The kitchen had become a refueling station for Julian's team, with coffee brewing constantly and take-out containers stacked on every available surface. I was pouring myself a cup—my third, or maybe fourth of the night—when I heard Michael's low voice from the adjoining hallway.
"The pattern is consistent with his previous acquisitions," Michael was saying, his tone more grim than usual. "Young men, early twenties, similar physical types."
I froze, cup suspended midair, as Jake responded in an equally hushed tone. "How many have we confirmed?"
"Seven over the past three years that match the profile," Michael replied. "All reported missing by friends or colleagues. None by family."
My heart began to pound in my chest as I realized they were talking about Harris's other victims. Men like me. Men who hadn't escaped.
"The timeline?" Jake asked.
"Three to four months in his possession, then a convenient accident. Drowning. Car crash. Overdose." Michael's voice was clinical, detached, as if discussing weather patterns rather than murdered young men. "Bodies found with enough pharmaceuticals in their system to make medical examiners rule accidental death or suicide."
"And no one connected the dots?"
"Harris owns three testing facilities for experimental drugs," Michael explained. "The working theory is that these men were used as unwilling test subjects before being disposed of."
The coffee cup slipped from my suddenly numb fingers, clattering into the sink. The noise wasn't loud, but it was enough to make Michael and Jake fall silent. I backed away, not wanting to face them, not wanting them to see the horror that I knew must be written across my face.
I was supposed to be one of those men. I was supposed to be drugged, experimented on, and then disposed of like trash when Harris was done with me. And my family—my own blood—had facilitated it.
My feet carried me through the penthouse on autopilot, past the bustling war room where Lucas was now arguing with someone on speakerphone, past Kyue who gave me a concerned glance as I stumbled by.
I found myself in the guest bathroom off the main hallway, slamming the door behind me and leaning heavily against it.
The overhead lights were harsh, illuminating my reflection in the enormous mirror above the marble sink. I barely recognized myself—pale face, dark circles under my eyes, my usually messy hair now truly chaotic.
My hands trembled violently as I gripped the edge of the sink, knuckles turning white with the effort of keeping myself upright.
"Seven men," I whispered to my reflection, watching my lips form the words. "Seven men just like me."
The magnitude of what I'd narrowly escaped crashed over me like a physical weight. I could have been number eight. I could have been another "accident" in Harris's ledger, another missing person report filed and forgotten. If I hadn't stumbled into Julian's hotel room that night...
The sound of the door handle turning made me jerk upright. I hadn't locked it.
"Connor?" Julian's voice was soft on the other side. "Can I come in?"
I didn't answer, but the door opened anyway, revealing Julian's wheelchair in the gap. He maneuvered himself into the space, which suddenly seemed much smaller with both of us in it. The door clicked shut behind him.
"I heard," I said before he could speak, my voice rough with unshed tears. "About the others. The missing men."
Julian's expression softened, the CEO mask slipping away to reveal the man I was coming to know in private moments. "I was going to tell you when you were ready."
I turned back to the sink, unable to meet his eyes as the words escaped me. "I could have been just another missing person, just another 'convenient accident' after he was done with me."
The soft whir of Julian's wheelchair approached, and then his hands were on mine, gently prying my fingers from their death grip on the porcelain.
"Look at me, Connor," he said, his voice firm but gentle.
I forced myself to meet his gaze in the mirror. His dark eyes held none of the pity I feared, only a steady warmth that anchored me.
"Yes, that could have happened, but you found me instead," he said, one hand coming up to cup the back of my neck. The possessiveness in his voice should have frightened me after learning what Harris did to men he considered his property. Instead, it made me feel strangely safe, protected.
"I broke into your hotel room," I corrected, a humorless laugh escaping me. "Not exactly a romantic meeting."
Julian's lips curved into that almost-smile I was coming to treasure. "I prefer to think of it as destiny with poor planning."
Despite everything, I felt a genuine smile tug at my own lips. Julian's hand was warm against my neck, his touch grounding me as the panic began to recede.
