The silence in the room after Sabastain stepped out for a work call lingered longer than I expected. I sat alone at the kitchen island, finishing the last bite of my sandwich. The air felt still, but my mind was a quiet storm—half processing everything, half trying not to think at all.
That was when one of the brothers strolled in, hands in the pockets of his designer suit trousers like he owned the air he breathed.
"Hey, Cinderella," he teased with a lopsided grin, eyeing my now-empty plate. "Had your fill?"
"Yeah, thanks." I smiled slightly, uncertain about which brother I am talk with and what came next
He took a seat across from me and propped his feet up on the chair beside him. "Storm by the way, he said clearing my confusion... how about a house tour?"
I perked up, surprised by the offer. "Sure!"
"Nope." He popped the 'P' and leaned back smugly.
I blinked. "Oh. Okay…" I hadn't expected a straight-up refusal, especially since he'd just brought it up. "Why not?"
"Well, that's because we—and by 'we' I mean Stefan and Sebastien—are only here for business. I'm just here for a good time," he said with a shrug. "We don't actually live here. We'll be heading back home soon... probably once Sebastien wraps up."
He gestured around us lazily. "Wouldn't want to waste time parading you through twenty-something rooms when we barely use any."
I nodded slowly, rich people things.
My heart dipped slightly. That word—home. I needed to know.
"So… where's home exactly?" I asked, trying to sound casual.
He grinned. "Greece. That's where we're from, beautiful."
I choked on my drink. "You're Greek?"
"Yep," he said proudly.
I stared. "But you don't have the accent. You sound… British?"
Storm laughed—a rich, genuine sound that made the room feel warmer.
"That's because we were born in London and lived there for a few years before we moved to Greece."
"Huh." I nodded slowly, still digesting the revelation.
His gaze lingered a little longer on me, his smile softening. "You're very different from the women I've met. And trust me—I've met a lot."
"Should I take that as a compliment or an insult?" I quirked a brow.
"Oh, definitely a compliment."
There was a lull before I asked, "Can I ask you something?"
He leaned forward, elbows on the counter. "You don't have to ask permission to ask a question, sweetheart. We're not in prison."
The words hit harder than I expected. We're not in prison.
Except I had been. Not behind bars, but trapped all the same. Jake never let me breathe without permission. One mistake—a locked door, a missed call, a glance too long—and I was punished. Locked in, beaten, isolated.
My fingers clenched under the table.
"Hey." Storm's voice was softer now. "Everything okay?"
I blinked. He was watching me carefully.
"You zoned out for a second," he said gently. "You were about to ask something?"
"Yeah…" I exhaled and pushed the memory away. "What exactly do you guys do? I mean, who are you?
The grin fell from his face, replaced with mild disbelief. "Wait. You're serious?"
"Yes."
"You've never heard of the Morgan family?"
"No?"
"S-M Empire?"
I shook my head. "No."
"Nothing about the Morgan family?" he asked again in disbelief
"Not even a whisper," I shrugged
He leaned forward dramatically. "You don't know who we are?"
I shrugged. "Should I?"
He ran a hand through his hair like his brain short-circuited. "Okay, wow. That's actually... kind of amazing."
"Why?"
"Because most people would give their left arm to be in this house. And here you are, completely unaware. It's... refreshing."
"Well, I've been kinda busy surviving."
His face softened instantly. "Fair enough."
"But seriously—what do you guys do?"
He tilted his head. "The short version? We're into everything. Finance, fashion, tech, media. Think... a cooler version of the Kardashians but without the drama."
"I find that hard to believe."
"You wound me" he said
I rolled my eyes, laughing despite myself.
"Come on," he said getting up
Later That Afternoon...
Storm ended up giving me a grand tour anyway—claiming I'd "guilt-tripped" him into it, but I could tell he didn't mind. We wandered through wide hallways, past luxurious guest rooms, sun-drenched lounges, and a library big enough to get lost in.
The place was so massive, I lost count of the rooms. We walked into a massive study room where Stefan was working—and Storm took the chance by telling him I had no clue who they were. Stefan's face mirrored Storm's earlier shock.
It was amusing
"Oh, by the way," he announced as we headed back downstairs, "I have a genius idea."
And that is how we ended up in the garage—lined with over a dozen high-end sports cars that sparkled like trophies.
"This is your genius idea?" I asked, struggling not to gape.
"Yep," he beamed.
"But what if she doesn't know how to drive?" Stefan asked as he joined us.
They both turned to look at me.
"Do you know how to drive, Chole?" Stefan asked, a teasing lilt in his voice.
I thought of those stolen hours behind the wheel of Jake's car, secretly teaching myself in case I ever needed to escape. I didn't just learn—I trained.
"I do," I replied, confidence flickering in my smile.
"Then you pick first, beautiful," Storm said, tossing me a key.
I chose the sleek, all-black Aston Martin with curves like sin and the engine of a beast.
The engine purred as I parked the black Aston Martin back into its space, my hands still tingling with the thrill. My heart was pounding from the ride, but for once, it wasn't fear fueling it—it was adrenaline. Joy. Something I hadn't felt in ages.
I stepped out of the car, cheeks flushed, laughter still bubbling from my lips as Storm parked beside me, dramatically throwing his arms in the air.
"I won again!" he shouted. "Admit it, Chloe, I'm a racing god."
"You cheated," I said through my grin.
"That's slander."
"You blocked me on the second lap!"
"Tactics, darling. Not cheating."
I laughed again, shaking my head. Stefan leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching us with quiet amusement. "You're getting too comfortable, Storm. You're gonna break something again."
Storm scoffed. "You're just mad because she picked the car you wanted."
