Chapter 69: Chapter 69
"What the fuck are you doing here, Syrus?" Christian countered, completely brushing past the question.
Syrus’s face contorted, a mix of exhaustion and genuine fury washing over him.
"I tried calling you all night because there was a critical issue with a business contract I was reviewing. You ghosted me. Completely. You haven’t returned my emails, you haven’t answered my texts—what the hell is going on, Christian?" He gestured wildly. "Aren’t you supposed to be at the office?"
"Are you serious?" Christian muttered, his tone dripping with a bored, calculated indifference.
"Dead serious! I didn’t sleep a wink last night, and you’re still standing there refusing to tell me where you were." Syrus threw his hands up, but Christian remained entirely silent.
It was infuriating. Syrus knew exactly how temperamental and guarded the alpha could be; if Christian didn’t want to speak, torturing him wouldn’t pull a confession out of him.
"I cornered John and Lucas last night," Syrus pressed on, his voice rising in irritation as Christian continued to ignore him. "They wouldn’t tell me a damn thing. Did you specifically order them to keep it a secret from me?"
As his Beta, Syrus had to know everything about his boss. Christian Wayne had a target on his back the size of a continent, and a sudden disappearance usually meant blood. Discovering that his top security detail was with him had provided a wave of relief, but the silence was still driving him mad.
Christian let out a sharp, amused breath, turning on his heel to walk down the sweeping hallway.
"It sounds to me like my security is doing an exceptional job of keeping my whereabouts a secret."
"What is happening with you, Christian?" Syrus ranted, trailing right at his heels like a frustrated shadow.
"Are you going to give me a straight answer, or is your new life mission to drive me insane with this ridiculous indifference? I went to your office this morning hoping to catch you, but your secretary told me you wouldn’t be coming in today. Then, out of nowhere, I get an alert that your car just pulled into the estate."
Christian paused as they reached the grand kitchen, raising a single hand to gesture to one of the nearby maids for a glass of water.
As his eyes swept over the polished marble countertops, a fresh, vivid memory flashed through his mind—the quiet morning, the scent of espresso, and the domestic peace of cooking breakfast for Fleur.
The dark cloud hanging over his features instantly vanished. A genuine, bright smile tugged at the corners of his lips.
Syrus stopped mid-complaint, his mouth half-open. He stared at his friend in absolute disbelief. A smile like that hadn’t graced Christian’s face in what felt like a lifetime.
"You look... different," Syrus muttered, his anger momentarily derailed by pure shock.
The maid handed Christian a chilled crystal glass. He took a slow sip, turning toward the wet bar nestled in the far corner of the expansive living room.
Syrus followed, his protective anxiety finally beginning to settle. Even without an answer, seeing Christian whole, healthy, and inexplicably happy was enough.
"Do you need a drink?" Christian asked, gesturing to the rows of top-shelf liquor.
Syrus let out a heavy, deflating breath. "Yes. I need a drink––desperately."
He walked behind the bar and poured himself a heavy double of scotch, the amber liquid splashing against the glass. He picked up the decanter again, pouring a second glass and sliding it across the polished wood toward the don.
"Here."
To his utter astonishment, Christian didn’t reach for it. He simply waved his hand in a casual dismissal.
Syrus froze, his eyes widening. He looked at the glass, then back up at his friend, completely bewildered.
"Where exactly did the sun rise today? Christian Wayne is turning down a drink?!" He sighed with theatrical gravity, slapping a hand over his heart.
Christian let out a low, warm chuckle. "I don’t need to drink anymore."
Syrus leaned against the bar, analyzing the man standing before him. The perpetual shadow that usually hung over the alpha king seemed to have evaporated.
Christian looked directly at his lifelong friend and supporter. "I am getting married."
Syrus squinted, his legal mind immediately shifting into overdrive. He knew the arrangements. He knew the strategic nightmare that was Carrie.
But wait—something wasn’t adding up. Christian loathed Carrie; he was only marching toward that altar under intense family and council pressure. He wouldn’t look like a man who had just won the lottery if he was talking about her.
Pieces of a fractured puzzle began clicking together in Syrus’s brilliant mind. The unreturned calls. The sudden vanishes. The secret security details. The idiot smirk.
"The interior designer," Syrus blurted out, his eyes popping. "Fleur Swann!"
Christian’s smirk widened, a flash of pride in his eyes at how quickly his friend had bridged the gap. "Yes."
The confirmation was staggering. The gloom that usually defined Christian’s existence was gone, replaced by a radiant, undeniable charm. He looked genuinely, completely happy.
Syrus shook his head, a soft laugh escaping him. "So, you were with Fleur all night. Why the hell didn’t you just tell me?"
"I wanted to spend the whole day with her," Christian replied, shrugging his broad shoulders nonchalantly. "Without any interruptions."
"You should have just told me, buddy. I would have personally handled the pack and made sure absolutely no one bothered your precious time," Syrus said, his voice turning uncharacteristically soft.
He looked at Christian with a profound sense of loyalty. "Please, always stay like this. I like this version of my friend infinitely better."
Syrus couldn’t even remember the last time he’d seen Christian smile like this. Not since the day his mother was ripped away from him.
Since that tragedy, Christian had lived in a purgatory of cold duty and ruthless violence. But seeing life bleed back into his pack brother’s eyes, and knowing Fleur Swann was the catalyst, Syrus made a silent, unyielding vow. He would protect this fragile peace with his life. He would build a wall around them and keep every evil eye away, no matter the cost.
"Wait a second," Syrus interrupted himself, a sudden realization hitting him. "You said you wanted to spend the whole day with her. Then what happened? Why are you back here at the estate?"
Instantly, the warmth drained from the don’s face. His jaw clenched tight, his expression turning incredibly grim, as if he had just bitten into a piece of rotten fruit.
"Raphael Dumas showed up," Christian growled. "And ruined everything."
"Raphael Dumas?!" Syrus gasped. He was well aware of the public rumors tying the Hollywood golden boy to Fleur. But more importantly, he knew the terrifying depths of Christian’s possessive, violently jealous nature.
A cold sweat broke out on Syrus’s neck. If Raphael had put a hand on Fleur...
Syrus swallowed hard, half-expecting to hear that a high-profile murder investigation was about to hit the morning news. "Is... is he still alive?" he asked hesitantly.
Christian snapped his gaze to his friend, his brows furrowing in genuine confusion. "What the hell do you mean by that?"
Syrus let out a massive, invisible sigh of relief.
Thank Goddess. The movie star was still breathing.
But as Christian began to pace, recounting the infuriating details of the confrontation, his eyes darkened with promises of future violence.
He vowed to himself that if the actor ever crossed her threshold again, his wealth and fame wouldn’t save him from the wrath of the Blood Moon Pack.
Fleur and her children belonged in Christiano’s care, and he would tear the world apart before he let anyone else take his place.
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