[Author's POV]
Darkness loomed heavily in the room. Even the lone bulb hanging from the ceiling couldn’t pierce through the suffocating blackness. Silence ruled—until a blood-curdling scream echoed through the space. The man tied to the chair was barely alive. His nails had been ripped out, his body covered in deep, angry welts. One of his ears lay discarded on the floor, a gruesome reminder of what had already been done. Salt was being rubbed into his open wounds, and though the pain must have been excruciating, he refused to speak.
Then, he entered—their leader.
“Either you tell me everything you know about him,” the boss said coldly, “or they’ll pluck your eyes out.”
There was a flicker in the prisoner’s eyes. A crack in his resolve.
The boss noticed it—and smirked. “Scared now, huh? I assure you, they won’t hesitate.”
“P-please… leave m-me… I d-don’t know a-anything…”
A long silence followed. The leader closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them, voice dangerously calm.
“I’ll count to ten. If you don’t start talking by then, I’ll do it myself.”
[Sébastien’s POV]
I flicked my eyes open, exhaling softly.
“I’ll count to ten. If you don’t tell me now, I’ll pluck your eyes out,” I said, stepping forward.
He started pleading for mercy. But I don't do mercy. Not anymore.
“One…”
He sobbed.
“Two… Three… Fo—”
“I’ll tell you everything!”
I smirked. Weak. I thought he’d last longer.
I signaled my men. “Listen to every word.”
While they surrounded him, I moved to the far side of the room and leaned against the wall. I pulled a cigarette from my pocket, lit it, and took a slow drag. The familiar burn in my lungs relaxed me—briefly. I exhaled the smoke into the cold air.
Five years.
That’s how long it’s been since he killed my father. And still, I’m chasing shadows.
"I still remember his eyes—wide open, lifeless, staring at nothing. Like he died still waiting for justice that never came".
A voice broke my thoughts.
“Sir, he’s no use to us anymore.”
I didn’t even look at him. “Kill him.”
I turned to leave, but paused at the door, flicking the cigarette butt onto the ground.
“Tell him he died because he served the wrong man.”
And with that, I walked out, the door shutting behind me with a final, echoing thud.
That man gave us a lead on someone else. If this new one turns out to be another dead end, I’ll kill the bastard myself.
It’s been two years—two fucking years of digging, questioning, chasing shadows—and still, I haven’t gotten a single solid lead on the man who murdered my father.
It took me three years to rebuild everything he built—his empire, his legacy—from the ground up. And I made sure to personally eliminate every traitor who had a hand in his downfall. No mercy. No second chances.
One of my men approached. “Sir, we’ve found him.”
I stood immediately. “Assemble five to six men. Everyone wears black—masks, caps, full gear. We move after 1 A.M. and dig up everything you can about this bastard. I want addresses, routines, connections—don’t miss a goddamn detail.”
He nodded and left immediately. Good. I needed answers before midnight.
I walked back to my room and shrugged off my shirt, the fabric sticking slightly to the dried blood on my sleeve. The hot water stung as it hit my skin, but I welcomed it. Let it burn. I leaned my head back under the stream, eyes closed.
Two years.
Two long, infuriating years of chasing phantoms.
Every time I got close, the truth slipped right through my fingers—like smoke.
I ran a hand through my wet hair, jaw clenched.
I’ll find you.
And when I do, I’ll carve justice into your bones.
By the time I stepped out and wrapped a towel around my waist, one of my men was already waiting at the door with a file in hand. I took it without a word, waved him off, and sat on the leather couch in my study.
I flipped the file open.
Name. Age. Past affiliations.
Photos. Surveillance footage.
Criminal record. Travel patterns. Known hideouts.
I studied every line like it was scripture. My fingers drummed against the armrest as my mind calculated possibilities. He wasn’t just some small-time dealer. No—he was connected. This one might finally crack the shell around the truth.
By the time I closed the file, the clock read 11:04 PM.
I stood and moved to the weapons cabinet tucked behind the bookcase. I unlocked it and started inspecting each piece. The familiar weight of my favorite gun settled into my hand. Fully loaded. Clean.
Click.
Slide.
Snap.
Everything was in place.
I checked the blades next—sharpened, balanced. Then pulled out the silencer and fastened it to the barrel.
At exactly 11:15 PM, the doorbell buzzed. My men had arrived—six of them, all dressed in black. Masks. Caps. No identifiers. Just the way I wanted it.
