22. Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Two
Ethan
I stop pacing, my fists clenching at my sides. The room is thick with my fury, the air heavy with the weight of my words.
My father would call me a disgrace. A shame to the Cross family.
I turn slowly, my gaze locking on Paul, my so-called driver, my supposed loyalist. He’s standing there, sweating, his shoulders hunched like a scolded child. The sight disgusts me.
“How?” My voice is eerily calm now, but it does nothing to mask the venom behind it. “How the fuck did you let that happen?”
I take a step closer, reveling in the way he shrinks. “Are you that gullible? That fucking stupid? Someone dangles a threat in front of you, and you roll over like a whimpering dog?”
He flinches. Good .
Paul doesn’t answer—he probably knows better than to try. His silence is a small mercy because if I hear one word of justification, I will break something.
But I already know what happened. I don’t need an explanation.
Some spineless government official got their hands on dirt about him—his side hustles, the secrets he thought were buried. They threatened his family and his precious life, and instead of coming to me, instead of trusting that I could fix it, he betrayed me.
Now, my connection to the mafia is splattered over every blog, website, and greedy news outlet gearing to get a pound of flesh that doesn’t belong to them. The headlines are outrageous—
Elusive Billionaire Rumored to be Involved in Drug Trafficking
Ethan Cross Named as Underground Mob Boss in Recent Crackdown on Violent Crimes.
Days. Two days. That’s how long it took for everything to go downhill.
Fucking rats.
And moles.
There are pieces in the story—sure. I have to find their source because nobody gets their hands on that much information about my people without having someone on the inside.
As much as Peter betrayed me, Leo fell off the surface of the earth; I know someone else is behind all of this.
“Who?” I ask as my eyes narrow to hard, unforgiving glints. My voice trembles slightly as I stalk him from across the room, and he takes a fearful step back, hitting my desk. “Who was the man?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t know, boss. And I swear,” he raises both hands, “he knew so much that I got scared. I wouldn’t have said anything otherwise.”
How?
How?
God.
It feels like someone pulled the fucking wool over my eyes, sending me in the wrong direction while they played their hands. I was busy looking into the prosecution’s office and the bastard who sent the photographs, and I didn’t think I had to watch my side.
The sharp knock at the door nearly tips me over the edge, but I rein it in, swallowing down the fury as Perpetual steps in. She clutches a folder tightly to her chest, her wary gaze flickering between me and the wreck of a man standing by my desk.
“What?” My voice is a low growl.
She clears her throat, shifting on her feet. “The directors are waiting in the conference room. Mr. Cross is present as well.”
I flick my wrist in dismissal, and she wastes no time slipping out, the door clicking shut behind her.
Raking a hand through my hair, I exhale sharply before turning back to Paul. He flinches under my gaze, his entire body wound tight with fear.
“You’ve already done enough damage,” I say, my tone cold, final. “I suggest you disappear. Make sure our paths never cross again, because if they do—” I take a step closer, my presence towering over him, suffocating “—I’ll make damn sure it’s the last mistake you ever make.”
His throat bobs as he nods, trembling, his silence the only thing keeping him alive.
Good.
I brush past him without another glance, straightening my cuffs as I head for the conference room. The directors are waiting. I’m not stupid enough to know why they’re here .
They’ll want me to step down. My reputation is stained, and the company requires some sort of preservation to keep its facade.
I won’t let it happen, though. I’d rather burn it all to the ground than let someone else control my father’s legacy.
My legacy.
I might be walking into a battlefield, but that’s fine. I don’t intend to lose.
The first thing I see when I walk into the conference room is Anthony.
In my seat.
Blood curdles in my veins as our eyes meet, and he recognizes the unspoken fast enough for him to get up. “Ethan,” he says with a smile, “I guess the meeting can finally begin.”
I survey the room—the faces of people I know are about to either jump ship or betray me before heading to my seat. Their faces imprint in my memory, carving books I intend to scrub out by the time I’m done with everything.
“I’m assuming this is a real emergency,” I say as I sit straightened, flexing my fingers on the table. There’s no warmth in my tone or my eyes either and I watch some shiver under my unmerciful gaze.
Anthony is the first person to speak up. “We need to carry out damage control, Ethan. Everyone here is aware of what goes on outside these walls, at least to some extent, but when it becomes fodder for the public to feed on, then we can’t pretend to sweep it under the rug.”
A mirthless, deep chuckle echoes through the room from my lips as I face my cousin. “If we’re talking about reputations, Anthony, then you’re the last person to speak. Your extracurricular activities aren’t anything to write home about… I don’t have to remind you of that.”
