Page 14 of The Player

And Seth… Seth was dangerous because he made her want to care. He made her want to lower those walls, to let him in, and that was something she couldn’t afford. Not now, not ever.

The movie continued, but it was a blur, the characters’ faces and voices fading into the background as her mind remained fixated on Seth. How could he be so unaffected? So calm and composed when her insides were a mess of contradictions and confusion? She wished she could be like that, wished she could turn off her emotions, but every time she tried, they came rushing back, stronger than before.

With a frustrated sigh, Hope tossed the blanket aside and turned off the TV. The room fell into silence, save for the faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. She stood up, feeling restless and agitated, her emotions simmering just below the surface.

She made her way upstairs, the wooden steps creaking slightly under her weight. The townhouse was quiet; the only sound was the distant hum of traffic from the London streets outside. She slipped into the room to find Seth fast asleep. She looked at the silk nightgown, thought about it, and then opted for a loose-fitting T-shirt and running shorts, and climbed into bed. The sheets were cool against her skin, but they did little to calm the turmoil inside her. She tried to push Seth from her mind, to focus on the mission, on the danger they were facing, but all she could think about was how his arms had felt around her, how his kiss had made her feel alive in a way she hadn’t felt in years, and how very close he was.

She rolled onto her side, away from him, pulling the covers up to her chin, but sleep didn’t come easily. Her mind continued to race, thoughts and memories swirling together until they became a tangled mess, pulling her down into the darkness of her subconscious.

And then, the nightmare began.

Hope was back in the small town where she had grown up, the familiar streets and houses bathed in the harsh light of memory. She was a child again, no more than seven years old, standing on the front porch of her family’s home. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the yard, but there was an ominous stillness in the air, a sense of foreboding that made her heart race.

She could hear her parents inside, their voices raised in an argument, something about work, about money—things she didn’t fully understand. But she knew enough to be scared, to feel the tension in the air like a physical weight pressing down on her chest.

Suddenly, the argument stopped, and there was a deafening silence. Hope stepped inside, her small feet moving cautiously over the wooden floorboards. The house was eerily quiet, the air thick with the scent of her mother’s perfume and her father’s aftershave. She called out for them, her voice trembling, but there was no answer.

She moved deeper into the house, her fear growing with every step, until she reached the kitchen. And there, on the floor, she saw them—her parents, lying motionless in a pool of blood, their eyes staring up at the ceiling, lifeless and empty.

Hope screamed, a sound of pure terror that echoed through the house, but there was no one to hear her, no one to help. She was alone, utterly and completely alone.

The scene shifted, and she was no longer a child but a young woman, standing in her apartment, trying to comfort the Russian defector who now feared the repercussions for his family more than for his own safety and doing the right thing.

Royce burst in—back early from an assignment to find the Russian clinging to her. Without a word, he spun on his heel and left. By the time she’d extricated herself from the defector’s embrace and run down to the street, Royce was nowhere to be found.

Then, she was standing in front of Royce’s apartment. The door was ajar, and she could hear voices inside—Royce’s voice, deep and familiar, and another voice, a woman’s, laughing softly. She pushed the door open only to find one of the club’s subs on her knees with her lips wrapped around Royce’s cock.

She wanted to turn away, to leave, but she was frozen, rooted to the spot as she watched them. And then, Royce looked up, his eyes meeting hers, and he smiled—a cruel, mocking smile that cut her to the core.

“You’re too late,” he said, his voice cold. “You’ve always been too late.”

The words echoed in her mind, a harsh reminder of her failures, of the people she had lost, of the love she had never been able to hold on to.

Hope tried to scream, but no sound came out. The world around her began to spin, the walls closing in, and she was falling, falling into a void of darkness and despair, her heart shattering into a million pieces.

And then, she was awake.

Hope shot up in bed, her chest heaving, her body drenched in sweat. She was trembling, her heart racing as if she had just run a marathon. The room was dark, the shadows long and deep, but the nightmare still clung to her, the images of her parents’ lifeless bodies and Royce’s cruel smile burned into her mind.

She felt like she was suffocating, the weight of her past pressing down on her and making it hard to breathe, hard to think. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to hold herself together, but the fear and the pain were too much, too overwhelming.

“Hope,” Seth said softly, his voice filled with concern. “What’s wrong?”

Hope shook her head, unable to speak. She didn’t want to tell him, didn’t want to share the nightmare that had torn her apart. But the tears were already welling up in her eyes, the memories too raw, too painful to keep bottled up.

Seth didn’t push her, didn’t demand answers. Instead, he reached out and gently pulled her into his arms, holding her close, his warmth and strength a comfort she hadn’t realized she needed.

For a moment, Hope resisted, her pride and fear urging her to push him away. But then the dam broke, and she let herself lean into him, let herself take the comfort he was offering. She buried her face in his chest, her hands clutching at him as the tears finally came, silent and heavy.

Seth didn’t say anything, just held her, his hand gently stroking her hair, his presence solid and reassuring. He was giving her exactly what she needed—quiet support, a safe space to fall apart without judgment or expectation.

After a long while, when the tears had finally subsided, Hope pulled back slightly, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. She felt drained, exhausted, but the weight on her chest had lifted just enough for her to breathe again.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Seth said gently, his hand still resting on her back. “I’m glad I was here.”

Hope looked up at him, her eyes still wet, but she could see the sincerity in his gaze, the concern that had made him cross the divide that had stretched out between them in the bed in the middle of the night. For the first time in a long while, she didn’t feel alone.

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