CHAPTER 4
616 Words
The First Touch of Guilt
He found her in his office.
She didn’t bother hiding the folder. Just stared at him, hand trembling.
“You knew her,” she said, voice low.
“I told you I did.”
“She signed something. What was it?”
Elijah didn’t move. “A confidentiality agreement. She worked with us… briefly.”
“And then she died.”
He sat down, eyes distant. “I didn’t kill her, Amara.”
“Then what happened?”
He said nothing.
For the first time, Amara saw something c***k in his face — not fear, not anger.
Guilt.
“I tried to protect her,” he said quietly. “And I failed.”
That night, Amara dreamed of Leila.
They were walking along the beach, like they used to. Leila’s laugh rang out, golden and soft.
Then the dream twisted.
Leila turned to her and whispered, “He knew, Amara. He knew what they did.”
When she woke, her heart was pounding.
It wasn’t just a dream.
It was a memory — from the funeral. A woman had mentioned a car parked outside the morgue. A black BMW.
Elijah drove a black BMW.
Always had.
She pulled out her phone.
It was time to start asking the questions she’d avoided for too long.
Amara returned to her old apartment the next day — the one she hadn’t stepped into since Leila died.
Dust layered everything, but the memories were sharp.
She opened a box marked “L’s Things” — photos, perfume bottles, scribbled notes.
And then she found it.
A black leather-bound journal.
Pages torn out.
But the last page left her frozen:
“He said it was love. Then he disappeared. If you’re reading this, Amara… I’m sorry. I couldn’t outrun the truth.”
Tears blurred her vision.
What truth?
Who disappeared?
Elijah?
Or someone else?
That evening, Elijah hosted a dinner with potential investors.
Amara stood by his side, dressed in red, pretending to smile.
A man approached — tall, smooth voice, snake’s smile.
“Didn’t expect to see you again,” he said to Amara.
She blinked. “Have we met?”
He grinned wider. “Oh, I knew your sister.”
Elijah stiffened beside her.
Amara’s blood turned cold.
The man leaned closer. “Careful who you trust in this house, Mrs. Hart. One woman already died for it.”
The next day, Amara descended the stairs to the sound of laughter.
A woman stood in the foyer, wearing red silk and confidence like perfume.
She kissed Elijah on the cheek.
“Missed me, darling?”
He didn’t smile. But he didn’t stop her either.
Amara cleared her throat.
The woman turned, eyes flicking over her like she was nothing more than an accessory.
“Oh,” she said. “This must be the… new arrangement.”
Amara kept her face still. “And you are?”
“Elena Hart,” the woman purred. “Elijah’s ex-wife.”
The silence between them afterward was thick enough to suffocate.
Elijah poured himself a drink.
“She’s no one,” he said flatly.
“No one?” Amara folded her arms. “Your ex-wife just walked in, kissed you, and called me a contract. That’s no one?”
He looked tired. For once.
“I told her to stay away.”
“But she didn’t. So tell me, Elijah. Why was she here?”
He didn’t answer.
Amara stepped forward. Close enough to feel the heat between them.
“Say something real, for once.”
He looked at her like she was both his punishment and his peace.
“I’ve already said too much.”
- Writer