“Hey,” he raises both hands in defense. “I wasn’t the one who called for the meeting. Heck,” he turns to three men seated next to each other— the financial head, operations chief, and public relations/affairs chief, “I told them it was best to let you handle it. After all, you’ve been at the helm for a good while now.”
His words fail to inspire honesty because I’ve made it clear ages ago that I don’t trust Anthony. He’d betray me for the right price, mostly due to his stupidity.
Fixing my stare on the public affairs chief, I fold my arms. “You look like you have something to say.”
He scratches his chin and battles with brief hesitation or fear, glancing to his left and right for moral support.
“My department, in liaison with the media team, has been doing our best to quell the rumors, sir. We’ve sent cease and desist letters and employed tech personnel to scrub the internet, but it keeps popping up everywhere.”
I see.
“And,” he continues after another search for moral support, spiking my impatience through the roof. If I could reach out and pull the words from his mouth, then shove them back in—so he never displays his incompetence again—I would. “It doesn’t help that the government is threatening sanctions on the company and other holdings.”
I tilt my head. “Is that right? Where did you get that from?”
The weight of my words settles over the room like a suffocating fog. Tension coils in the air, thick and unrelenting, as my gaze sweeps across the table, dissecting every expression, every nervous twitch.
From the far end, the head of HR shifts uneasily. “I got it from a credible source, sir. She informed me they’d make their move any minute. They’ve only held back because they’re building a case we can’t dispute.”
Joe Geller ?
I nearly laugh. He wouldn’t dare—not after what happened at Royale. The other pathetic bastards who slithered in with him have been keeping their heads down, so it’s not them, either.
Which only brings me back to the same conclusion I reached this morning.
I have a mole.
My lips curl into a sneer as I take in the scene before me. It’s astonishing how many people beg for death without even realizing it.
Ignoring the HR director, I rise to my feet. A visible shift ripples through the room. Their stiffened shoulders, widened eyes, and backs pressed tight against their seats as if that might make them disappear almost make me chuckle.
Good . They should be afraid.
“Which one of you stands to benefit from this?” My voice cuts through the heavy silence like a blade.
Nobody answers.
I drag my gaze across the table, slow and deliberate, watching the discomfort build.
“You?” I throw the accusation into the void, not pointing at anyone specific—but it doesn’t matter. The murmurs begin, low and panicked.
Or maybe it’s guilt.
“You?” I try again, my tone thick with mockery. “Because I know one of you is sitting on an empty promise. One of you is crossing your fingers, praying that betraying me—betraying this company—will pay off.”
I take a step forward, and the room collectively tenses.
“So tell me—” I lean in slightly, just enough to watch them squirm, my voice sinking into a lethal calm. “Which one of you has a death wish? ”
Silence.
I wasn’t expecting anybody to come forward, but it doesn’t matter if they choose to hide in the further corners of the earth. It doesn’t matter the promises, the support they’ve been promised by whomever.
When I find out who’s responsible, no matter how many they are, they’ll pay in ways that are more precious than blood.
“What’s your plan?” I slowly pan to a random face. “What was the decision you made before I walked in?”
…I knew it.
I have to step down and let Anthony be the acting CEO until the potential damage to the company from the rumors and accusations surrounding me is eliminated.
I let out a humorless chuckle, my smile thin, barely masking the fury simmering beneath. “Hilarious,” I say, voice laced with contempt. “Let me know when you come up with a more suitable solution.”
With that, I pivot toward the door, already dismissing them. I make a halt just at the threshold, looking over my shoulder. “And if the current situation doesn’t suit your taste, you’re free to leave.”
Silence. Thick, heavy, fearful silence.
I let it simmer, watch it spread across, savoring the knowledge that they know what I’m capable of.
My hand shoots out to grip the shoulder of the legal team’s representative. His body jerks slightly, and I feel the sharp inhale of his breath as my fingers tighten, forcing his shoulder into an uncomfortable slump.
They deserve this. Every single one of them.
“If you walk out that door,” I murmur, my voice deceptively calm but dangerously low, “there’s no coming back.”
The weight of my words lingers, suffocating, before I release him abruptly and push forward .
With that, I storm out, leaving a room full of cowards choking on their indecision. In the meantime, I have more pressing matters to attend to.
***
More pressing matters bring me to Natalie’s neighborhood, and I park two buildings ahead of hers, seated behind the driver’s wheel. My phone has been ringing nonstop, and most of the calls are from Anthony. I have nothing to say to him because I know what he has to say.
As much as I wouldn’t trust Anthony, I know this presents him with the opportunity he’s always wanted—to take control.
