The private jet touched down just before dawn, and I didn't even wait for the stairs to fully lower before stepping out. The night was quiet, shadows clinging to the edges of buildings. But my mind wasn't quiet.
Pillar Hills had crossed a line.
And when you cross that line with me—when you even breathe wrong in the direction of my family—I erase you.
Two days ago, I did just that.
No noise. No headlines. Just silence.
Now, stepping back into the family estate in Athens, all I wanted was to sleep. But even more than that, I needed to see Chloe. Not just to explain why we were returning home sooner than planned—but because I hadn't been able to stop thinking about her.
The house was dark. The silence oddly comforting. My suit jacket slipped off my arm as I dropped onto the living room couch.
I hadn't slept in 36 hours. My mind was still running—but my body had given up.
Later That Morning
Something—or someone—was tapping my leg.
"Sebastian."
More tapping.
"Sebastian, wake up!"
A slap this time.
My eyes flew open. "I'm awake, Stefan. Jesus."
"You smell like something that died in that suit," he muttered, stepping back as I sat up groggily. "Why the hell are you sleeping on the couch when your bed's upstairs?"
"Jet lag. And rage-induced exhaustion."
His expression changed. "Then tell me, what happened in Belgium?"
I didn't answer immediately. "Where's Chloe?"
"She's upstairs," he said, watching me closely. "She's been quiet these two days. Not herself."
I exhaled heavily. "I need to talk to her."
"Good. But after a shower," Stefan added, eyeing me like I was radioactive. "And for God's sake, change that shirt."
30 Minutes Later — Dining Room
Showered and dressed in a clean black suit, I joined Storm and Stefan at the table. Chloe hadn't come down yet. The tension at the table was thicker than the syrup on my pancakes.
"I've called Anika every day for a week," Stefan said, barely touching his food. "Nothing. Not even a message."
"She's still mad about the phone call?" Storm asked, pouring himself coffee. "You really fumbled that explanation, man."
"She thought I was cheating," Stefan muttered. "She ran straight to Serena. I'd panic too."
I leaned forward, elbows on the table. "She's safe. That's what matters."
"And what the hell happened with Hills?" Storm asked, his tone growing serious.
I looked at them both. "He was planning to take Anika's baby. His idea of revenge. I handled it."
"Handled it how?" Stefan asked.
I met his gaze squarely. "He won't be a problem anymore."
Stefan stood abruptly, pacing. "You should've told me."
"You had your hands full with Anika, and you weren't thinking straight. I did what had to be done."
Storm raised his eyebrows. "Damn. So that's why you ghosted us."
"Exactly."
Just then, footsteps echoed from the marble stairs. We all turned at the same time.
Chloe appeared, dressed simply in jeans and a black shirt, her hair in soft curls. She looked rested, but her eyes held questions—and something else I couldn't quite place.
She hesitated at the last step, spotting all three of us watching her like hawks.
Déjà vu.
Stefan smiled tiredly and gestured toward her seat. "Good morning, Chloe."
Storm gave a slow grin. "Perfect timing. We were just talking about you."
I stood up instinctively, not even thinking. She smiled softly at me, then looked at my brothers, and I hated the warmth in Storm's eyes just a little more than usual.
But I said nothing.
Because even though I wasn't the one who hurt her… somehow, I felt like I had to make it right.
CHLOE'S POV
I walked slowly into the dining room, trying not to be overwhelmed by the way all three brothers turned toward me like I was the final piece in a puzzle they'd been trying to solve.
"Good morning," I said softly, not trusting my voice.
"Morning, beautiful," Storm replied, sliding out a chair for me. That same grin on his face—lazy, charming, dangerously sweet.
Sabastian didn't smile, but he stood up when I entered, his eyes lingering longer than they should have. They burned into me with something unspoken—something I didn't understand yet.
"Morning," he finally said, voice lower than the others. I offered him a small smile as I sat, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear.
The table was spread with everything from pancakes and eggs to sliced fruits and three different types of juice. It looked more like a hotel buffet than breakfast at home.
But the mood… the mood was thick with tension.
And I didn't know why.
I tried to focus on my food, but I could feel Sabastian watching me. Not in a creepy way, but in a way that made my skin warm and my stomach flutter.
"So…" I broke the silence, sipping my orange juice. "Did I miss something important while you were away?"
Storm smirked. "Well, Stefan nearly got himself disowned, Sebastien killed someone, and I perfected my French toast recipe."
I choked.
"Storm," Sabastian snapped.
"What?" he shrugged. "She asked."
My fork paused halfway to my mouth. "Killed someone?" I asked slowly, turning to face Sabastian.
His jaw ticked. "It's not something you need to worry about."
"Right." I stared at my plate, appetite fading. That familiar anxiety started crawling in from the edges of my mind. The ghosts of my past whispering that maybe… I'd landed in something I wasn't prepared for.
