In love with the Mercer boys

Chapter Thirteen: The Envelope

The street was too quiet after the car rolled away, leaving only the envelope in Elara’s hand and the steady glow of the lamp above them. Her name stared back at her in thick, hurried ink, the edges of the paper crumpled as though it had been written fast, sealed faster.

She didn’t move.

“Elara.” Liam’s voice was softer now, stripped of the teasing lilt he usually carried. “Open it.”

Her fingers flexed but didn’t tear the seal. She felt heat crawl up her neck, not from the envelope but from the weight of Liam’s stare, sharp and protective.

“I don’t…” Her voice cracked. She tried again. “I don’t know who that was.”

Liam tilted his head, studying her, green eyes searching for something she wasn’t ready to give. “Which is exactly why we should find out.”

Before she could argue, he plucked the envelope from her grip with infuriating ease.

“Hey…”

“Relax, Cinderella.” He slid a finger under the flap and broke the seal. “Not like it’s a bomb.”

Her pulse thudded as he unfolded the letter, eyes scanning the single line written there. His grin slipped, replaced by a faint frown. Then he handed it back.

“You’re right. Not a bomb.”

Elara took it with trembling hands. One line of neat, deliberate writing stared back at her.

We need to talk. Tomorrow. Alone. — A.J.

Beneath it: a time. Midnight. No address.

The letters blurred for a moment as Elara’s breath caught.

“A.J.?” Liam repeated, leaning casually against the lamppost, though the tension in his jaw betrayed him. “Who the hell is that supposed to be?”

“I don’t know.” Her answer was too quick. Too defensive. She could feel it.

Liam’s brow lifted, skeptical. “Really?”

“Yes,” she snapped, then immediately regretted the sharpness. She looked away, clutching the letter tighter. “I’ve never seen this handwriting before. I don’t know anyone with those initials.”

Liam studied her for another long moment, then shoved his hands into his pockets. “Doesn’t matter. You’re not meeting them alone.”

She turned on him. “I’m not meeting them at all.”

But even as she said it, the words rang hollow. Because deep inside, under the fear, there was something else: curiosity.

The next day, she moved like a ghost through the café. Costa barked at her about punctuality, about mistakes in orders, but the words didn’t stick. She nodded, obeyed, pretended to be present. But inside she was twelve again, sitting on the edge of a bed that smelled of whiskey and cigar smoke.

Laura noticed. She always did. By late afternoon, she grabbed Elara’s wrist as they ducked into the storeroom. “What’s wrong with you? You’ve been somewhere else all day.”

Elara shook her head. “It’s nothing.”

“Nothing doesn’t make you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Her lips parted, but the words clung stubbornly to her chest. If she said his name, if she spoke it into the air, then it would all be real again. And she had spent years burying it.

Laura’s eyes softened, but her grip stayed firm. “Please. Don’t shut me out.”

Elara forced a small smile that felt like a lie. “I’m fine. Just tired.”

It was enough to make Laura let go, though she didn’t look convinced.

By the time night fell, Elara was a coil wound too tight. Every streetlamp made her skin crawl. Every echo of footsteps sounded like him.

And then midnight came.

She stood at the corner where the letter had told her. The envelope crumpled in her pocket. Her heart slammed against her ribs so violently she wondered if Liam could hear it.

Because of course Liam was there. A few paces back, leaning against a brick wall like it was all casual. But his eyes never left her, sharp and unyielding.

“You’ve got ten minutes,” he said. “If he doesn’t show, we’re gone.”

She wanted to say we’re not waiting at all. She wanted to walk away, pretending none of this was happening. But her feet stayed.

And then he came.

The sound of shoes against pavement, measured, unhurried. A man emerged from the shadows, tall and broad-shouldered, his coat cut too fine for this street. His hair was grayer than she remembered, combed back with deliberate precision. His face was older, but the shape of his mouth, the weight of his gaze…it was the same.

Her lungs constricted.

“Elara.” His voice curled through the night, smooth, practiced. The sound of it yanked her backwards in time.

“Arnold?.”

The smell of cigar smoke, thick and sour. A hand too heavy on her shoulder, pressing her down.

“My girl,” he murmured, his breath hot against her hair. “You’re my girl.”

Elara stumbled a step back, clutching her jacket tighter around her.

“You’ve grown,” Arnold said softly, as if this were a reunion meant for warmth. “You look so much like your mother.”

Liam straightened from the wall, stepping between them. “Who the hell are you?”

Arnold’s gaze flicked to him briefly, dismissive. “Family.”

Elara’s throat closed. “Don’t.” The word cracked like glass.

He smiled faintly, unbothered. “I didn’t come to hurt you. I came to make amends. I’ve built something now. Wealth. Stability. I can give you things your mother never could.”

The creak of floorboards in the dark. The smell of whiskey. Her mother’s voice, sharp and shaking “Don’t you dare touch her again.”

The slam of a door. Suitcases scraped against pavement as they fled into the night.

Elara’s breath hitched. The memories clung to her skin like grease she couldn’t wash away.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” she whispered.

“I’ve always been here,” Arnold replied gently. “You just didn’t know where to look.” He reached a hand toward her, palm open. “Let me take care of you this time.”

Elara jerked back, panic flashing white-hot in her veins. Liam moved instantly, stepping fully in front of her, his chest squared against Arnold

“Stay away from her,” Liam said, voice low and dangerous.

Arnold’s expression shifted, just for a heartbeat. The warmth slipped, replaced by something colder, darker. “Careful, boy. You don’t know what you’re stepping into.”

“I know enough,” Liam snapped. “And I don’t care if you’ve got money, power, or God himself on speed dial…you lay one hand on her, and you’re done.”

The streetlamp flickered, shadows twitching across Arnold’s face. For a second, Elara saw him as she remembered: towering, terrible, unmovable.

But then he straightened, smoothing his coat like the moment hadn’t happened. “You’ll see, Elara. I take care of what’s mine. I always have.”

And then he turned, walking back into the darkness, his footsteps steady, unhurried.

Elara’s knees nearly buckled. She pressed a hand to her mouth, forcing the air into her lungs, but it came shallow, broken.

Liam spun, catching her by the arms. His grip was firm but careful, his eyes searching her face. “Hey. Look at me.”

She did, and the world tilted. His face was close, fierce and steady, and for a moment it was the only thing holding her together.

“You’re safe,” he said firmly. “Do you hear me? He’s not touching you again.”

But Elara couldn’t answer. The word again echoed too loud in her head.

She pulled back, trembling. The night felt too small, the air too thin. “He’s not supposed to be here,” she whispered again, like a prayer, like a curse.

Liam’s jaw clenched. “Then we make sure he doesn’t get near you. Ever.”

The certainty in his voice almost mad

e her believe him. Almost.

But as the streetlamp flickered again, Elara knew the truth, some shadows didn’t vanish. They only learned how to follow.