The Tower
1357 Words
Elena's POV
Morning light cut across the kitchen table, sharp and unforgiving. I stood at the counter, spoon frozen above Leo's oatmeal, staring at my phone like it might bite me. The screen had gone dark ten minutes ago. I was still staring.
Leo swung his legs in his chair, arranging blueberries into neat little rows. He always did this—sorted his food before he ate it. Just like his father used to sort his textbooks by color.
"Mommy, you're staring again," he said, not even looking up.
I blinked hard. "Busy day ahead. Eat up so you're ready for Miss Sarah's science experiment."
He nodded, already back to his berries, small fingers nudging a stray one into place. I watched his dark hair fall across his forehead, the way his brow furrowed in that concentrated little V. My chest ached. I gripped the counter edge until my knuckles went white.
I dressed in a plain black blouse and dark jeans, flats that wouldn't click on marble. The taxi crawled through morning traffic, and I pressed my forehead to the cold glass, watching Knight Tower grow larger block by block. Glass and steel. All sharp edges. No softness anywhere.
Security scanned a tablet at the entrance, barely glancing at me. "Mr. Knight is expecting you. Top floor."
The elevator was too quiet. Just the hum of cables and my own breathing, too fast and too shallow. I caught my reflection in the mirrored walls—pale, dark circles under my eyes, knuckles white around my bag strap. I looked like I was going to my own funeral. Twenty-three. Twenty-four. The floors ticked by. I couldn't stop counting.
The receptionist led me down a corridor lined with windows. The whole city sprawled below, tiny cars and tiny people, all of them going about their tiny lives. None of them had to face the man who'd wrecked them six years ago.
Double doors stood open at the end. Adrian sat behind a massive desk, jacket off, sleeves rolled to his elbows. Papers everywhere. Laptop open. He looked like he hadn't slept either.
He looked up the moment I appeared. His eyes locked onto mine, and something in his face shifted—relief, maybe, or hunger. I couldn't tell anymore.
He rose slowly. The movement pulled his shirt across his shoulders. I hated that I noticed. "Elena. You came."
I stepped inside. The doors clicked shut behind me, and I felt the weight of it. "Didn't seem like I had much option."
Adrian gestured to the leather chairs in front of his desk. I stayed standing. He didn't push. Instead, he walked around the desk and stopped a few feet away. Close enough that I caught his scent—wood and spice, the same cologne he'd worn in college. The same one I'd buried my face in a hundred times.
He crossed his arms. The muscles in his forearm stood out. "You have a son."
I lifted my chin. "Five years old. He's happy. Stable. He doesn't need his world flipped upside down."
Adrian's jaw tightened. He ran a hand through his hair, mussing it the way he used to when he was frustrated. "I never disappeared. Someone made sure I believed you had. That you'd found someone new while I was stuck finishing training in London."
The words hit somewhere deep, below my ribs. I remembered those nights—curled around my growing belly, sobbing into my pillow, the letters I'd written and rewritten and sent into silence.
"Prove it," I said, and my voice cracked on the last word.
He turned, opened a drawer, and pulled out a thick folder. When he held it out, our fingers brushed. His skin was warm, rough in places—calluses from the gym, or from gripping a pen too hard. I remembered those hands. I'd memorized every line of them once.
I opened the folder with shaking fingers.
Copies of emails. Old text logs. Scanned handwritten letters, his messy scrawl familiar enough to make my throat close. Dates stretching across months. Words I recognized—promises he'd made me, promises I'd thought he'd broken.
My vision blurred. I blinked hard, but it didn't help.
"These never reached me," I whispered. I sounded like a stranger.
Adrian moved closer. I felt the heat of him before I saw it. "I know that now." His voice was low, careful. "People are already digging into what happened. But Elena…" He lifted his hand, hovered near my cheek. Didn't touch. Like he was afraid I'd shatter. "I need to meet him. Leo. Properly."
I snapped the folder shut. "Not yet. He thinks his father is away. I need time. And I need to know this isn't just because you saw a little boy who looks like you."
His eyes flashed. He closed the space between us until I had to tilt my head back. His breath brushed my forehead. "Six years of wondering why the woman I loved vanished isn't a whim. That boy has my eyes. My smile. I felt it the second I saw him."
The air got thick. I couldn't breathe. His hand finally moved, fingertips grazing my jaw, so light I almost didn't feel it. But I did. I felt it everywhere. It was the same touch that had kept me awake on lonely nights, the same touch I'd convinced myself I'd imagined.
A knock shattered everything.
The doors opened. Vanessa stepped in, cream suit sharp enough to cut glass, tablet clutched under one arm. Her gaze swept across us—how close we stood, the folder in my hands, Adrian's hand still hovering near my face.
"Adrian, the London investors have been holding for ten minutes." Her voice was smooth as silk over broken glass. Her eyes slid to me. "Elena. Lovely to see you again. Children's books must keep you quite busy."
I stepped back, away from Adrian's warmth. "They do. Keeps me busy. Keeps Leo happy. That's what matters."
Vanessa's smile didn't waver. But her fingers tightened on the tablet until her knuckles went pale. Adrian's jaw clenched. "Vanessa, give us the room."
She paused. One second. Two. Then she nodded, all grace and ice. "I'll reschedule." The doors closed behind her.
Adrian exhaled. "She's been part of the company for years. Family ties."
I adjusted my bag strap, fingers clumsy. "I remember."
He studied my face. Too closely. "There's more you're not saying."
I turned toward the door. "I should go. Leo gets out of school soon."
His fingers caught my wrist. Not hard. Just enough to stop me. His thumb pressed against the inside of my wrist, right where my pulse was racing. He had to feel it. "Tonight. Dinner. Neutral place. Bring pictures of him, at least. Please."
I pulled my wrist free. His touch lingered on my skin like a brand. "I'll think about it."
I made it to the elevator before my legs gave out. I leaned against the wall, the folder heavy in my bag, and pressed the heels of my palms to my eyes. My phone buzzed.
I fumbled it open. Unsteady fingers. Blurry screen.
"He'll choose the company. He always does. Take the money. Leave. Or watch what happens to Leo. – Someone who cares."
A second notification. A bank transfer. The number made my stomach drop.
The elevator doors slid open. I stepped out into the bright plaza, squinting against the sun. Adrian's touch still burned on my jaw. Vanessa's eyes still cut through me. And the money sat in my account, waiting.
I clutched my bag so hard my fingers ached. Someone wanted me gone. Badly enough to pay for it. Badly enough to threaten my son.
Leo's face flashed in my mind—his berry-row fingers, his furrowed brow, the way he said "Mommy, you're staring again" like he was the grown-up and I was the child.
I waved down a taxi and slid into the back seat. The city blurred past. The tower shrank i
n the rear window.
Running had kept us safe for six years.
But I was so tired of running.
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- Writer
