Chapter Three: Whispers in Silk
1822 Words
The ballroom glittered like something out of a dream—opulent chandeliers spilled golden light over sleek marble floors, and classical music floated in the air like perfume. It was the annual Duvall Foundation Charity Gala, and everyone who mattered in New York’s elite social and corporate circle was in attendance.
Elena had never felt so out of place.
Her crimson gown—borrowed from a friend in PR—clung to her curves and flowed elegantly at the hem. Her long hair was pinned up loosely, revealing the soft slope of her neck. She looked the part of someone who belonged in this world. But inside, she still felt like the intern who couldn’t afford rent five years ago.
Across the room, Jaxon Duvall stood like a polished sculpture—flawless in a tailored black tux, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a glass of champagne. He exuded control and quiet danger, as if even the air shifted around him in obedience.
Their eyes met briefly across the crowd.
There it was again—that unspoken pull. The memory of a kiss that should have never happened. The pain of a goodbye never explained.
Before Elena could move, a tall brunette in a sleek emerald dress appeared at Jaxon’s side, looping her arm through his.
Genevieve Laurent.
Heiress. Investor. Jaxon’s rumored on-again-off-again lover.
And the only woman who had ever looked Elena in the eyes like she was disposable.
“Elena,” came a smooth, clipped voice.
She turned. Genevieve had left Jaxon’s side and now stood in front of her, lips curled in a knowing smile.
“You’ve grown into that dress nicely. Still chasing Jaxon’s approval, are we?”
Elena kept her tone even. “I’m here on company assignment.”
Genevieve smirked. “Oh, darling. We’re all on assignment. The difference is, some of us know how to play the game.”
Elena didn’t flinch, but her pulse quickened. “I’m not playing anything.”
“That’s your first mistake.”
Genevieve turned with effortless grace and rejoined Jaxon. As if on cue, he leaned in and whispered something to Genevieve that made her laugh—loudly, performatively. Elena knew that laugh. It was meant for her.
Elena turned to grab a drink, anything to ground herself.
“Don’t let her get to you,” a soft voice said beside her. It was Ava Kingston, one of Duvall Tech’s rising analysts. Petite, sharp-eyed, and always watching.
“She’s always threatened by women Jaxon actually respects.”
Elena blinked. “You think he respects me?”
“I think you rattle him. And Jaxon Duvall doesn't rattle easily.”
Later That Night
Just past midnight, the party began to thin. Elena stepped out onto the balcony, needing air. Below her, the city pulsed like a living thing—bold, bright, never still.
“You shouldn’t be out here alone,” came Jaxon’s voice from behind.
She didn’t turn around. “Genevieve’s inside. Shouldn’t you be entertaining her?”
He stepped beside her. “Genevieve likes to be seen. That doesn’t mean she sees me.”
A bitter laugh escaped her lips. “You’re full of clever lines, Jaxon. I remember that about you.”
He turned to face her, his expression more raw than usual. “And I remember how you used to believe in me. Before I gave you every reason not to.”
That silence again. Heavy, aching.
“Why now?” Elena whispered. “Why bring me back into your world after everything?”
“Because no one else would’ve spotted that clause in Project Phoenix. Because no one challenges me the way you do. Because—”
He stopped himself, eyes shadowed.
“Because?” she pressed, almost breathless.
“Because I never stopped thinking about you,” he said softly. “Even when I tried.”
Before she could answer, a loud crash came from inside. Then shouts. Something had happened.
They rushed back in to find one of the servers collapsed, glass everywhere.
Security rushed in.
Paramedics were called.
Amidst the chaos, Elena’s phone buzzed again.
> Unknown Number
Not everything is about love. Some lies were told to save your life. Dig deeper. —J
Her heart stopped.
It wasn’t Jaxon.
It was someone else.
Someone who knew everything.
Elena’s fingers trembled slightly as she stared at the message on her phone screen.
> “Not everything is about love. Some lies were told to save your life. Dig deeper.”
—J
It wasn’t from Jaxon—she knew that instinctively. His messages never came veiled in riddles. And Jaxon Duvall didn’t hide behind cryptic warnings.
“Elena?” Jaxon’s voice pulled her back to the present, where chaos continued to ripple through the ballroom. Waiters moved swiftly to clear shattered glass, and someone was helping the unconscious server onto a stretcher.
She quickly turned off her screen before he could see it.
“I’m fine,” she lied.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I think I just did.”
His brow furrowed. “Let’s get you out of here.”
