Chapter Three – Strings of the Puppetmaster
668 Words
“A pawn survives only as long as the master wills it.”
“What were you thinking?” Sebastine’s voice thundered through the phone, sharp enough to freeze the man on the other end into silence for several seconds.
“Your men almost killed her,” Sebastine continued, each word slow and biting. “I told you—always run your decisions by me. That way, we both get what we want.”
Pius’s voice cracked with forced calm. “What better way to destroy them than to first break their heart? Once they stumble, I can rise and take my rightful place as the leading gadgets company.”
“She is vital to my plans,” Sebastine cut in, his tone cold and final. “She is not to be touched. If she dies, you die. Do I make myself clear?”
“…Yes. I understand,” Pius murmured.
Sebastine’s office was a chamber of shadows and control. Black oak shelves lined the walls, heavy with leather-bound tomes and relics older than the house itself. A single oil painting—a storm-tossed sea—hung behind his desk, its restless waves echoing the turbulence in his own mind. The air smelled faintly of cedar smoke and old parchment. His desk, sleek and modern steel framed in glass, was littered not with papers but with curiosities: an antique dagger, a crystal orb, a pocket watch that had stopped ticking a century ago.
The only light came from a wrought-iron lamp on his desk, casting long, sharp angles across the room. Every shadow seemed deliberate, as if even darkness itself answered to him.
“Do you remember when your company was collapsing a few years ago? When you came crawling to me for help?”
“Yes,” Pius answered quickly.
“And I saved you,” Sebastine pressed, his voice silk over steel. “I did not wait this long for my plans to fall apart—especially not because of your incompetence.”
Pius swallowed. “Of course. Forgive me.”
Sebastine’s gaze drifted toward the storm painting, though his thoughts strayed elsewhere. The heiress. Jessica Ravenshade was more than a pawn—she was a key. Her bloodline carried weight older than the companies they fought over, older even than Pius’s petty ambitions. To waste her now would be to waste centuries of waiting. She would live, not because of sentiment, but because her survival served him.
“Any word from your spy since the attack on the heiress?” he asked at last.
“Yes,” Pius muttered. “They’re hiring new bodyguards for her. I’ve already sent two of my best men. If one is chosen, he’ll serve as eyes and ears for us.”
“Good,” Sebastine said smoothly. “But leave the real work to me. I’ll send in my best man. You may be the second-best gadget company in the world, Pius, but you are the best at obeying me. Stick to that.”
Pius’s jaw tightened on the other end, his reply a hiss through clenched teeth. “Of course.”
“Call me the moment you have something useful.” Sebastine ended the call without another word.
He turned his head slightly. “Siri, call Luca.”
The line clicked.
“Hello?” Luca’s voice answered.
Sebastine’s lips curved into a thin smile. “How would you like to be the heiress’s new bodyguard?”
There was a pause. Then Luca’s voice came, cool and edged with intrigue. “Interesting.”
Sebastine leaned back in his chair, shadows folding around him like a cloak. With a fingertip, he nudged a lone chess piece across the board on his desk—a knight, black and sharp-edged.
Luca was the perfect blade: loyal, precise, and no one could be as fierce as a son bent on avenging the unjust death of his father, Sebastine mused, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips.
The Ravenshades would never see him coming.
- Writer
