BETRAYED ONCE: FROM NOTHING TO BILLIONIARE POWER

Chapter 12: Old Debt

Ryan stepped into the expanse of Selene's lobby. Apart from the chandeliers, which he was sure had recently been changed, the atmosphere felt different. The reception desk was staffed by a new woman, nervous, watching him with wide eyes. When he caught her gaze, her head instantly dropped to her screen while her hands trembled as she pretended to type.

From her expression Ryan could tell she knows what happened to the last receptionist.

A cold satisfaction curled in his chest. He didn't smile or acknowledge her but rather walked past but not far enough not to hear the breath she was holding.

“Is that him?” Ryan overheard a female whisper; the curiosity in her voice was loud.

“Don’t stare at him; he might get you thrown out,” another voice replied. The fear lacing his tone gave Ryan a hint he must have witnessed the scene from yesterday.

Giving into his curiosity, he narrowed his gaze to their direction. Ryan furrowed his brow when he noticed it was the same man who had confronted him yesterday. 

When the man noticed his eyes, he quickly averted his gaze to the woman whose curiosity now masks her face.

“Are you sure he is the person you claim he was?” She asked, her tone carrying no conviction.

“Stop staring!” The man whispered with a pale face and swallowed a lump, but the woman didn’t listen to him. Rather, she watched as the hotel staff approached Ryan, hoping they would reprimand someone dressed like that.

“Good morning, Mr. White,” one of the male staff approached with a bright smile. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Not at the moment,” Ryan replied. 

When the woman noticed how the staff was being respectful instead of throwing the woman wearing worn-out clothes, she immediately swallowed a lump.

Following the man's instructions, they both hurriedly walked away before anyone unknown could get them out from the Ryan.

Ryan ignores the curious gazes, scans the space, then finds Harrison standing near the windows, coffee in hand, gray suit immaculate as always. The morning light caught the silver in his hair, making him look older than yesterday. Maybe he was just seeing him more clearly, he thought.

Ryan averted his gaze to the figure standing beside Harrison, prompting him to stop walking.

The man was tall, six-four, maybe six-five. His broad shoulders strained against a black jacket that looked more tactical than fashionable. His close-cropped hair, gray at the temples, was cut so short you could see the shape of his skull. A scar ran from his left eyebrow to his cheekbone, pale and thick and jagged, the kind of scar that came from something sharp and close and personal.

But it wasn't the height or the scar or the jacket that made Ryan pause.

It was the way the man stood.

Feet should be shoulder-width apart. Hands loose at his sides while his eyes scan the room in a slow, methodical sweep. Checking exits, checking people, checking threats. His gaze lingered on every face for a fraction of a second before moving on.

‘Military,’ Ryan thought. ‘Special forces or more’

The man's eyes landed on Ryan and then stopped holding his gaze. There was no recognition in them, no judgment or pity, but rather just assessment. A cold, clinical one, like Ryan, was a blueprint he was memorizing.

Harrison spotted Ryan and immediately raised his hand with a smile. The gesture was simple, but in that crowded lobby, it felt like a beacon. His smile was calm, deliberate, and practiced, but there was warmth there too.

Ryan walked over, with each step feeling heavier than the last. The distance between them was only twenty feet, but it felt like crossing a battlefield.

“Ryan,” Harrison called in a warm tone. “You look—”

“Like I crawled out of a grave three days ago?” Ryan cut in, the words bitter on his tongue. “I know.”

Harrison’s smile didn’t shake. “I was going to say ‘ready.’ But yes, ready is exactly what you need to be. We need to get you new clothes before the Will reading.” His gaze flicked down at Ryan’s shoes. “Definitely new shoes.”

Ryan’s eyes swept past him to the tall man, standing silently just a few paces away. His gaze is still watching, assessing.

“Who’s this?” Ryan asked.

Harrison gestured. “Ryan Wright, meet Marcus Stone.”

Marcus nodded once, no smile, no greeting. Just a tilt of the head that carried a weight Ryan couldn’t yet place.

Ryan extended his hand. Marcus looked at it, then up at Ryan’s face, then, finally, he shook it. The grip was firm and controlled, not meant to hurt, but the strength behind it was undeniable. Ryan felt the callouses, roughness, and the quiet evidence of decades spent holding weapons.

“Marcus is…” Harrison paused, as if searching for the right words. “He’s someone your father saved years ago by pulling him out of serious trouble.”

Ryan frowned. “What kind of trouble?”

Marcus didn’t flinch but rather just watched like a statue carved from stone.

“That’s not my place to say,” Harrison replied. “Honestly, I don’t know all the details. It was between your father and Marcus. What I do know is this. Your father pulled him out of a situation that would have killed most men, and Marcus, he never forgot it.”

Ryan’s gaze narrowed, studying the man in front of him. A scar traced his jaw and his eyes that seemed to pierce straight through his soul. The hands beside him were not relaxed but ready.

“What did my father save you from?” Ryan’s voice was calm, but the edge in it was sharp, demanding.

Marcus’s jaw tightened, allowing the silence to stretch between them. Ryan could almost hear the heartbeat in the pause.

“Death,” Marcus finally replied. One word, low and rough like a grave sliding down a hill.

Ryan waited with a held breath for an explanation or a story, but none came.

Harrison cleared his throat. “Marcus is a former special forces sergeant. He did multiple tours and has mastered any firearm you can name. He has black belts in multiple martial arts: Judo, Karate, Krav Maga, and Taekwondo. Hand-to-hand, tactical, defensive, offensive—you name it. He’s trained in everything.”

Ryan raised an eyebrow. “Black belts in all of them?”

“Enough to keep you alive,” Marcus said, flatly. His face was deprived of any hint of arrogance. 

Harrison nodded. “Your father trusted him completely. And before he died he asked Marcus to protect you.”

Ryan studied Marcus more closely. The way the man’s eyes were always calculating, always aware.

Ryan sighs. “The people I’m up against—” 

“Don’t fight fair,” Marcus finished. “I know.”

“They’ll stop at nothing to destroy me,” Ryan added, hoping Marcus knew the danger that comes with association.

“I know.”