The Devil's Touch

**CHAPTER 2**

* Still Elena's POV*

The sound of the door opening broke the silence, followed by the familiar, heavy footsteps of my father. I didn’t need to look up to know it was him. There was something about the way he moved, a precision to his steps, as if he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. In many ways, I suppose he did.

I stood by the kitchen counter, pretending to be busy, my hands mechanically wiping down the countertop. I could feel his eyes on me as he removed his coat and hung it up, the sharp rustle of fabric filling the room.

“Elena,” he said, his voice low and unreadable. “Dinner?”

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. The tension between us was always thick, like an invisible wall I could never break through. I didn’t know what had happened to the man I once knew—a loving father who’d tuck me into bed and tell me stories. That man had disappeared the night my mother was taken from us. In his place stood a stranger, a man whose emotional walls were as solid as stone, too impenetrable for anyone to reach.

“Yeah, I’ll be right there,” I replied, my voice quieter than I intended.

He didn’t say anything more. He never did. With a final glance in my direction, he walked into his study, the door closing with a soft click that felt final, as though he were sealing himself away from the world again.

I closed my eyes for a moment, wishing things were different, wishing I could understand what had broken him so completely. I often wondered if it was his job that had changed him—or if it was just grief. Either way, I was left to navigate this life alone.

After a few minutes of silence, I forced myself to push my feelings aside and set the table. I had learned long ago that waiting for my father to open up was futile. But sometimes, in these rare quiet moments, I couldn’t help but dream of a life where we weren’t just two strangers occupying the same space. Where his eyes didn’t carry the weight of his past. Where, just once, we could talk without the shadows of loss and pain looming over us.

But dreams were for the weak, and I couldn’t afford to be weak.

Dinner passed in its usual quiet fashion. My father ate his food with mechanical precision, never looking up, never speaking unless necessary. And I… I simply picked at my meal, my mind racing with thoughts of what I could never say, of the life I could never have.

“Are you going out tonight?” he asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

I blinked, startled by the question. “What?” I asked, unsure of where this conversation was heading.

“The party,” he said, his tone sharp. “I told you to attend.”

I hesitated, unsure how to respond. My father’s world was dangerous. It was a world I wasn’t supposed to be a part of. Yet, he kept pushing me into it, convincing me that I had to be involved, that my future depended on it. A future that felt more like a prison than a promise.

“I don’t know if—”

“You’ll go,” he interrupted, his voice firm. “It’s not up for debate. You will make connections. You’ll learn how to survive in this world.” His eyes softened for a moment, but the coldness beneath was undeniable. “I won’t have you becoming weak, Elena.”

I nodded silently, my chest tightening. Weak. That’s what he thought I was—weak, like my mother.

But I wasn’t weak. I was strong. Strong enough to survive this life on my own, even if it meant stepping into the shadows where he lived.

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