Chapter 421
Chapter 421:
She tried to sit up, but her body felt like it was made of lead. The memory of the “rescue”—the explosion, the shootout, Alistair’s voice—played in her mind like a fever dream. Had she imagined it all? Or had she simply lost consciousness in the brig and constructed a fantasy to survive the cold?
“You were thrashing,” a smooth, cultured voice cut through her despair.
Lucian Graves stood by the window, the gray light of a storm-tossed dawn framing his silhouette. He looked immaculate, untouched by the chaos of her mind. He held a glass of water, watching her with the detached curiosity of a collector observing a particularly rare insect.
“Alistair…” Skye croaked, her throat raw.
“He is not here,” Lucian finished for her as he walked to the bedside. “You passed out in the brig, Skye. The doctors said your core temperature dropped dangerously low. The mind does strange things when the body is dying. It invents saviors p>
He sat on the edge of the bed, invading her space with terrifying casualness.
“There was no helicopter. No raid. Just you, shivering in the dark, calling out for a ghost p>
Skye squeezed her eyes shut, a single hot tear escaping. It had felt real. But the heavy platinum shackle around her ankle—now padded with velvet, but still undeniable—told the truest story.
She hadn’t escaped.
She had merely survived the night.
“Drink,” Lucian ordered, holding the glass to her lips. “We have a long day ahead of us. We are changing course. The storm in Sector 4 is clearing, and I intend to be in international waters before your ‘knight’ even realizes you’re gone p>
Skye turned her face away. “I’m going to be sick p>
“Sickness is a weakness,” Lucian murmured, setting the glass down. “And I do not tolerate weakness in my investments p>
He stood, his demeanor shifting from faux concern to cold command.
“Get dressed. The sea air will do you good. And Skye, do not try to jump again. The next time, I won’t pull you out. I’ll let the ocean keep you p>
He left the room, the heavy click of the magnetic lock sealing her fate once more.
Skye lay back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling. Despair threatened to drown her, but beneath it, a spark of anger ignited.
Alistair might not be here, but he was out there. And if her mind could conjure him so vividly, it was because she knew he wouldn’t stop.
а𝗹𝗹 𝘆𝗈𝗎r 𝘧𝖺v𝗼rі𝗍𝗲 𝗴е𝘯re𝘴 𝗼𝘯 𝖻𝖾𝗹ո𝘰𝘷e𝘭𝘀.cо𝗺
She forced herself to sit up.
If she was going to survive this, she couldn’t rely on dreams.
She had to wake up and fight.
The afternoon sun beat down on the deck of the Poseidon, the earlier gloom burning off to reveal a stark, endless horizon.
Skye stepped out of the cabin, shielding her eyes. She wore the clothes Lucian had provided: a silk sundress that fluttered in the wind, paired with heavy diamond stud earrings he insisted she wear.
“You represent me,” he had said, fastening them with a proprietary touch. “Shine p>
She scanned the deck. Crew members moved with efficient urgency, scrubbing salt spray from the teak and checking equipment.
Her eyes landed on a man standing near the stern, shouting at a terrified waiter. It wasn’t Drake. He was gone, discarded after the dinner incident. This was his replacement, Zeke.
Zeke was a shorter, stocky man with greased-back hair and a suit that strained against his midsection. He wore a heavy gold watch and stared at the crew with the arrogance of a petty tyrant.
But Skye noticed where his eyes lingered.
Not on the sea. Not on the work.
On the glimmer of diamonds at her ears.