“Everyone stays invisible. No names. No noise. We go in, take what we need, and leave nothing behind,” I told them, voice calm and cutting.
They nodded.
Now, we wait.
At 1 AM, we move.
And if this lead disappoints me again—
He won’t live long enough to regret it.
[Sebastien's pov]
It was 1 A.M.—completely dark outside—and that suited me just fine. Shadows are my territory. Silence is my weapon.
We got into the car—two in front, four in the back—and pulled out of the compound without a sound. No headlights. No music. Just the low growl of the engine and our breath fogging up the windows.
We were heading straight to the bastard’s house. No warnings. No games. We’d grab him, bag over the head, and bring him straight to our basement. If he ran—we’d break his legs. If he screamed—we’d cut out his tongue.
One way or another, he was coming with us.
I glanced around at my men—focused, silent, ready. Good. I didn’t need hesitation tonight.
As we reached the outskirts of the neighborhood, I pulled out my phone and rechecked the location. He lived in a modest two-storey building, nothing flashy. The kind of place people ignore. Perfect for someone trying to stay hidden.
“We go in quiet,” I said. “No noise. No mercy.”
The car slowed two blocks away. We got out, split up, and moved in—like shadows bleeding into the night.
Within minutes, we were outside his house. One of my men gave a silent signal—two fingers up.
Two people inside.
Perfect.
I nodded. “Move.”
Just as we were about to approach the back door, one of my men stopped me with a sharp whisper.
“Sir… movement inside.”
I looked up.
Through a narrow gap in the curtain, I caught a glimpse—a shadow pacing fast, agitated. The bastard had sensed something. Maybe it was instinct. Maybe it was fear. But he knew something was wrong.
Then suddenly—the lights inside went out.
Shit.
“He knows,” I muttered.
Before we could react, we heard it—*a faint click*—followed by the soft scrape of something being dragged.
One of my men darted to the side of the house and hissed, “Sir, he’s escaping! There’s a hidden passage behind the shed—he’s on the move!”
“Go!” I snapped.
We all broke into a sprint, boots pounding against the gravel. The air was sharp, the darkness swallowing everything except his fleeing silhouette ahead of us.
“Don’t lose him!” I shouted, gun in hand now.
I saw the bastard glance back once—his face pale, eyes wide with terror—before he disappeared into the line of trees.
We followed, fast and ruthless. He knew the terrain, but we had the numbers—and we were gaining on him.
“I want him alive,” I growled. “But if he keeps running—shoot his goddamn legs.”
Branches whipped across my face as we tore through the woods. My breath was steady, focused. Adrenaline made everything sharper.
He wouldn’t get far.
Not from me.
It had been half an hour, and we were still chasing that bastard. He knew the alleys too well—twisting, turning, vanishing like smoke every time we got close.
We hit a point where the narrow path split into two. An intersection. We stopped, scanning both directions, breathing heavy. Nothing. He was fast—too fast. For a moment, we were blind.
Then I saw her.
A girl. Just standing there, frozen. She looked like she’d seen a ghost. Fragile. Silent. The wind pushed her hair across her face, and as it cleared, something twisted in my stomach.
What the hell was that?
I’d never felt it before. Not in the middle of a hunt. Not in the middle of blood and fury. But this wasn’t the time. I couldn’t afford distractions.
Focus.
I forced myself to stay sharp, stepped toward her, and asked, “Did you see a man run past here?”
She looked up at me.
And the second her eyes met mine, something strange flickered in the air between us. I don't know what it was. I shut it down immediately, burying it under my usual coldness.
I narrowed my eyes, voice sharp. “Hey. Did you?”
She blinked, startled, then pointed slowly. “Th-there…” pointing to the direction.
I hesitated. I don’t trust strangers. Never have. But something in me—instinct maybe, or something far more dangerous—told me to believe her.
So I did.
Without another word, I turned to my men. “Move. That way.”
And we ran.
Author's Note:
Thank you so much for reading the Chapter 2 of His Only Exception. This story means a lot to me-it's a mix of everything I love writing: raw emotion, intense characters, dangerous choices, and the kind of love that changes everything.
Sébastien and Rosalie's journey will be far from easy. It's messy, painful, passionate-and full of secrets that could break them before they even begin. But I promise, every chapter will bring you closer to the truth behind their hearts.
If you connected with this chapter, I'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments. Your support, even a simple heart or word, means more than you know and keeps me going.💬❤️
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