Chapter 151: Home

Cyan searched my face for a long moment, seeing the guilt that I couldn’t hide and the cold, diamond-hard determination that had replaced my usual stoicism. He nodded once, a sharp, jerky movement. He believed me.

“You should go,” I said, my voice softening slightly. I gestured toward his arm, encased in the heavy white cast. “Worry about yourself for once. You were in a car accident days ago, Cyan. You should be in bed, not playing nursemaid.”

Cyan shook his head defiantly. “Absolutely not. I’m staying. Noah needs someone right now, and let’s face it… you’re about as comforting as a sharp rock.”

“You’re injured,” I countered, stepping closer. “You’re exhausted. You can barely stand.”

“I’m fine!”

“You have a broken arm!”

“It’s just one arm! I have another one!”

We went back and forth, a familiar dance of stubbornness and protection. It was our way of navigating the horror… arguing about the small things because the big things were too heavy to lift. Finally, Cyan let out a long, dramatic sigh, his shoulders sagging.

“Fine,” he muttered. “But only because you’ll just bully me until I leave anyway.”

A small, genuine smile touched my lips… the first one since the world had ended at the gala. “I don’t bully, Cyan. I persuade.”

“Potato, po-tah-to,” he rolled his eyes, gathering his bag with his good arm.

As he headed for the door, I spoke offhandedly, my tone casual. “By the way, I’m also leaving Spain tonight.”

Cyan froze. He whipped around so fast I thought he might trip. “WHAT?!”

“My work here is done,” I said, shrugging. “The Durant deal is finalized. The gala is over. Noah is safe.” I paused, a dark, predatory shadow crossing my face. “Well. Not completely done. I still have to take care of Alex.”

Cyan’s face went pale. “Take care of…? Cassian, what are you planning?”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t have to. My expression told them everything he needed to know. There would be no mercy. There would be no trial.

“You can’t just leave!” Cyan protested, his voice rising. “What about the fallout? Your father? Preston? The Hendrix family is going to be screaming for blood! You’re just going to run?”

“I’m not running. I’m going home. I’ll handle the politics from there. It’s easier to bury a scandal from a position of power.”

“Why now?”

“Because Noah needs to be away from here,” I said, my voice dropping an octave. “Away from this city. Away from the memory of that penthouse. He needs to feel comfortable, and he won’t get it in a hotel suite in Barcelona.”

Cyan studied me, the realization clicking in his eyes. “This is about him. Everything. The leaving, the Alex situation… it’s all for him.”

I didn’t confirm it, but I didn’t deny it either. I just held his gaze.

“Besides,” I added, looking at them pointedly. “Why are you acting like this is a tragedy? You have a private jet, Cyan. You can fly to see us whenever you feel like causing a scene.”

Cyan opened his mouth to argue, but then closed it. He knew I was right. This wasn’t a goodbye; it was a tactical relocation.

The sound of the shower turning on muffled our conversation. Noah was in there, alone, trying to wash away the evidence of a nightmare.

My heart felt like it was being squeezed by a cold hand. I was leaving tonight. I was taking him with me. And I was going to finish what I started with Alex Hendrix.

Cyan grumbled under his breath, crossing his good arm over his cast in a way that looked incredibly uncomfortable. “Fine. You’re right. You’re always right, and it’s infuriating.”

He headed for the door, stopping one last time with his hand on the frame. “DON’T MISS ME TOO MUCH!” he shouted, his voice echoing through the suite with pure, unadulterated Cyan energy.

He flounced out, the door slamming behind them. I could hear him in the hallway, still talking to themselves… or perhaps to one of my guards… his voice fading into the distance.

I stood alone in the bedroom, shaking my head. A small smile flickered across my face. Absurd. Completely absurd. But I was grateful for him. Grateful for the distraction and the lightness he brought into a room that was otherwise drowning in shadows.

The smile faded instantly as I turned toward the bathroom. The sound of the running water was steady, a white noise that filled the silence. Noah was in there. Alone with the memory of whatever happened before I showed.

I pulled out my phone and dialed room service.

“Send up breakfast,” I ordered. “Everything. Eggs, toast, fruit, pastries, juice, coffee. Just bring a variety.”

I didn’t know if Noah would eat. I didn’t know if he could even stomach the thought of food. But I needed to offer him something normal. Something that didn’t involve drugs or gala politics.

As I hung up, the phone rang again immediately. The caller ID read LAKE. My head of security.

“What?” I answered.

“Sir,” Lake’s voice was professional, devoid of emotion. “The… package is asking for an audience. He’s been quite insistent.”

The “package.” Alex.

“Is he now?” I leaned against the wall, my voice turning deadly cold.

“Yes, sir. He’s been vocal. Wants to speak with you. Says it’s urgent.”

I could imagine it. Alex, broken and bleeding in a basement, his “angelic” beauty marred by gunshot wounds and terror. He was likely begging for a doctor, or for mercy, or for a chance to lie his way out of the hole he’d dug.

“Tell him I’ll come see him when I feel like it,” I said, my words like chips of ice. “I have more important matters to attend to.”

“Understood, sir.”

“And Lake? Tell him to try his best to stay alive until I get there. It would be a shame if he missed our conversation.”

“Of course, sir. He’s secured. No one in or out without your approval. We’re keeping him stable for now.”

“Good.”

I pocketed the phone. Alex could wait. He could rot in the dark for a few more hours. He could contemplate the fact that his legs would never move again while he waited for me to decide how the rest of him would end.

Noah came first.

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