Chapter Four — Secrets Behind Glass
1118 Words
Elena didn’t see him again for three days.
Not a call. Not a message.
Nothing.
She told herself she didn’t care.
After all, Vincent Russo wasn’t her boyfriend. He wasn’t her lover. He was a contract signed in blood. A ruthless businessman with a diamond ring and a cold heart.
Still, the silence gnawed at her.
The gala had left more than an impression—it had left questions. Who was Elara? Why did Vincent’s jaw tighten every time she appeared? And most of all… what was he hiding?
Because there was something.
Something beneath the surface of Vincent Russo that he didn’t want anyone to see.
And if she was going to marry him—if she was going to survive him—she needed to find out what that something was.
---
On the fourth day, curiosity got the best of her.
Elena asked the driver to take her back to Vincent’s estate. She didn’t have an invitation. She didn’t care. If he wanted to control her, then she would break his rules just to prove she couldn’t be tamed.
The guards at the gate hesitated, then let her through after a short phone call.
When the elevator in the private wing opened, she stepped into a different world.
Gone was the coldness of his office and the steel-cut lines of the mansion’s public space. This part of the house was lived in. Personal. There were books. Real ones. Hundreds of them, organized meticulously by genre and author. Soft jazz music played faintly from a speaker in the corner.
And there, seated on a leather couch in front of a fireplace, was Vincent.
Wearing black slacks and a crisp shirt, sleeves rolled, tattoos on full display.
His head snapped up when she entered. Hazel eyes darkened.
“You weren’t invited.”
“I don’t care,” she said, arms crossed. “Are you going to throw me out?”
He stood slowly, like a predator rising from rest. “I should.”
“But you won’t.”
He stared at her for a long, heavy moment. “Why are you here, Elena?”
She took a breath, trying to steady the rush in her chest. “Because I want to know who I’m marrying.”
“You already know.”
“No,” she said firmly. “I know the version you show the press. I know the businessman. The billionaire. The devil in tailored suits. But who are you when the cameras are off? When you’re not pretending to be in control of everything?”
Something in his expression shifted. “And what would you do with that answer?”
“Decide if I’m going to be your bride… or your enemy.”
Silence.
The fire cracked behind him. The air thickened with something unspoken. Then, with a sigh, Vincent walked toward a tall cabinet at the back of the room. He unlocked it with a small brass key, one Elena hadn’t seen before.
“Come here,” he said.
She hesitated, but stepped forward.
Inside the cabinet was a collection of old items—pictures, letters, even a small pair of child’s ballet shoes.
Her breath caught. “What is this?”
“My past,” he said quietly. “The one no one’s allowed to see.”
She reached toward the ballet shoes, carefully lifting them. “Whose are these?”
He didn’t answer immediately.
“They were my sister’s,” he said eventually. “She died when she was eight. Hit by a car. I was seventeen.”
Elena froze.
He was looking at the shoes like they were a ghost.
“She was the only softness I ever had in my life. After her… I learned that love gets people killed. That weakness invites pain.”
She lowered the shoes gently. “That’s why you became… like this.”
He looked at her then, raw and unreadable. “No. That’s why I stopped pretending to be anything else.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
And in that silence, something shifted.
It wasn’t romance. Not yet. But it was real.
She had seen a piece of him—one no one else had.
And it shook her more than she wanted to admit.
---
Hours later, she stood on the balcony outside his library, staring at the endless trees that lined the hills beyond. The wind was cold against her skin. She hadn’t meant to stay this long, but now, she couldn’t seem to leave.
And when the glass door slid open behind her, she didn’t flinch.
Vincent joined her, holding two glasses of dark wine.
He handed one to her. “You’re not what I expected, Elena.”
She sipped it carefully. “I’m not here to make you comfortable.”
He smirked. “That’s what makes you dangerous.”
She turned to him, her voice soft. “And what about you? What makes you dangerous, Vincent?”
He leaned closer, his voice brushing against her skin like velvet.
“I don’t need love to keep someone,” he whispered. “Just power. And fear.”
Her heart skipped—but not from fear. From the intensity. The closeness. The undeniable tension sparking like fire between them.
She didn’t move.
Neither did he.
His fingers brushed her waist. Just slightly. But enough to make her breath hitch.
“If you kiss me right now,” she whispered, “you won’t be able to stop.”
His lips hovered near hers, but he didn’t close the gap. “Then maybe I won’t.”
But he didn’t kiss her.
Instead, he stepped back—his walls slamming shut again.
Because despite the heat between them, they were still playing a dangerous game.
And neither was ready to lose.
---
Just before she left that night, Vincent stopped her at the door.
“There’s something you should know,” he said.
She turned.
“Elara—she’s not just an ex.”
“I figured,” Elena said, chin lifted.
“She was the one who introduced me to the Russian investors… the ones who betrayed me years ago. She nearly cost me my empire.”
Elena blinked. “Why is she still in your life?”
“Because she’s still trying to finish what she started.”
And just like that, the danger became real.
The whispers. The stares. The warning behind Elara’s smile at the gala.
“She’s your enemy,” Elena said.
He nodded. “And she’s watching you now.”
A chill ran through her spine.
“Be careful, Elena,” he added quietly. “Because in my world… enemies don’t always come at you with guns.”
- Writer
