She looked up at me, her voice gentle but attentive. “Sure.”
I hesitated a moment longer, searching her expression for understanding before voicing what was truly on my mind. “If Danika were in danger, what would you do?”
Melissa’s brows knitted together in concern, and she sat up abruptly, studying my face. “Has something happened?” she asked, worry lacing her tone.
I shook my head, trying to ease her fears. “No,” I replied quickly. “I was just wondering.”
But Melissa wasn’t so easily convinced. “What’s going on?” she pressed, her gaze unwavering.
Groaning, I dragged my hands down my face in frustration. “I don’t know. It’s something someone told me tonight. That she would do anything to protect her legacy. Sinclair mentioned protecting my legacy as well, regarding my past. Is it odd that two different people, from two completely different backgrounds, would use that specific word?”
Melissa considered this, her face thoughtful. “Not necessarily,” she answered. “Legacy can mean different things to different people, but generally when spoken in that context, it’s regarding a child. I’m assuming this woman you spoke to is a mother?”
I nodded in response, confirming her assumption.
Melissa’s eyes softened with something like empathy. “And if I were a betting woman, I’d bet that Sinclair wasn’t talking about your parents in general, but what you meant to them, what you represented. Parents are funny when it comes to the lives of their children, Rowen. Most will do whatever it takes to ensure their child survives. In my case, I would make a deal with the Devil himself if he could promise me my daughter would live. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do, even walk away from her.”
The weight of her words hit me, and my head snapped up to meet her gaze. “What did you just say?” I asked, almost in disbelief.
Melissa’s voice was steady, unwavering. “I said I would walk away from Danika if it meant saving her life.”
A truth unfolded in front of me. “That’s what Maddie did,” I murmured, more to myself than to Melissa.
Melissa’s response was gentle, full of understanding. “A mother’s love knows no bounds, Rowen. You must understand that a mother carries her child within her for nine months, and for those nine months her child is protected, safe from the dangers of the world. When that child is born, our protective instinct multiplies exponentially. Add in outside forces and the dangers that child was born into, and well, sometimes the best way to protect a child is to walk away. If that’s what this woman did, then she made the ultimate sacrifice. If that’s what your mother did, she loved you tremendously.”
A heavy silence settled between us. Sinclair—the enigmatic savior of the Trick Pony, who had always been a shadowy figurein my life—was equal parts guardian and puppet master. Every time Sinclair called, a knot twisted in my stomach—what if this time he revealed something I wasn’t ready to face? I sighed, leaning my head back against the headboard. “I don’t know who my parents are. I was raised at the Trick Pony, and Sinclair hasn’t been as forthcoming with information as I would like. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was still protecting me, but I don’t know why. When I left the Trick Pony, I never cared to learn where I came from. I still don’t. But Sinclair insisted that information was power, so he dug into our pasts and how we all came to be at the Trick Pony. Now he’s using that information like pieces on a chessboard. Moving us into position, but to what end?”
Melissa groaned, her bluntness cutting through my uncertainty. “I don’t claim to know how Sinclair’s mind works. I don’t want to know. The man is a megalomaniac, narcissistic asshole who only cares about himself. Yes, he has moments of humanity, but they are fleeting. What you need to ask yourself is this... does the information Sinclair has regarding you matter enough to uproot the life you have built? If it doesn’t, then it won’t matter what Sinclair found. But if it is important to you, you need to be prepared for the fallout—the possibility that when the truth does come out, it could change everything.
My chest tightened at her words—the consequences felt dangerously close. “That’s just it, Melissa. I don’t want anything to change. I love my life. I love being a professor. If I could, I would walk away from Sinclair and his games and never look back.”
Melissa’s eyebrows shot up, her voice as forthright as ever. “Then why don’t you?”
I hesitated, my uncertainty warring with her candor. “Because I still owe him a debt.”
Melissa scoffed, shaking her head, her blunt honesty unwavering. “Sorry, Rowen, but you are a grown-ass man. You don’t owe Sinclair shit. Everything you’ve done and still do for him—you’ve paid that debt. No... you’re staying because you want to.”
I stared at Melissa, searching her eyes for any sign of hesitation. There was none. The realization dawned slowly: my reasons for staying had less to do with Sinclair and more to do with my fear of letting go. I wondered if that fear was stronger than I’d ever admitted, if it had shaped every decision I’d made since leaving the Trick Pony.
Melissa leaned in, her voice softer now, almost gentle. “It’s okay to want stability, Rowen. But don’t confuse comfort with loyalty. Sometimes, the hardest thing to do is step away and start afresh.” Her hand rested lightly on my arm, grounding me as my thoughts threatened to spiral.
Sitting in Sinclair’s office, I couldn’t get Melissa’s words out of my head. Was she right? Was I staying with Sinclair because I wanted to, rather than out of obligation as I previously thought? The question echoed in my mind, forcing me to confront the possibility that my loyalty to Sinclair might be a choice rather than a debt.
For a moment, I let myself imagine a life unburdened by debts or games—a life defined by my own choices. The idea was terrifying, as if stepping into an unknown world where I alone determined my path. Yet, as Melissa’s words settled in, I realized maybe it was also liberating. The freedom to choose, to walk away from the entanglements Sinclair represented, might be the very thing I was afraid of—and the very thing I needed.
Reaching for my cellphone, my hands trembled—not from fear, but from the volatile cocktail of anger and determination simmering beneath my skin. I scrolled through my contacts until I landed on a name that felt like both a threat and a promise. Hitting the call button, I braced myself as the line rang. I knew the next few minutes could change everything, but at this point, I didn’t give a damn. I was tired of the games—the endless maneuvering, the secrets Sinclair used as shackles to keep me in line, the constant feeling that every step I took was being watched and manipulated. I wanted out. I wanted to live on my own terms, because if I didn’t escape now, I’d be trapped in Sinclair’s web forever, every move dictated by his power plays.
A harsh laugh crackled through the speaker, bristling with impatience. “Tell Sinclair to go fuck himself. I’ve got my hands full already.” Mercy’s voice was gruff, his words clipped, daring me to push back.
Blinking in surprise at his bluntness, I pulled my phone away for a split second, checking the caller ID as if to steady myself. Sliding it back to my ear, I forced my voice to remain even. “Not sure what you’re talking about, Mercy, but if Sinclair’s involved, then you better watch your back.” My words sounded tougher than I felt. “I’m calling because I want to know if you have an available penthouse at Davenport Tower.” The question hung in the air, a thinly veiled plea for a lifeline.
The vice president of the Soulless Sinners let out a laugh, but there was a razor’s edge beneath it. It faded quickly, replaced by a note of suspicion. “Why?” Mercy’s tone was sharp, his guard up—he knew Sinclair’s reputation and, by extension, mine.
“Do you have a penthouse for me or not?” I snapped, my patience fraying. I couldn’t afford the luxury of explanations—each second spent talking felt like Sinclair’s shadow creeping closer.
“Yeah, I got one you can look at. I’ll call Largo and have her meet you when you show up. But I want it on record that I’m only doing this because Pippen respects you. You fuck me over and I won’t think twice before killing you. And another thing. Tell your boss he’s not welcome in my building.”
“Not my boss.”
