Three days passed in suffocating silence. Then, late at night, Alex's phone vibrated against his nightstand, the small burst of sound cutting through the stillness of his bedroom like a gunshot.
He didn't need to check the screen to know who it was.
Damien.
A slow, sick feeling coiled in his gut as he reached for the device, his fingers hesitant, reluctant. The screen's glow painted his face in a pale, ghostly light.
A single message. Short. Commanding.
"The Regal Hotel. Room 1206. Midnight."
Alex's throat tightened. His thumb hovered over the keyboard, instinct pushing him to type out a simple reply—an agreement. A submission.
Yes. I'll be there.
The words sat untyped in his mind, heavy and suffocating.
Then, slowly, his fingers curled away.
No.
Something inside him resisted.
He had spent the past three days spiraling through his thoughts, replaying Damien's threats, dissecting every word, every possible consequence. The fear had been overwhelming at first—tightrope squeezing his lungs, making it hard to breathe, to think beyond the immediate danger. But then, clarity had begun to seep through the panic.
Eric's family wasn't just wealthy—they were powerful. Generational wealth, deep-rooted influence, a business empire fortified by connections Damien couldn't dismantle with a snap of his fingers.
And the restaurant? The head chef might have come from nothing, but the owner was a giant in the industry, someone whose reach spanned the entire country. A single vindictive man, no matter how rich, couldn't bring them down on a whim.
Could he?
Alex gnawed at his lower lip, doubt flickering in his chest like a dying ember. He hesitated another moment, then shut his phone without replying.
The next day, another message arrived. Different time. Different hotel. Alex ignored it.
And then another.
And another.
For more than a week, the cycle continued—Damien sending commands, Alex refusing to acknowledge them.
And strangely, nothing happened.
No enforcers showed up at his door. No hired muscle dragging him away in the middle of the night. Damien himself never appeared, never cornered him in some dark alley, never forced a confrontation.
It should have been a relief.
Instead, it felt like standing on the edge of a cliff, knowing the ground would eventually give way beneath him.
His family's situation continued as usual…The Mastersons, once untouchable, were hemorrhaging power. The financial strain that had been looming over them like a storm cloud finally broke, after selling the Crown Hotel—a cornerstone of their empire. One more piece of their legacy, gone.
And Alex?
He didn't care.
Let them drown. Let them feel the helplessness he had felt for years while they had bullied him in every way possible, trying to control his body, his mind…his very life.
Then, one night, his phone rang.
Eric.
Alex answered immediately, the frantic edge in his friend's voice setting his nerves on fire.
"Alex," Eric gasped, breathless and panicked. "Something's happening."
Alex sat up, muscles coiling with tension. "What do you mean?"
"My dad—he's losing every construction bid. One after another, companies we've never even considered competitors are underbidding us. It doesn't make sense. We should have secured these deals easily, but they're slipping through our fingers."
Alex's pulse pounded in his ears.
It wasn't a coincidence. He knew it was Damien but how could he tell that to his friend? How could he tell him that Damien was trying to destroy his family's business because Alex had ignored their fuck dates?
"Everything is going to be okay, Eric," Alex said. "Don't worry too much. Every business goes through a rough patch. Maybe this is the case with your family's business."
"I hope so," Eric sighed.
They said their goodnight, Eric sounding a little more optimistic after Alex had tried his hardest to reassure him that things would certainly get better, faster than he believed.
Damn you, Damien! Alex cursed inwardly. A wave of cold washed over Alex's skin.
He had thought he could ignore Damien. Thought he could hold his ground. Thought Damien was bluffing.
He had been wrong.
Terribly, catastrophically wrong.
His hands shook as he fumbled for his phone, his mind racing, heart hammering in his chest. He could feel it now—the walls closing in, the inevitable trap snapping shut around him.
With frantic fingers, he typed out a message.
"I'll meet you. Please. Just stop whatever you're doing to Eric's family. Please."
The reply came almost instantly.
"My office. Tomorrow after midnight. Loosen yourself up beforehand. I want to fuck you right away."
He stared at the screen, Alex's stomach twisted violently.
There it was.
Damien's power. The certainty that he could do and demand anything.
His fingers trembled as he set the phone down, exhaling shakily.
There was no more pretending.
No more hoping.
Tomorrow, he would go.