Who wouldn’t?
The part that pisses me off? He’d try to convince me that it’s for the best, hiding behind a facade of greediness.
Where is she?
According to Sebastian, Natalie’s routine is somewhat unpredictable. She spends most of her time cooped up in her apartment with her best friend, Danielle, as her only visitor.
I wonder if it’s because of me.
I drag a hand down my face, exhaling slowly. She’s never been a social butterfly, but knowing I might’ve pushed her further into isolation weighs on me more than I care to admit.
The guilt doesn’t lessen. It lingers, festers, and demands my attention at the worst possible moments.
You should leave, Ethan.
The thought echoes in my head, a quiet warning as I stand there, unmoving. There’s no point to this. No reason to linger. If she shows up, I won’t make my presence known. And I have no intention of coming back to her—not now, not anytime soon.
So, why am I still here?
Jaw tight, I look through the rearview mirror, unable to tear my eyes off the entrance to her apartment building. As much as I know, I should drive away… I can’t.
It’s become unbearable—the long nights and dreams filled with longing. Sometimes, I catch a whiff of her, and it brings my senses to a halt. Other times, I run my hand across the desk and torture myself with memories.
Is this what it feels like to want someone? An incurable illness that slowly chips away at you until you become a shadow of your former self?
Until your current days and the past become intertwined?
“It’s madness,” I say aloud as I start the car and pick up my phone, intending to get Anthony’s silly antics over and done with. Just as I hit the dial button, I see her.
The phone slips from my hand.
Natalie, with her hand swept into a high ponytail—wearing a baseball jersey and jeans, walks down the street. Her hand is tucked into her pocket, and her strides are wider than usual, igniting my curiosity.
With each step she takes, the sun streaks through her ponytail, catching the auburn highlights hidden in her dark strands.
The fabric of her oversized baseball jersey flutters slightly with the breeze, and the casual ease of her movements makes it impossible to look away.
My throat tightens with the desire—to exit the car and match her strides. I’d do anything to see her pupils widen at my sudden presence and drink her in without the distance between us. I want to feel her pulse beating as my fingers encircle her wrist, even if it’s for a couple of seconds .
Cursing under my breath, I run my hands through my hair.
It’s not going to be enough.
Seeing Natalie. Holding her. It’ll never be enough.
My blood surges with the need to have more—to cup her face roughly and kiss her with every drop of pent-up emotions.
I’d give anything to feel her shudder as she leans into me, her legs wrapped around my waist. Her warmth is seared into my memory, and I tilt my hips slightly as my breath goes shallow from the vividness of memories that play through my head.
As I watch Natalie, my hand slides down south, subconsciously reaching for the waistband of my pants. That’s when I see something—an equation my mind conveniently ignored when I first spotted her.
The man.
There’s a man by her side, holding a bag in one hand, while his other hand swings close to hers with every step. My fingers curl into fists, the sharp edge of my nails pressing into my palm as I force myself to breathe through the surge of jealousy clawing at my chest.
He’s looking at her. That lingering gaze, filled with interest, with intent. It’s unmistakable.
Natalie, oblivious or indifferent, walks beside him with that same determined stride. The space between them is minimal, their hands brushing every few steps. The sight ignites something dark in me, something territorial.
I shouldn’t care. They look cozy… and the way she smiles at him speaks volumes, but I shouldn’t care.
My body betrays me. Tensing with unspoken possessiveness, my jaw clenches as I suppress the urge to march over and put distance between them .
I want to throw caution to the wind and pin her against the wall, kissing her until her hands are digging into my back, and she’s begging for more. I want to show him that she’s mine, as toxic as that might sound.
Does she know? Does she realize that he wants her? That his eyes have been fixed on her since they stepped onto the sidewalk?
Or worse… is there something between them?
While jealousy turns me into someone I don’t recognize, they continue their walk, oblivious to my watching eyes. I torture myself with the sight until they disappear into the building—man, bag, and Natalie.
It’s my fault.
I tighten my grip on the steering wheel, squeezing until my knuckles turn white until I feel like I might snap the damn thing in half.
I pushed Natalie away.
She waited for me once, gave me a chance to make things right, and I still threw it away. Now, someone else is walking beside her, looking at her like she’s the best thing in the world.
Maybe she is. Maybe she always was. And perhaps I was the fool who never deserved her in the first place.
Good for her.
The words taste like acid, burning as I swallow them down. I keep my eyes locked on the road, refusing to look in the rearview mirror, refusing to let myself wonder if she even noticed me there.
I wanted her to be safe. But it looks like she’s happy, too.
And me? I was never meant for something so damn pure.