The text message burned in Ethan’s mind, the words replaying on a loop: “You’re not as safe as you think you are.” He stared at his phone, his hands trembling slightly, before shoving it back into his pocket. The party around him felt distant now, the music and laughter fading into a dull hum. He grabbed another cocktail from a passing waiter, downing it in one go.  

“Ethan,” Claire said, appearing at his side with a concerned frown. “Slow down. You’re going to regret that tomorrow.”  

“I’m fine,” Ethan muttered, though his words were already starting to slur. He reached for another drink, his movements unsteady.  

Mia joined them, her expression equally worried. “Ethan, maybe you should sit down for a bit.”  

“I said I’m fine,” Ethan snapped, his tone sharper than he intended. He regretted it immediately, but the alcohol was already clouding his judgment.  

He stumbled away from them, his vision blurring as he made his way toward the rooftop pool. The glowing water shimmered under the neon lights, and for a moment, Ethan felt like he was floating.  

Ethan leaned against the edge of the pool, his reflection staring back at him in the water. He felt numb, the weight of everything—the threats, the expectations, the constant surveillance—pressing down on him.  

“You’re not as safe as you think you are.”  

The words echoed in his mind, and he reached for another drink, only to realize his glass was empty. He turned, his movements clumsy, and nearly lost his balance.  

“Whoa,” a voice said, strong hands catching him before he could fall into the pool.  

Ethan looked up to see Dante, his expression a mix of concern and exasperation.  

“I’m fine,” Ethan slurred, trying to pull away.  

“You’re not fine,” Dante said, his tone firm. He steadied Ethan, his grip unyielding.  

Claire and Mia hurried over, their faces filled with worry.  

“Is he okay?” Mia asked, her voice tinged with guilt.  

“He’s drunk,” Dante said, his tone clipped. “I’m taking him home.”  

“I’m not drunk,” Ethan protested, though his words were barely coherent.  

Claire sighed, shaking her head. “Just get him home safely, Dante.”  

Dante nodded, his expression softening slightly as he looked at Ethan. “Come on, let’s go.”  

Dante half-carried Ethan through the lounge and out to the parking lot, where the sleek black SUV was waiting. He opened the passenger door and gently guided Ethan into the seat.  

“I can buckle my own seatbelt,” Ethan mumbled, though his hands fumbled with the strap.  

Dante sighed, leaning over to fasten the seatbelt for him. “Sure you can.”  

As he pulled back, his eyes lingered on Ethan’s face for a moment. Ethan’s head was tilted back against the seat, his breathing slow and even. His hair was disheveled, a few strands falling across his forehead.  Dante reached out, brushing the hair out of Ethan’s face with a tenderness that surprised even himself.  

“You’re cute when you’re sleeping,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.  

He straightened up, closing the door and walking around to the driver’s side. As he started the car, he glanced at Ethan again, his expression unreadable.  

The city lights blurred past as Dante drove, the streets quiet at this late hour. Ethan stirred occasionally, mumbling incoherently before drifting back to sleep.  Dante kept his eyes on the road, his mind racing. The text Ethan had received earlier weighed heavily on him. He didn’t know who had sent it, but he knew one thing for certain: the threats were real, and they were getting closer. 

As they pulled up to the Harrington mansion, Dante parked the car and turned to Ethan, who was still asleep.  

“Ethan,” he said gently, shaking his shoulder. “We’re here.”  

Ethan groaned, his eyes fluttering open. “Where…?”  

“Home,” Dante said, his tone soft. “Let’s get you inside.”  

He helped Ethan out of the car and up to the front door, where Marcus was waiting.  

“Everything okay?” Marcus asked, his expression concerned.  

“He’s fine,” Dante said, though his tone suggested otherwise. “Just had a bit too much to drink.”  

Marcus nodded, stepping aside to let them in. “I’ll let Mr. Harrington know.”  

Dante guided Ethan up the stairs and into his room, helping him onto the bed. Ethan mumbled something incoherent before curling up on his side, his breathing steady.  

Dante stood there for a moment, watching him. There was something about Ethan—his vulnerability, his determination, his stubbornness—that Dante couldn’t quite figure out.  

“Sleep well, Ethan,” he said quietly, before turning off the light and closing the door behind him. 

Dante stood in Ethan’s room for a moment longer, watching the young man sleep. Ethan’s breathing was steady now, his face relaxed in a way it rarely was when he was awake. Dante sighed, running a hand through his hair before turning off the light and closing the door softly behind him.  As he made his way downstairs, the weight of the night pressed heavily on his shoulders. The text Ethan had received—*You’re not as safe as you think you are*—was a clear warning, and Dante knew he couldn’t keep it to himself.When he reached the foyer, he found Charles and Marcus waiting, their expressions grim. Charles was pacing, his hands clasped behind his back, while Marcus stood by the door, his arms crossed and his eyes sharp.  

“How is he?” Charles asked, stopping mid-pace to look at Dante.  

“He’s fine,” Dante said, his tone clipped. “Just had too much to drink. He’s asleep now.”  

Charles nodded, though his jaw was tight. “Good. That’s good.”  

Before Dante could say more, the front door opened, and Ethan’s mother, Eleanor, swept in. She was dressed in an elegant gown, her hair perfectly styled, but her face was pale, her usual composure cracked.  

“What’s going on?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly. “I got a call from Marcus saying there was an incident.”  

Charles stepped forward, taking her hands in his. “Ethan’s fine. He’s upstairs, sleeping.”  

Eleanor’s eyes flicked to Dante, her gaze piercing. “And you? What happened?”  

Dante hesitated, then pulled out his phone and showed them the text Ethan had received.  

“This,” he said, his voice low. “Ethan got this message tonight. I don’t know who sent it, but it’s a clear threat.”  

Charles took the phone, his expression darkening as he read the message. He handed it to Eleanor, who gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.  

“This is serious,” Charles said, his tone grave. “We need to find out who’s behind this.”  

Marcus stepped forward, his expression grim. “I’ve already started looking into it. Whoever sent this knows Ethan’s movements. They’re watching him.”  

Eleanor’s voice was barely above a whisper. “What if they’re watching all of us?”  

The room fell silent, the weight of her words hanging in the air. Dante glanced at Charles, who was staring at the floor, his jaw clenched.  

“We’ll handle this,” Charles said finally, his voice firm. “But we need to be careful. No one outside this room can know about the threats. Not yet.”  

He turned to Dante, his expression softening slightly. “Dante, I need you to keep Ethan’s mind off this. He’s already under enough pressure with the internship and everything else. The last thing he needs is to be worrying about some anonymous threat.”  

Dante nodded, though his mind was racing. “Understood. I’ll do what I can.”  

Charles placed a hand on Dante’s shoulder, his grip firm. “Thank you. I know this isn’t easy, but Ethan trusts you. That’s more than I can say for most people.”  

Dante met Charles’s gaze, his expression serious. “I’ll keep him safe.”  

As the group began to discuss their next steps, Dante’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, his heart skipping a beat as he read the new message:  

**Unknown Number:** *You can’t protect him forever.*