picked it up and opened it slowly.
There, in the society column, a photograph caught his eye Caliste Winslow attending a gala, radiant and composed.
But something else in the caption made his grin widen.
> "Miss Winslow has recently been seen without her usual security detail. Sources say the Velmore surveillance on her has quietly ceased."
Desmund's laughter broke the silence deep, manic, echoing through the corridor like a ghostly howl.
The nearby guard flinched. "Quiet in there!" he barked, but Desmund only smiled wider, his voice turning smooth, mocking.
"Oh, officer," he drawled, "I was just thinking how quickly the mighty forget to protect their treasures."
He leaned back, eyes dark with satisfaction.
Lucian Velmore had made a mistake.
A mistake Desmund had been waiting for.
---
That night, a shadow slipped through the old corridors of the detention facility a man in plain clothes, blending into the silence.
He stopped by Desmund's cell, lowering his cap to hide his face.
"Boss," the man whispered through the hatch, "we got the message. The Velmore guards are off her now. You sure we move tonight?"
Desmund's grin returned, sharp as broken glass.
"Yes. Tonight."
He leaned forward, voice low and venomous. "No more delays. You'll find her weak now she's alone, unguarded, and distracted. Make sure you bring her to the old dock. I want her alive. We'll use her to drag Lucian Velmore to his knees."
The man nodded. "Understood."
Before leaving, the agent hesitated. "Boss, are you sure it's safe for us to move? Velmore might still..."
"Do not question me." Desmund's tone turned deadly. "Lucian thinks pulling back his security protects her freedom. But he's only made her vulnerable. And when he loses her…"
He paused, eyes burning with triumph.
"…he'll finally understand what it means to be powerless."
The spy nodded and disappeared into the darkness.
Desmund sat back on his cot, closing his eyes.
He could already see it ...Lucian Velmore's rage, his desperation, his empire trembling the moment Caliste Winslow vanished.
"Freedom, my dear niece," he whispered to the shadows, "is a fragile thing. Let's see how long you can keep it."
He chuckled to himself, the sound low and unholy, echoing off the steel walls.
And somewhere across the city, in her quiet apartment, Caliste Winslow had no idea that the one man she feared most… was already moving against her.