She nodded, not trusting her voice. He guided her out a side door into a quiet hallway, their footsteps echoing against the marble.
They ended up in a small lounge away from the noise. Plush velvet couches, floor-to-ceiling windows, soft jazz humming through hidden speakers. He poured her a glass of water and watched her closely.
“What aren’t you telling me?” he finally asked.
Elena debated her response. Part of her wanted to trust him. To believe the man in front of her was different from the one who broke her heart with no explanation years ago. But another part—the smarter part—knew trust in Jaxon Duvall came at a cost.
She handed him the phone.
He read the message, his jaw tightening. “Did you respond?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“Who is it, Jaxon?”
“I don’t know. But I will find out.”
“I need answers, not promises.”
He met her gaze. “And you’ll get them. But not here. Not tonight.”
She stepped back, feeling the air between them thicken. “You’re still hiding things from me.”
“And you still look at me like you want to fix me,” he murmured.
Her throat tightened. “I gave up trying to fix you a long time ago.”
“But you never stopped loving me.” He took a step closer, his hand brushing against hers. “Did you?”
She froze.
Before she could answer, a buzz echoed from his pocket. He pulled out his phone, eyes narrowing as he read something.
“What is it?” she asked.
He stared at her with a strange intensity. “We need to leave. Now.”
“Why?”
“Because that server didn’t just collapse. He was poisoned. And whoever sent you that message might be trying to scare you—or warn you.”
Elena’s blood ran cold.
“This isn’t just about us anymore,” he said grimly. “It’s about whatever happened three years ago—and who’s still watching.”
They exited the lounge swiftly through a side corridor, Jaxon’s hand at the small of Elena’s back. The crowd behind them still buzzed, unaware of the danger lurking beneath the glittering surface.
Outside, a black town car was already waiting—Jaxon’s driver, Liam, opening the door without question. Elena hesitated for a split second before getting in. Once inside, the doors closed with a heavy finality that made her heart jump.
“Where are we going?” she asked as the car pulled away from the curb.
“To somewhere safe,” Jaxon said. “My place.”
“I should go home.”
He shook his head. “No. Not after that message. Not with someone targeting people around you. You think it’s a coincidence that a waiter collapsed the same night you get a warning text?”
Her fingers tightened around the edge of her clutch. “And you think I’m the target?”
“I think we are. Someone wants to drag up the past, and you just walked back into the middle of it.”
Elena turned toward the window, watching the city lights smear past like watercolors. She wanted to scream, to demand the full truth from Jaxon, but she wasn’t sure if she could handle it yet.
When they pulled into the underground garage of his Manhattan penthouse, everything felt eerily quiet—too quiet. Jaxon led her up in the private elevator, his expression carved from stone.
The penthouse was exactly as she remembered—sleek, masculine, cold. Glass walls framed the skyline. Tasteful art hung like armor on the walls. And still, it smelled faintly of his cologne and imported whiskey.
“You’ve redecorated,” she said flatly, stepping inside.
He poured himself a drink. “Some things needed to change.”
“Not everything, apparently,” she murmured, glancing at a photograph on the shelf—him and his younger brother, Nathan. The photo was taken the year before the accident. Before Nathan died. Before Jaxon started pushing her away.
He followed her gaze. “I kept it as a reminder.”
“Of what?”
“That guilt is a prison. And love is the only thing strong enough to break the lock.” He turned to her. “But I’m still trying to find the key.”
A long silence stretched between them.
Then, Elena’s phone buzzed again.
> Unknown Number
He’s lying to you. He always was. Ask him about the yacht. —J
Her breath caught in her throat. She looked up slowly.
“Jaxon,” she said, voice icy. “What happened on the yacht the night Nathan died?”
He stilled. Just like that, the air snapped tight with tension.
“Elena—”
“Don’t lie to me.”
He walked to the window, drink still in hand, and exhaled.
“That night changed everything,” he said. “Nathan didn’t drown by accident. He was pushed. And the person who did it... might still be watching us.”
Elena’s world tilted.
“You knew that and said nothing?”
“I had no proof. Only suspicions. But now someone’s trying to force my hand—and using you to do it.”
She took a step back. “So I’m just bait.”
“No,” he said quickly. “You’re the only reason I’m still fighting.”
Her heart was a drumbeat of betrayal, fear, and something dangerously close to longing. She couldn’t trust him—but she couldn’t walk away, either.
Not yet.
And in that moment, she realized: the lies between them weren’t just about love.
They were about survival.
- Writer