"But you are safe," he added, softer this time. "Always."
Something in the way he said it silenced the thoughts in my head. I nodded once, unsure why my heart was beating faster than it should be.
"Speaking of things you need to know," Stefan said, clearing his throat, "we're heading back to Greece today."
I blinked. "Today?"
Storm nodded, casually buttering a croissant. "Yep. You're coming with us."
I stared between them. "Wait—what? No one told me I was—"
"It's not up for debate," Sabastian cut in. "You're not staying here alone."
His tone was final. Commanding. Very Sabastian.
"But—"
He leaned forward. "Chloe. Please."
The word hung in the air like thunder. Not an order this time—but a plea.
That did something strange to my chest.
I swallowed hard. "Okay."
Storm let out a low whistle. "Damn. If I asked like that, would it work too?"
Sabastian shot him a warning glare. Stefan just looked like he hadn't slept in days.
I sat back in my seat, suddenly overwhelmed.
I was leaving America. Going to Greece. With three brothers I barely knew—one of whom was far too confusing for my own sanity.
The plane touched down in Athens just after sunrise.
I blinked against the golden light filtering through the window, my heart pounding against my ribs like it was trying to escape. Maybe it was.
I hadn't slept much during the flight. Too many questions. Too many unfamiliar feelings.
Sabastian had barely said a word to me after we boarded. He sat across the aisle, shoulders tense, eyes locked on his phone or staring out the window. I didn't know if it was work, stress… or something else entirely.
But now, as I followed him down the steps of the private jet onto Greek soil for the first time in my life, all I could think was—
I'm not in New York anymore.
The air was warmer here. Softer, somehow. And smelled faintly of the sea.
We were quickly ushered into a sleek, black SUV. I slid into the back seat beside Storm, while Sabastian sat up front, giving occasional clipped instructions in a language I didn't understand but found beautiful. Greek.
Storm nudged me with his elbow. "You look like someone dropped you into a fairytale."
I smiled faintly. "Feels like one."
"Well, let's hope this one doesn't involve dragons."
"No dragons," I said, glancing ahead at Sabastian's tense profile. "Just ghosts."
He must've felt my gaze, because for the briefest moment, he turned his head and looked at me in the rearview mirror. Our eyes met. He didn't smile—but he didn't look away either.
Arrival at the Estate
I wasn't sure what I'd been expecting. A villa? A modern mansion? Something ostentatious?
What I saw as we approached made my breath hitch.
The Morgan estate was carved into the hills, a sprawling Mediterranean home with stone walls, terracotta rooftops, and olive trees lining the drive. It was elegant—but not flashy. It felt… timeless.
"This is where you live?" I asked quietly.
Storm stretched. "It's home. Feels too big when we're all scattered though."
The car came to a smooth stop under a shaded awning. Staff—quiet, polished—opened the doors before I even reached for the handle.
My feet hit the stone driveway, and suddenly, I felt small. Very small.
Sabastian came around to my side. For a second, I thought he might take my hand, maybe offer something soft. Instead, he just nodded toward the front door.
"You'll have your own space here," he said. "There's no pressure."
No pressure—but my heart was doing backflips all the same.
The inside was airy and filled with light. Marble floors, whitewashed walls, long arched hallways. Simple elegance. Not a single thing was out of place.
Sabastian walked slightly ahead of me, not saying much.
They seemed different here. This was their territory. Their real world. And I was just a guest dropped into the middle of it.
When he turned around, he looked as if he wanted to say something. Instead, he simply said, "Come, I'll show you to your room."
We climbed a curving staircase, passed a few closed doors, and stopped in front of a corner suite.
Sabastian opened the door, stepped aside for me to enter.
The room was warm. Not in temperature, but in tone. Soft bedding, a balcony with a view of rolling hills, framed paintings that told stories even without words.
I turned to him, trying not to let the nerves show in my voice. "Thank you. For… all of this."
He gave a small nod. "You deserve peace, Chloe. Even if it's just for a while."
And just like that, he was gone.
Later That Day
I stood on the balcony, watching the sun begin to dip behind the hills. The estate was quiet, aside from the occasional chirp of birds and distant laughter from the lower garden. Probably Storm again.
I was still trying to breathe it all in—this new life. This new version of me. The one that didn't flinch at every sound. The one learning how to live again.
A knock at my door pulled me from my thoughts.
I turned and opened it.
It was Sabastian.
He looked… different. Not tired. Not distracted. Just there.
"We're having dinner on the terrace," he said. "Thought I'd walk you down."
I stared at him for a beat. "You didn't have to."
"I know," he said, then added softly, "But I wanted to."
And that one sentence, that one honest sentence, said more than anything else he'd said all day.
I stepped out, closed the door behind me, and followed him down the hall.