I was about to respond when the garage door creaked open behind us.
Sabastain.
He stepped in wearing a crisp black suit with the top buttons of his shirt undone, his tie now draped loosely around his neck. His eyes scanned the scene—me, laughing next to his brother; Storm, grinning with a hand casually resting on my shoulder.
The shift in his expression was subtle, but I caught it.
His jaw tightened slightly. His eyes lingered on Storm's hand a moment too long.
Storm didn't seem to notice. "Look who finally decided to show up," he said.
Sabastain's voice was calm, but there was an undercurrent. "I didn't realize we were hosting a racing event."
Storm gave him a cheeky salute. "She was bored. I provided entertainment. You're welcome."
Sabastain's gaze flicked to me then, something unreadable in his eyes. "Did you have fun?"
I nodded. "Actually... yeah. It was the most fun I've had in a long time."
There was a flicker of something else in his face—pride, maybe—but also... tension.
"I'm glad," he said, but his tone was clipped.
Storm finally noticed and gave Sabastain a slow grin. "You're not jealous, are you?"
Sabastain arched a brow. "Why would I be jealous?"
"I mean," Storm said with mock innocence, "I have been spending quite a lot of quality time with our guest. Showing her around, making her laugh... racing her..."
"Storm," Stefan warned, voice dry.
"What?" Storm shrugged. "It's not my fault I'm charming."
I didn't know where to look. The air had shifted, grown warmer in the worst way. I felt like I was standing between something unspoken—something I wasn't ready to understand.
Sabastain walked over slowly, every step measured. He stopped in front of me, his voice softer now. "Are you okay?"
His eyes searched mine—not in a casual way. It was intense, protective, as though he was trying to make sure Storm hadn't overstepped any invisible boundary.
"I'm fine," I said quietly.
"I left you in the kitchen. Didn't expect to find you racing Lamborghinis."
"I didn't plan it. Storm just—" I trailed off. "He was just trying to distract me. And... it helped."
Sabastain looked like he wanted to say more, but instead he nodded and stepped back. "Well, I'm glad you're settling in."
Storm clapped his hands. "Now that our brooding brother's back, maybe he can entertain you for a bit. I've got a video call with someone way more demanding than both of you combined—Anika."
"Godspeed," Stefan muttered.
Storm winked at me. "Let me know if Sebastien bores you. I'll come save you again."
He strolled off, whistling.
And just like that, it was quiet again.
Sabastain was still watching me. Not in the way Storm did—with playful charm—but with something heavier. Something he was trying not to feel.
"You two get along," he said after a moment.
I nodded. "He's easy to talk to"
"You need to rest. You've done enough for one day."
"You think I'm fragile?"
"I know you're strong," he said firmly. "But even strong people need space to breathe."
I nodded. "Okay."
He gestured toward the hallway. "Come on. I'll walk you back."
We walked side by side in silence, our steps echoing through the grand hall. When we reached the door to my room, he paused.
"Chloe," he said quietly.
"Yeah?"
He opened his mouth, as if to say something... but then changed his mind.
"Sleep well."
And then he turned and walked away, leaving me with a heart that was suddenly much heavier than before.
I stood at the door long after Sabastain disappeared down the hall.
There was something different about him tonight.
It wasn't just the way his voice had dipped when he told me to be careful with Storm. Or the way his jaw had tightened when he saw us laughing together. It was... that look in his eyes. The one he tried to hide, but didn't quite manage to.
I leaned my back against the door and let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding.
My heart was beating fast again. But it wasn't from racing cars or dodging Storm's relentless teasing.
It was him.
Sabastain.
I should not feel anything toward him. Not now. Not yet. Maybe not ever. Cause he saved my life just yesterday night. My life was a mess barely held together by a thread, and he... he was something else entirely. Something dangerous, not in the way Jake had been—but in the way people who make you feel safe are. Because safety makes you soften. Let your guard down.
And I wasn't sure I could afford to do that again.
I turned and walked into the room—his guest room, apparently—and sank onto the bed. The silk sheets felt too soft against my skin. The kind of softness that makes you remember how long you've lived without it.
I wrapped the blanket around myself and stared at the ceiling.
Storm was sweet—goofy, flirty, and completely unfiltered—but Sabastain? He was layered. Intense. Like a puzzle I shouldn't want to solve but couldn't help being drawn to.
Why did it bother him that I spent time with his brother?
Why did I care if it did?
I sighed and shut my eyes, but sleep didn't come easy. Not when my mind was stuck on the way he looked at me. Like I was more than just a broken girl he helped off the street.
Like I was someone... he saw.
Elsewhere in the house...
SABASTIAN'S POV
I wasn't jealous.
At least, that's what I kept telling myself.
But as I sat in my office with the screen open in front of me, I hadn't typed a single word. My thoughts kept going back to the garage—Chloe laughing beside Storm, her eyes lit up, cheeks flushed with life.
That laugh didn't belong to the girl I found collapsed in an alley last night.
It belonged to someone who was coming back to life.
And Storm got to see that first.
My fingers curled into fists. Not out of anger—God no—but frustration. At myself. At the feelings I had no business having.
This wasn't supposed to happen.
I saved her. I brought her here because it was the right thing to do. Because no one should go through what she went through and be left to fight alone.
But somewhere between bringing her here and watching her sleep in that bed, something shifted.
She wasn't just some girl I helped anymore.
She was Chloe.
And now I had a problem.
Because every time I looked at her, I wanted to ask questions I had no right to ask.
I wanted to know what made her smile like that. What made her eyes dim. What made her run. And if there was any part of her—any piece at all—that wanted to stay.