Episode3
1059 Words
Elena
The car ride home was pure ice.
Darius didn’t speak. Neither did I.
Not a word. Just the hum of the engine and the unspoken war thick between us.
He didn’t ask what Elijah said.
He didn’t need to.
I could feel it in the way his fingers drummed against his knee—controlled, sharp, like he was trying not to explode.
My phone buzzed twice.
I didn’t check it.
Not with him sitting this close. Not when my heart was still tangled in Elijah’s voice. The look in his eyes. The way he said, “You’re not alone.”
I stared out the window and pretended I was somewhere else.
Anywhere else.
—
When we got home, I headed straight for the stairs.
“Elena.”
I stopped. One foot on the first step.
“Don’t meet with him again,” Darius said, his voice low, deadly calm.
I turned slowly. “You don’t control who I talk to.”
His jaw tightened. “You’re my wife.”
I laughed, cold and sharp. “Exactly. Not your prisoner. Not your pet.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
We stared at each other—two strangers bound by diamonds and silence.
He didn’t say another word.
Neither did I.
I walked upstairs and shut the door before I let myself shake.
—
I didn’t sleep.
I lay awake, watching the ceiling, counting the hours until morning.
Somewhere around 3 a.m., my phone buzzed again.
I sat up slowly and reached for it.
It was a message.
Elijah: I’m sorry if I made things worse. You okay?
I didn’t respond.
Not yet.
But I didn’t delete it either.
—
The next morning, I found Darius in the kitchen.
He was dressed already. Dark suit. Sleeves rolled. Coffee in hand.
“Sleep well?” he asked, without looking at me.
I ignored him and opened the fridge.
Silence stretched. Long. Tense.
Finally, he spoke.
“I’ve arranged a meeting.”
“With who?”
“Someone you should know.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Who?”
“You’ll see.”
I hated how calm he sounded. Like he always had the upper hand. Like he always knew what would happen before I did.
I crossed my arms. “Why now?”
He looked at me, and something flickered in his expression. Not cold. Not cruel.
Almost… careful.
“Because people are watching us now,” he said. “Every move. Every breath. You don’t get to walk away from this clean anymore.”
I frowned. “You think I care about what they think?”
“I think you don’t understand how deep this goes.”
I stepped back. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He opened his mouth to answer—but his phone rang. He checked the screen and stood up.
“We leave in thirty minutes.”
Then he walked out, like the conversation hadn’t even happened.
—
We arrived at a quiet café in Midtown. No paparazzi. No press. Just tinted windows and soft jazz in the background.
I followed him to a back booth, still unsure what this was about.
And then I saw who was waiting.
“Elijah?” I breathed.
He stood up. “Hey.”
I turned to Darius. “What the hell is this?”
“You two clearly have unfinished business,” he said smoothly, sliding into the booth. “So finish it. With me here.”
I sat down slowly, heart pounding. Elijah looked just as tense—eyes darting between me and Darius like he wasn’t sure whether to speak or leave.
“I didn’t ask for this,” Elijah said finally, voice low.
“Neither did I,” I muttered.
Darius raised a brow. “And yet, here we are.”
I turned to Elijah. “Why did you come?”
He hesitated. “Because you looked… scared last night.”
My chest tightened.
“And I know what this family can do,” he added, quieter. “How they bury things.”
Darius chuckled dryly. “Still bitter about being shut out of Knight Media?”
“I walked away,” Elijah shot back. “When your mother started choosing headlines over truth.”
“Gentlemen,” I snapped. “Can we not turn this into a testosterone match?”
They both went quiet.
I looked at Elijah. “Why now? After all these years?”
“Because I didn’t know you were caught in this until it was too late,” he said.
“And what exactly do you think I’m caught in?”
He looked at me carefully. “A marriage that doesn’t feel like yours.”
I blinked.
“And how would you know what my marriage feels like?” I asked, voice low.
“I know you.”
My heart stuttered.
“I knew you before this,” he said. “Before the headlines. Before the ring.”
“You knew a version of me,” I whispered.
“The real version,” he replied.
I didn’t know what to say to that.
Darius leaned back, watching. “This has been touching,” he said, “but it’s over now.”
He stood. So did Elijah.
I stood last.
We walked out in silence.
And even with both of them beside me, I had never felt so completely alone.
—
Later that night, I sat by the windows in the library, staring at the city.
It didn’t feel real—any of it.
Not the wedding.
Not the press.
Not the man sleeping down the hall.
My life felt like it had been hijacked by someone else’s story.
And somehow, Elijah was now a part of it again.
I didn’t know what that meant.
But I knew it wasn’t over.
Not even close.
There was a knock on the door.
I turned.
Darius stepped in, holding a small envelope.
He didn’t speak—just handed it to me.
I opened it slowly.
Inside was a single photograph.
Elijah.
Leaning against a car.
Talking to someone.
My father.
My hands shook.
I looked up at Darius, but he was already walking away.
“You should be careful,” he said without turning. “Not everyone is who they used to be.”
And then he was gone.
- Writer
