Chapter 17; Arrival Of The Wolf
1481 Words
The penthouse overlooked the city like a glass crown, quiet and sharp. Evelyn stood by the window, her silhouette framed against the slow crawl of traffic far below. She didn’t turn when she heard the soft click of the lock disengaging — she’d been expecting him.
“Sebastian Fugerson,” she said, her voice smooth as silk but carrying a shadow of amusement. “I was beginning to think you’d changed your mind.”
Sebastian stepped in, closing the door behind him with deliberate calm. “You don’t wait for people like me unless you’re sure of what you’re doing.”
Evelyn turned, one hand brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. “And I am sure. You want Aston out of your way, and I want Aanya out of his. We’re not enemies. We’re… necessary.”
He studied her for a moment, his gaze steady, unreadable. “Necessary alliances end in blood.”
“Then we’re halfway there,” she murmured with a faint smile.
Sebastian crossed the room slowly, his presence heavy but controlled — the kind of power that didn’t need to be spoken to be felt. “Before we agree on anything,” he said, “there’s one rule.”
Evelyn tilted her head. “Only one?”
“Aanya Darlington doesn’t get touched,” he said, voice low and unyielding. “You want Aston? Fine. You want to ruin him? I’ll help. But if you so much as breathe wrong around her—”
“You’ll what?” Evelyn interrupted softly, stepping closer. “Kill me?”
“I don’t make threats,” Sebastian said. “I make promises.”
The silence between them tightened, magnetic and dangerous.
Evelyn’s lips curved into a cold smile. “Then here’s mine. You keep Aston breathing. Whatever your plans are — however far your revenge goes — you don’t touch him.”
He arched a brow. “You’re protecting him now?”
Her laugh was soft, bitter, almost sad. “No. I’m protecting what I remember of him. The man he was before he buried himself in power.”
Sebastian’s jaw tightened — a flicker of something almost human in his eyes. “You think love redeems monsters?”
“I think it ruins them,” Evelyn said quietly. “And you should know that better than anyone.”
For a moment, the room was still.
Then Sebastian took a slow step back, the weight of his gaze pinning her in place.
“We start tomorrow,” he said. “No delays. No betrayals.”
“And if I change my mind?” Evelyn asked, voice laced with challenge.
“Then pray I never find you again.”
He turned and left without another word, the echo of the door clicking shut behind him.
Evelyn stood alone again, staring at the empty space where he’d been.
Her reflection in the glass looked almost foreign — a ghost of the woman she used to be.
She whispered into the quiet,
“You’re not the only one playing with fire, Sebastian.”
–––
Cassian hated Berlin’s silence. It was too clean, too calculated — the kind of quiet that didn’t let you think without echoing your guilt back at you.
The city glowed under a pale rain, the kind that soaked through his coat but couldn’t cool the heat still clinging to his skin — Dora’s touch, Dora’s voice, Dora’s questions.
He shouldn’t have left like that.
But if he’d stayed… she would’ve seen through him.
He entered the hotel through the side entrance, shaking the water from his hair, eyes scanning for anyone who shouldn’t be there. The deal was supposed to be discreet. The man he was meeting was never on time — but this one had a history of arriving before he was invited.
He reached the suite — lights off, curtains drawn. One look at the unlatched window, and his hand went for the gun inside his coat.
“You should really change your security detail,” a voice said from the shadows.
“You should really stop breaking into other people’s rooms,” Cassian replied evenly.
Sebastian stepped into the light — black shirt, sleeves rolled, the picture of casual arrogance. He looked like sin carved into human form, with a calmness that only came from having done too many unforgivable things.
“You look tense,” Sebastian said, pouring himself a drink from Cassian’s minibar. “Rough night?”
“You tell me. You seem to know everything else.”
Sebastian smiled faintly. “Ah. So it was Dora.”
Cassian’s jaw clenched. “Don’t.”
“Relax,” Sebastian drawled, sipping the whiskey. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m not here about her. Not directly.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Because the relic isn’t where you think it is,” Sebastian said, setting the glass down. “And because if you don’t move fast, Berlin won’t be a neutral zone anymore.”
Cassian crossed his arms. “You expect me to trust you now?”
“No,” Sebastian said simply. “I expect you to listen. There’s a difference.”
For a moment, the room went utterly still — the faint hum of the city outside, the ticking of the old hotel clock, the heavy air between two men who’d shared both blood and betrayal.
Then Sebastian tossed a small flash drive onto the table. It slid toward Cassian.
“Everything you need to see is in there. But once you watch it… there’s no going back.”
He started for the door, then paused — his voice quieter, but heavier:
“She’s getting too close, Cassian. If you care about her, get her out before this city eats her alive.”
And just like that, he was gone — leaving only the scent of rain, whiskey, and a warning that felt far too personal.
The city never slept — it just shimmered.
Berlin under the moonlight was a strange kind of beautiful — all glass, concrete, and shadows pretending to be men. Cassian Trent had always blended well into that kind of world.
He stood on the hotel balcony, a half-empty glass of whiskey in hand, watching the rain trace delicate lines down the city skyline. The night wind cut through his shirt, but he didn’t feel it. His mind was elsewhere — on her voice, the way it trembled when she asked, “Why don’t you ever talk about her, Cassian?”
Andrea.
He closed his eyes, jaw flexing.
Even now, the sound of her name — unspoken — could gut him.
Behind him, the suite looked like something out of a glossy magazine: sterile perfection, a room that held no soul. He’d checked in under another name, the way he always did when he needed to disappear. Dora thought he was meeting investors.
She didn’t know the truth.
She couldn’t.
Cassian set the glass down, ran a hand through his hair, and opened the small velvet box on the table. Inside lay a tiny bracelet — silver, the clasp broken. Andrea’s. Found in the wreckage that night. He carried it everywhere, though he didn’t know why.
He told himself it was penance.
He told himself lies.
A knock at the door shattered the silence.
Cassian didn’t move.
Another knock, firmer this time.
“Mr. Trent?” The voice was low, accented — German. “You requested discretion.”
Cassian exhaled slowly. “Come in.”
A man entered — middle-aged, trench coat damp from the rain. He carried a black folder. No introductions. Just business.
“The files you asked for,” the man said, placing the folder on the table. “We traced the name you gave us — Margot Volvo. She’s been seen in Prague. Traveling under a new alias.”
Cassian’s jaw tightened. “And the others?”
“Dead,” the man replied. “Or hiding. She’s cleaning up.”
He nodded, not surprised. Margot always had a way of staying one step ahead.
The man hesitated. “If I may, sir… you don’t have to keep doing this. Sometimes, ghosts—”
“Ghosts,” Cassian cut in, “don’t bury children.”
The man lowered his gaze, nodded once, and left.
Cassian stood alone again.
Outside, thunder rolled across the skyline.
He poured another drink, his reflection fractured across the glass window — a man who looked calm, collected, dangerous… and completely broken.
He raised his glass to the reflection.
“To Andrea,” he murmured, voice barely a whisper. “And to the lies that keep her mother from hating me.”
Then he drank.
And for a moment — just a moment — the city lights behind him flickered, as if the ghosts he’d been running from had finally caught up.
- Writer
