Chapter Seven — The lie Beneath the Kiss
1079 Words
Elena hadn’t meant to listen.
She had woken up early—earlier than anyone in the house—and wandered the quiet halls of Vincent’s mansion barefoot, searching for coffee or maybe just air.
But what she found instead… was him.
Vincent stood on the rooftop balcony, phone pressed to his ear, speaking in that low, cold tone she had come to recognize. Not the voice he used for her. This was his real voice—the one he used for deals, danger, and men who didn’t flinch at blood.
She paused just around the corner, heart still pounding from last night’s kiss.
> “She made contact. Sent Elena the photo. You were right—she’s accelerating.”
Elena’s breath caught.
> “Do you want us to handle it?”
A pause.
> “No. Not yet. I want her to think she’s winning.”
Her throat tightened.
> “But what about Elena?”
And then came the part that shattered her chest.
> “Elena is different. She’s not just part of the plan anymore.”
Not just part of the plan?
Her heart dropped like a stone.
This wasn’t just about Elara. This wasn’t just about her father’s debt. There was more.
A plan.
And she was in it.
She stepped back before she could hear more. Her hands shook. Her stomach twisted. The same lips that had kissed her like a man starved had lied through perfect teeth.
She had opened herself up to him last night.
And now… she wished she hadn’t.
---
When Vincent came down for breakfast, Elena was already seated at the long dining table, dressed in all black—tight blouse, sleek skirt, sharp heels. Her expression unreadable.
He paused in the doorway, eyes scanning her. “You’re up early.”
“So are you,” she said coolly. “Business?”
His brows lifted, caught slightly off guard by her tone.
“Yes.”
She sipped her coffee, not looking at him. “I’m sure you have lots of plans to keep track of.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Something you want to say?”
She met his gaze. “No, Vincent. I think you’ve said enough.”
A beat of silence passed.
He tilted his head. “Did something happen?”
“Oh, nothing new,” she said, standing. “Just a little reminder that kissing the devil doesn’t mean he’ll stop burning you.”
She left without another word.
And for the first time in a long time—Vincent Russo felt stung.
---
Elena didn’t return to the Romano estate.
She didn’t go to the boutique. Or the wedding planner’s office. Or any of the Russo properties.
Instead, she went somewhere no one would look for her: the abandoned art gallery downtown her mother once painted in before she died.
It had dust and broken lights and forgotten canvases.
But it also had silence.
And Elena needed that more than anything.
She sat on the cracked tiles, staring at a blank canvas, trying to gather her thoughts.
She had kissed him.
Felt something.
Trusted him—just a little.
And now…
Now she didn’t know if she was the fiancée or just a piece on the board.
---
Hours passed before her phone buzzed.
Vincent Russo: Where are you?
She didn’t answer.
Another message followed.
I’ll find you, Elena. Don’t test me.
She turned her phone off.
Because right now, she needed to think—not be chased.
---
Meanwhile…
Vincent stood in his office, seething.
She had heard something.
He didn’t know what—but he could see it in her eyes. The coolness. The distance. The anger.
And if she knew about the plan—if she thought she was just a pawn—he’d lose her completely.
Which was dangerous.
Because despite everything, despite the deal, despite the walls he’d built… he couldn’t lose her.
He wouldn’t.
He dialed a number.
“She’s missing,” he said.
The voice on the other end replied, “Should we track her phone?”
“It’s off,” Vincent growled.
“Then what do you want us to do?”
Vincent looked out the window at the darkening sky.
“I want every safe location monitored. She has nowhere else to go… unless she wants to disappear. And Elena Romano is too stubborn for that.”
---
Night fell.
And Elena finally returned.
To her surprise, Vincent was sitting on the steps of the Romano estate, elbows on his knees, head down like a man waiting for judgment.
She got out of the car, slow and tense.
He stood.
“You disappeared.”
“You lied.”
“I didn’t lie,” he said.
“You didn’t tell the truth either,” she snapped. “What plan, Vincent? What was I ‘part of’ that suddenly changed? Tell me.”
He stepped toward her. “It wasn’t supposed to go this far. I needed you for business. For leverage.”
“I know,” she said bitterly. “A contract. A merger. A way to keep my father’s blood off your hands.”
“No,” Vincent said, voice rough. “That was before.”
“Before what?”
“Before you.”
She froze.
Vincent stepped even closer, his voice low. Honest. Raw.
“I didn’t plan on wanting you, Elena. I didn’t plan on needing you.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I expect you to look me in the eyes and tell me that kiss meant nothing.”
Elena swallowed.
Because the truth was… it hadn’t meant nothing.
It had meant too much.
And that scared her more than the betrayal.
“I can’t trust you,” she whispered.
“I’ll earn it.”
She looked away. “That’s not how this works.”
His hand brushed her cheek, slow and gentle.
“It is now.”
---
Inside the house, Elena stared at herself in the mirror.
Who was she becoming?
She wasn’t the quiet, obedient daughter anymore.
She wasn’t even sure she was the victim.
She was changing.
Twisting.
And Vincent Russo was the reason.
But if he thought she would fall into his arms again without answers—without proof that she wasn’t just a pawn—he didn’t know her at all.
Tomorrow, she would start digging.
And if Vincent had secrets buried deep…
She would be the one to uncover them.
- Writer
