PRISON KING'S RETURN

chapter 4

“Arresting a criminal?”

Selara nodded, confidence settling into her bones as she recounted everything she’d seen at the airport. The more she spoke, the more certain she became. Whatever shadow Drayce had been casting over her life—it was over. She even felt a flicker of pity. Escaping prison just to chase her, only to be dragged back in chains? If that was the truth, he’d likely earn himself another ten years behind bars.

“Oh, so it was just some hooligan,” Armand Kessler said with a laugh, easing back into his chair. “Here I was, thinking I needed to prepare myself for Ms. Selara.”

Relief softened his tone. If it was nothing more than that, then he still had time. Time to plan. Time to choose.

The table came alive at once.

“That hooligan really crossed the line, making Mr. Kessler worry like that!”

“I’ve got friends in the police. I’ll find out where he’s being held.”

“Prison, huh? I know people there. I’ll make sure his days aren’t peaceful.”

Their voices overlapped, eager and cruel. Selara listened, lips pressed together. The pity returned, heavier this time. Drayce’s remaining days—if he truly had any freedom left—didn’t sound pleasant at all. Still, she told herself, he’d brought it on himself.

She was just about to steer the conversation back to business, to nudge the contract into place while the mood was right, when her phone rang.

“I’ll be right back,” she said, rising from her seat.

She had barely stepped out of the private room when it happened.

“Ah!”

The phone slipped from her fingers and clattered to the floor. Her cry drew several guests out at once.

“Miss, are you alright?”

“Ms. Selara, what happened?”

She didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Her gaze was locked across the restaurant, fixed on a familiar figure.

What is he doing here?

Drayce.

He noticed her at the same time. His shoulders sagged as he set his silverware down, irritation flickering across his face. “All I wanted was a quiet lunch,” he muttered, already pushing back his chair.

He turned to leave.

“Stop!” Selara snapped, teeth clenched.

Was he serious? Following her even now?

She marched up to him, voice rising. “I told you to stop following me! Are you deaf? Or do you just enjoy pretending you didn’t hear me?”

The surrounding diners glanced over, understanding dawning in their eyes. So this was the man. The obsessive one. No wonder she looked furious.

Drayce rolled his eyes, patience thinning. “When did I ever stalk you?” he said flatly. “Now move. You’re in my way.”

Drayce’s words struck a nerve.

Several men surged forward at once, eager to play heroes.

“Hey, watch your tongue, buddy!” A broad-shouldered man in a charcoal suit snatched a half-empty wine bottle from the nearest table, knuckles whitening around the neck. “I’ll rough you up myself!”

Another stepped forward, sleeves already rolled. “You better apologize right now or I’ll make sure you crawl out of here on your knees!”

“I say we whoop his ass this instant!” a third barked, cracking his knuckles with theatrical relish.

Chairs scraped. Feet shuffled. The air thickened as bodies closed in around Drayce, fists clenched, courage borrowed from numbers and Selara’s presence.

Before anyone could throw the first punch, a calm voice cut through the noise.

“What’s going on here?”

Armand Kessler stepped out of the private room, gaze cool, assessing. “Who is this man, Ms. Selara?”

Selara didn’t hesitate. She pointed at Drayce, eyes blazing. “He’s the criminal from the airport—the one I told you about. I don’t know how he escaped again, but there he is.”

The word criminal landed hard.

The men who’d been shouting a second ago stiffened, then slowly backed off. Bottles lowered. Fists unclenched. No one wanted to be the one who swung first at an escaped convict.

Even Armand’s expression tightened. He suddenly wished he’d stayed inside. Confronting an ordinary nuisance was one thing. Crossing an outlaw was another entirely.

Drayce felt the accusation burn, sharp and undeserved. Still, he didn’t move to defend himself. Didn’t bother explaining. The room had already decided what it wanted to believe.

Fine.

He stepped past Selara, heading straight for the exit.

