Nicolas had been handling the company well for the past three years. Richard had trusted him. Had stepped back, content to let his son take the reins. The business had grown. Profits had increased. Everything seemed fine. Nicolas had seemed competent, driven, and capable.

But now, reviewing the current project files, Richard saw things he hadn’t noticed before. Small inconsistencies. Odd clauses. Strange patterns that didn’t add up.

The partnership with the Sinclair Group.

His eyes widened.

His hands clenched the project papers, his knuckles white. The paper crumpled under his grip.

He had been in business for over forty years. He had learned to spot the signs, the subtle clauses, the hidden traps, the language that looked harmless but could destroy everything.

And now, looking at this contract, he saw it all. Every red flag, warning sign, and carefully placed piece of a puzzle that was designed to bring them down.

He called Nicolas’s PA, a young woman named Lara. Her voice was hesitant on the other end.

"Lara," Richard said, his voice tight and controlled. "I need the complete contract details for the Sinclair Group partnership. Every document. Every email. Every communication. Now."

Lara hesitated. "Sir, I don’t have all of those files. Nicolas handled most of it himself. He kept a lot of the communications private. I only have the basic paperwork."

"Then get me what you have. Now."

"Yes, sir. Right away."

He hung up and stared at the papers again.

His heart pounded. His breath came in short, shallow gasps. He could feel the sweat forming on his forehead.

Years of experience screamed at him. This was not a partnership. This was a trap. A beautifully constructed, perfectly disguised trap. And Nicolas had walked right into it with his eyes wide open, too arrogant to see what was in front of him.

Richard’s face went pale. His hands trembled as he reached for his phone.

The Sinclair Group was going to destroy them.

⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹

"I am okay, okay..." Dominique groaned, his voice muffled by the pillow he had buried his face in. He was lying in the hospital bed, his neck still bandaged, his movements slow and careful. His eyes were half-closed, his expression one of long-suffering exhaustion. His hair was messy, sticking up in all directions and his hospital gown was slightly wrinkled from all his tossing and turning.

Everyone was so caring for him. Including his cold mother, who went to talk with his doctor and Leo. At this point, he felt like he was going to die from over-care. He had never been fussed over this much in his entire life and honestly, he didn’t know if he loved it or hated it.

"I am fine. I am perfectly fine. I don’t need more food. I don’t need more water. I don’t need more blankets. I don’t need more—"

Zeke, who had flown in overnight the moment he heard what happened, sat in the corner with his laptop open, pretending to work but clearly watching Dominique with amusement. His fingers hovered over the keyboard but his eyes kept drifting toward the bed.

Zeke said, his voice teasing. "You look terrible."

Dominique lifted his head just enough to glare at him. "Thank you. I feel terrible. Your observational skills are remarkable. Have you considered a career as a doctor? You’d be great at stating the obvious."

Zeke smirked, his eyes sparkling. "I’ll think about it."

Jason had dropped everything and rushed to his side, his face pale with worry for the first two days. Now, he was sprawled on the visitor’s chair, scrolling through his phone with one hand while the other rested on his stomach. His legs were stretched out, his shoes kicked off.

Jason said, his tone light but sincere. "You’re lucky you’re alive, bro. You should be grateful."

Dominique’s voice was flat, laced with exhaustion. "I am grateful. I am so grateful I could cry. But if one more person tells me to rest, I will lose my mind. I will get up from this bed and walk out of this hospital, tubes and all."

Jason snorted, his voice amused. "You can barely lift your head."

"I can lift my head. See?" Dominique tried to lift his head. It fell back onto the pillow. "Okay, that was a bad example."

Bella had been helping the kitchen staff prepare nutrient-rich dishes for him, bringing them in with a bright smile and insisting he eat every bite. She had just left, promising to return with a new recipe she had found.

Dominique had already eaten three bowls of her soup, two plates of her stew, and a suspiciously green smoothie that she had claimed was "good for healing."

Dominique said, his voice dripping with despair. "Bella brought soup. Again. I have eaten so much soup I think I’m turning into soup. If I hear the word ’nutrient’ one more time, I will scream."

Jason didn’t look up from his phone, his voice flat. "You screamed yesterday when she brought broccoli."

Dominique groaned. "Broccoli is the devil’s vegetable."

Jason shrugged. "Broccoli is good for you."

Dominique sighed. "So is sleep, and no one is letting me get any."

Hazel was sitting beside him, her hand resting on his arm, her eyes soft. She had barely left his side since the surgery, her presence calm and grounding. She handed him a glass of water.

Hazel said softly, her tone firm but gentle. "Drink."

Dominique sighed, his voice whining. "I don’t want water."

Hazel insisted, her voice patient. "Drink."

He sighed and took a small sip. "Happy?"

Hazel replied dryly, a hint of amusement in her voice. "Ecstatic."

Jay and Jace had been handling company affairs in Leo’s absence since he had been on Dominique’s side.

And Leo....

He was sitting in a chair near the window, a bowl of fruit in his lap, a knife in his hand. He was peeling an apple. Slowly. Methodically. His gray eyes focused on the task with the same intensity he usually reserved for business deals and interrogations. The peel curled in one long, unbroken spiral.

Dominique stared, his voice full of disbelief. "Leo."

Leo didn’t look up. "What?"

Dominique asked, his tone incredulous. "Are you... peeling fruit?"

Leo’s jaw tightened, feeling his strange gaze on him, which made him uncomfortable. His voice was flat, almost defensive. "You need to eat."

What, he couldn’t peel an apple? Was he non-human? Sometimes he was annoyed by the reactions of people around him whenever he showed care or did something normal, like peeling fruit. For God’s sake, he was human, not a non-human alien from another planet. Just because he was a mafia boss didn’t mean he couldn’t hold a knife to an apple instead of a person’s throat.