The car comes to a stop in front of what looks like an old hunting lodge. No other vehicles in sight. Just woods and isolation.
“Marcus, I swear to god, if you don’t tell me what’s happening right now—“ My voice cracks, betraying my fear despite my attempt to sound tough.
I hear the driver’s door open and close, followed by footsteps crunching on gravel. They’re coming around to my side of the car. I press myself against the opposite door, heart hammering in my chest.
The lock clicks. The door swings open.
But it’s not Marcus standing there.
My breath catches in my throat as I stare up at the figure silhouetted against the fading daylight. This can’t be happening. This can’t be real.
“Hello, Seraphina,” they say, voice calm and measured like we’re meeting for coffee instead of in the middle of fucking nowhere after I’ve been essentially kidnapped. “I think it’s time we had a proper conversation, don’t you?”
Chapter 28
Lucien
The roar of the crowd is a physical thing—a wall of sound crashing against my back as I stand in the tunnel, watching my team run onto the court. My muscles are primed, adrenaline already flooding my system before the first whistle. Championship qualifiers. Everything we’ve worked for comes down to the next forty minutes.
I’m adjusting my wristband in the tunnel, the rest of the team already warming up, when a blur of dark hair slams into me like a fucking freight train.
“Jesus Christ, slow down.” I grab her shoulders to steady her, feeling her entire body tremble beneath my hands. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Seraphina,” she gasps, shoving her phone in my face. “Marcus—he took her—she’s not here?—”
From the corner of my eye, I catch movement on the court. Cassian’s head snaps in our direction, his eyes locking onto my hands gripping Valentina’s shoulders. His entire body goes rigid, and I can practically feel the murderous energy radiating off him from here.
Fucking perfect. Like I need his territorial bullshit right now.
“Val, breathe and make sense,” I order, dropping my hands from her shoulders. “What about Seraphina?”
“Marcus is taking her somewhere that isn’t the game. She said she’s trapped in your car and can’t get out.”
“What? When?” I demand, snatching the phone from her hands. I see the missed call notification, the voicemail, and the frantic text messages.
“Ten minutes ago,” Valentina says. “I was already on my way here and I may have run the rest of the way so excuse the fuck out of me. I’m not known to participate in cardio in four-inch heels.”
I don’t wait to hear the rest. I’m already sprinting back down the tunnel, shoving past security and anyone else stupid enough to be in my way. The locker room door slams against the wall as I burst through it, making a beeline for my locker.
My phone. Where the fuck is my phone?
I tear through my gym bag, scattering shit everywhere until my fingers close around the sleek device.
I see my notifications from her stacked.
“Fuck, fuck, FUCK!”
The last location she shared was heading north on the highway, but that was fifteen minutes ago. When I pull up her location now, there’s nothing—just a spinning wheel that never resolves. Either she’s in a dead zone or someone’s turned off her location.
My own fucking driver. I trusted him with her and he betrays me. For who? My father, it has to be. It smells like something he would do.
I sprint through the halls, ignoring everything I’m leaving behind. The game, the championship, my fucking legacy on the court—none of it matters. All I can think about is Seraphina alone and terrified, thinking god knows what.
Tires squeal as I tear out of the parking lot, one hand on the wheel while the other pulls up my contact list.
I hit the call button for Damien Ortiz, the tech genius who helped set up all my security systems. The call goes straight to voicemail.
“Goddammit, pick up!” I try again while weaving through traffic at ninety miles an hour. Still nothing.