“Don’t you dare walk out that door!” Selara shouted, her voice cracking with fury. “Swear to me—right now—that you’ll never show your face in front of me again! Or you won’t be leaving this place at all!”

She needed certainty. Needed him gone from her world, for good.

Drayce stopped.

Slowly, he turned.

The casual boredom drained from his face, replaced by something colder. Darker. His eyes settled on her, unreadable, dangerous. He despised threats. Always had. If she weren’t a woman, he would’ve put an end to this the first time she spoke to him that way. And yet she kept pushing.

Testing him.

“How,” he asked quietly, each word deliberate, “do you plan on stopping me?”

Selara felt as though she’d stepped into the sights of a predator. The way Drayce looked at her, steady, unblinking made her skin prickle. The memory she’d clung to earlier returned with a cruel twist: criminal. The word wrapped around her fear and squeezed.

But backing down now would mean losing face.

“Mr. John,” she snapped, forcing steel into her voice, “call those police friends of yours. Now.”

Hadn’t he bragged about it earlier? Then let him prove it.

“I—I…” John took an instinctive step back, his color draining. “N-no. I don’t know anyone like that.”

The lie was obvious. He wasn’t about to stand his ground long enough to get beaten before help arrived.

Selara’s brows knit. She turned sharply to the man beside him. “You said you had connections in prison, didn’t you, Mr. Reyes? Maybe one of them is his boss.”

Reyes nearly jumped out of his skin.

“N-no! I don’t have any connections. None!”

The denial came too fast.

“What…?” Selara faltered. Panic crept into her eyes as she searched the faces around her, silently begging someone, anyone to step forward.

No one did.

Every gaze slid away. Glasses were lifted. Shoes suddenly became fascinating. No one wanted to gamble their life on confronting a convicted man who looked more than capable of making good on a threat.

Refusing to give up, Selara turned to the last person she could rely on.

“Mr. Kessler…”

Armand Kessler cursed under his breath, though his smile never slipped. He studied Drayce, measuring, then chose the safest path. “Kid,” he said carefully, “if you’re looking for work now that you’re free, I’ve got a position open. Five thousand to start. Cash.”

John seized the opening immediately. “Me too! I’m hiring!”

“This is a real opportunity,” someone added quickly. “Mr. Armand Kessler doesn’t make offers lightly.”

They spoke over one another, scrambling to stay on the right side of him, hoping a little generosity might buy safety.

Drayce let out a short, humorless laugh.

“Five thousand?” he scoffed. “The idiots in prison pay me at least a million just to keep their bones intact.”

He waved them off, bored. “Now scram.”

Silence fell like a dropped curtain.

Faces flushed. Mouths opened, then closed again. No one had a response.

“Mr. Drayce!” Selara shouted, her voice sharp with fury.

Armand Kessler was her lifeline, her single shot at keeping her footing in Aurelia’s brutal business circle. She couldn’t afford to let him be embarrassed like this.

“Your stupid little game disgusts me,” she snapped, chin lifted in defiance. “I’ll let you off this time. But next time, I’ll make sure you’re the one begging me for mercy.”

The encounter had caught her unprepared. Too sudden. Too messy. Next time, she told herself, she would be ready. All she needed were the right connections—and Aurelia had plenty, if one knew where to look.

Around her, the men said nothing, but their expressions hardened. Smiles vanished. Resentment simmered. They didn’t forget slights easily, and none of them liked being made fools of. The kid would pay for it one way or another.

“Who,” a calm voice cut in from the entrance, “is supposed to be begging for mercy?”

The room froze.

An old man stepped inside, flanked by several bodyguards. His posture was relaxed, but authority clung to him like a second skin. Every step he took seemed to quiet the air itself.

Armand Kessler stiffened, surprise flashing across his face. The others followed suit, straightening instinctively.

No one needed an introduction.

This was a man whose name carried weight in Aurelia enough to bend rooms to his will the moment he entered.