Chapter 6
1144 Words
Jaxon Vale had built his empire on control.
Every partnership, every contract, every risk—calculated.
Except Elena.
She was chaos wrapped in silk. Fire in human form. And right now, she was the only thing threatening the foundation he’d spent a lifetime constructing.
He leaned back in his office chair, the lights of Manhattan glittering behind him, cold and sharp. On the screen before him was a file—thin but dangerous. Information on Lena Rivera, Elena’s sister. Discreetly retrieved. Nothing public. Nothing official. But enough to unsettle him.
Hospital records. Substance abuse. A near-fatal incident in Barcelona.
And one line that turned his blood cold:
> Unidentified female presumed to have fled the scene. Witness claims possible assault or self-defense. No charges filed. Case marked confidential at request of private counsel.
He stared at the timestamp: March 5th.
The morning Elena vanished from his bed in Rome.
His mind flashed back to her body pressed against his, the way she whispered, “This feels too good to be real.”
And then she was gone.
Now he understood why.
She hadn’t left because she didn’t care.
She left because someone needed saving. And she chose her sister over him.
He closed the file slowly, knuckles white.
But questions still lingered. What really happened that night?
And more importantly—who else knew?
---
Across the city, Elena sat at the kitchen table in her Tribeca apartment, wrapped in a soft robe, tea gone cold beside her. Her gaze was distant, unfocused. The kind of stare that only came when memories hit too hard.
The message she’d received earlier still lingered on her phone screen:
> You thought Rome was the end of it?
The past is coming. And it’s hungry.
She didn’t recognize the number.
But she recognized the voice behind the words.
Miguel.
She hadn't spoken his name in months. Hadn’t dared think of him.
The last time she saw him, he was bleeding on a bathroom floor in Barcelona. She’d pushed him when he tried to hurt Lena again. She didn’t know if he hit his head or if the drugs made it worse. There was blood, silence, and then—panic.
He was breathing when she left. Barely.
She never looked back.
But now he was reaching through shadows.
He knows I’m back.
A part of her wanted to scream. Another part wanted to run.
But most of all, she wanted to tell Jaxon.
And that terrified her more than anything.
Because the last time she let him in, she lost everything.
---
The next morning, Jaxon stepped out of the elevator at Vale Tower earlier than usual. The building was still sleepy—assistants with coffee, lights flickering on, models and stylists trickling in.
He moved like a storm in a tailored suit.
He found Damien in the editing room—surrounded by shots of Elena projected on digital panels. Her face was on every screen. Every angle. Every expression. A woman worshipped by the camera.
“Beautiful, isn’t she?” Damien said, not turning.
Jaxon folded his arms. “Don’t play with me.”
Damien gave a small, amused smile. “We’re both playing, Vale. Just on different boards.”
“You’ve been sniffing around her life. Why?”
Damien stood slowly. “Because I know what you refuse to admit. She’s hiding something big. And when it breaks—your empire will bleed too.”
“I can handle fallout,” Jaxon growled.
“Can you handle betrayal?” Damien stepped closer, voice low. “What if she’s not who you think she is? What if she left Rome not just to save someone—but to cover something up?”
Jaxon didn’t flinch. But his jaw tightened.
“I don’t trust you,” he said.
Damien smirked. “Good. Neither does she.”
Jaxon walked out, rage burning in his veins—but doubt trailing behind like smoke.
---
That night, Elena sat on her rooftop garden, arms wrapped around her knees as the sky darkened. Manhattan flickered below—loud and alive—but up here, the world felt distant.
Then a voice spoke behind her.
“You’re avoiding me.”
She turned slowly.
Jaxon stood there, hands in his pockets, watching her like a man on the edge.
“I needed air,” she said.
He stepped closer. “You needed distance.”
“I’m used to protecting myself.”
“I’m not the one you need protection from.”
Her eyes met his. “Aren’t you?”
He didn’t answer.
Instead, he pulled something from his coat and placed it on the table.
A printed copy of the Barcelona police file.
She froze.
“You had me investigated?” Her voice was sharp, hurt.
“I had questions. You gave me half-truths.”
“You invaded my life!”
“I’m trying to protect it!” he snapped. “If there’s someone after you—if your past isn’t finished—then I need to know.”
She stood, crossing her arms. “You don’t get to decide what I tell you.”
“Then tell me now,” he said. “No more lies.”
Silence stretched.
Then, finally, she spoke.
“His name is Miguel. Lena’s ex. Abusive. Violent. The night I left Rome, she called me—blood on her hands, her voice shaking. I flew to Barcelona. I found him hurting her. I fought back. He hit me. I shoved him. He fell.”
She paused, breath trembling.
“There was blood. He wasn’t moving. I thought he was dead. But I couldn’t stay. Lena begged me to run before the police came. So I did. I carried that silence ever since.”
Jaxon listened, unmoving.
“You should’ve told me,” he said softly.
“I was afraid.”
He nodded slowly. “So am I.”
“For what?”
“For how much I still care about you.”
Her throat caught.
They stood in silence, the night buzzing around them.
“Is he back?” Jaxon asked.
She nodded. “I think he’s the one sending the messages. Watching me.”
“You’re not alone now,” he said.
“I don’t know how to let you help.”
He stepped closer, brushing a strand of hair from her face.
“Then let me try.”
She exhaled, leaning into his touch, just slightly.
And for the first time in weeks…
she believed him.
---
But far below, on the street corner opposite her building, a figure stood beneath a flickering streetlight.
Cigarette smoke curled in the air.
A burner phone buzzed in his hand.
He answered.
“I saw them. She’s with him.”
A pause.
Then a slow, gravelly voice replied:
> “Let them feel safe.
We’ll burn everything soon.”
- Writer
