Lucas's Pov
The city outside my window throbbed with life, a blur of lights and movement that somehow made me feel even more alone. Inside this hotel suite, silence pressed down on me, thick and suffocating.
I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the small golden circle in my hand, the wedding ring I still carried. It was absurd. Years had passed since that day, and yet here I was, clutching a relic of a past I had tried to bury.
My thumb rubbed over its smooth surface, tracing the faint scratches it had gathered over time. Each mark felt like a memory etched into the metal.
Alina.
Her name slipped through my mind, delicate and insistent, and the memory hit me like a physical blow. Against everything I had been told, against every painstakingly orchestrated lie, she was alive.
And worse, someone had been watching her. Someone had been following her.
A low growl of anger rumbled in my chest, and I threw the ring onto the bedside table. The clink of metal on polished wood sounded too loud in the still room, sharp against the quiet.
I ran my hands through my hair, trying to calm the storm that was assembling inside me.
I needed answers.
I grabbed my phone and dialed Calor's number without hesitation. It rang once, twice and then he picked up.
"Sir?" His voice was cautious, measured. He could sense the tension I carried tonight.
"I want everything you can find on anyone tailing Alina," I said, my words clipped, precise. "Names, vehicles, patterns, everything. I don't care if it takes digging through old contacts or calling in favors. Find them!"
There was a pause, almost as if he wanted to ask questions. I cut him off.
"She's alive. And if anyone touches her again, they'll regret it."
I hung up before he could respond, the silence pressing back in, heavier than before. I paced the room, each step muffled by the thick carpet, my mind spinning with possibilities.
Every scenario played out in sharp relief, all ending with me finding her in danger, all ending with someone paying.
Years had passed since I lost her. Years I spent pretending that burying her memory was enough. Business deals, power moves, late nights, I used them as anesthetics to dull the pain.
But now, seeing her again, knowing she had survived. It was as if the years of separation had never existed.
I could see her face, hear the soft sound of her laugh. The ache in my chest twisted tighter with every memory, every heartbeat. And now, someone dared to threaten that life, again!
The hotel room felt too small, the walls closing in on me. I moved to the window, staring down at the city below. Cars flowed like molten light, and people moved in oblivious rhythm, unaware of the storm building in my veins.
My reflection stared back at me, eyes dark and haunted. My jaw was tight, a man carved out of steel but riddled with cracks. I whispered it under my breath, a vow meant only for her, only for myself:
"No one will touch you again, Alina. Not while I live."
I sank back at the edge of the bed, running my hands over my face. My mind raced with questions, fears, and possibilities. Who had been following her? How long had it been going on? And what would I do when I found them?
I thought about her face, the small crease in her brow when she was annoyed, the soft tilt of her lips when she smiled. My chest ached with the knowledge that she had survived alone, that she had lived through horrors I hadn't been there to shield her from.
I can be very observant, but I never showed her that I noticed all of it. Not loving someone will make you care less about anything concerning them or what they do.
They say you never miss something, until you lose it.
I stood abruptly and walked to the mini-bar, grabbing a bottle of whiskey. The first sip burned down my throat, sharp and bitter, but the sting fit the fire coursing through me. My hands shook slightly, adrenaline and rage mixing in equal measure.
I thought of every person who had tried to hurt her, every enemy who had ever dared to come close. They would pay. I would make sure of it.
I imagined finding her, holding her close, telling her that I would never let anything happen to her again. That she was mine. That no one, not Vivian, not Mathias, not anyone would ever control her fate while I'm still alive.
The resolve solidified with every heartbeat. I couldn't afford hesitation, couldn't afford distraction. Every second counted now, every detail mattered.
And then there was the realization: this wasn't just about protecting her anymore. This was war. A war that had already begun in the shadows, one I couldn't ignore any longer.
I walked to the window again, staring down at the city as if trying to see the threads of fate that connected us all. Somewhere out there, enemies were plotting, unaware that I had already begun my plan. I'm done waiting. It's time to act now.
I clenched my fists, as my knuckles whitened from the tight grip. My vow echoed in my mind again, louder this time.
No one will touch you. Not anymore.
The storm was coming, and I would meet it head-on.
****
Somewhere across the city, in an apartment wrapped in shadows and secrets, Vivian dialed a number she knew by heart. The blonde wig she wore itched against her scalp, but she didn't care. Precision was everything tonight.
"She's alive," she murmured, her voice soft, measured, almost reverent. "He found her."
The silence on the other end was long, pregnant with tension. Then the voice came, low and cold, vibrating with barely restrained rage.
"Are you certain?"
"Yes. Lucas has her now," she said, a faint smile playing across her lips. The words were light, almost teasing, but I could feel the danger behind them even from here.
The line went dead before another word could be spoken. Vivian allowed herself a small exhale, knowing the storm she had just ignited was far bigger than herself.
Back in the city, Mathias stood in his glass-walled villa, holding a glass of whiskey. Amber liquid caught the morning light as he turned over Vivian's words in his mind.
Alive.
The word alone was an eruption in his carefully controlled life. He had been sure she was gone, had made arrangements to ensure it. Yet, somehow, fate had cheated him. She lived. And Lucas had her.
Anger ignited like fire in his chest. His fingers gripped the glass tighter than necessary. The whiskey sloshed over the edge but he didn't flinch. The glass shattered under his grip, shards scattering across the marble floor. Red seeped into amber as his hand bled, but he didn't notice.
"Then we finish what we started," he growled, voice sharp and resolute. Rage pulsed in every word.