Chapter 4
1431 Words
Elara stood in the middle of Nicholas Wolfe’s penthouse, heart still hammering in her chest.
The air was thick with his presence, his touch still lingering on her skin, his taste still on her lips.
And yet—he was gone.
One phone call. That was all it took for him to shift from the ruthless man who had her pinned against the wall to the cold, calculating tycoon who commanded empires.
She should have been relieved.
Instead, a sinking feeling settled in her chest.
Because no matter how much she tried to deny it—she wanted more.
With a frustrated sigh, she pushed off the wall, rubbing her temples. “What the hell am I doing?”
She needed to get out of here. Now.
But as she turned toward the door, a sharp knock echoed through the penthouse.
Elara froze.
Nicholas?
No. He wouldn’t knock.
Who the hell—
Another knock, more insistent this time.
Her pulse spiked.
Cautiously, she made her way to the door, hesitating only for a second before unlocking it.
The moment it swung open, she found herself staring up at a tall, broad-shouldered man in a sleek black suit. His features were sharp, chiseled, his dark eyes unreadable. Cold. Dangerous.
A man accustomed to power.
“Elara Sinclair?” His voice was deep, controlled.
She stiffened. “Who’s asking?”
The man didn’t blink. “Mr. Wolfe sent me. You need to come with me.”
Her stomach dropped.
“What? No. I—” She shook her head, stepping back. “Nicholas didn’t say anything about—”
“He doesn’t have time to explain.” The man’s tone was clipped, his posture rigid. A soldier following orders.
Elara’s fingers curled into fists. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
For the first time, something flickered in his expression. Amusement.
“Ms. Sinclair.” He tilted his head slightly, studying her. “If you truly believe you have a choice, then you don’t understand who Nicholas Wolfe really is.”
Her breath hitched.
Because the way he said it, the certainty in his voice—
It sent a shiver down her spine.
“Get in the car,” the man said, stepping aside, motioning toward the sleek black vehicle waiting outside. “Or you won’t like what happens next.”
Elara swallowed hard.
She could run. Could refuse.
But something in the man’s gaze told her—this wasn’t a request.
Nicholas had sent him.
And if there was one thing she was quickly learning, it was that Nicholas Wolfe always got what he wanted.
With a deep breath, she stepped forward.
And let herself be pulled deeper into his world.
Meanwhile…
Nicholas sat in the back of his car, jaw clenched, eyes cold as steel.
“Talk,” he ordered.
The man across from him shifted uncomfortably. “It’s the Montenegro deal. There’s been an… issue.”
Nicholas exhaled slowly, fighting the urge to snap. “Define ‘issue.’”
The man hesitated.
Nicholas’s patience snapped.
“If you make me ask again,” he said, voice deadly soft, “I won’t be nearly as forgiving.”
A flicker of fear crossed the man’s face.
“They’re backing out,” he rushed out. “Montenegro’s men—they’re threatening to take the deal elsewhere. Said they’ve had a better offer.”
Nicholas’s jaw ticked.
A better offer?
Bullshit.
This wasn’t about money. This was about power. About sending a message.
His gaze darkened.
“Where is he?”
The man swallowed. “Penthouse suite. Ritz-Carlton.”
Nicholas nodded. Then, without another word, he reached for his phone.
One call. That was all it would take to end this.
But as his thumb hovered over the screen, his mind flickered back to Elara.
To the way she had looked at him.
To the way she had shaken in his arms—not from fear, but from something else entirely.
A dangerous, addictive thought crossed his mind.
He had sent his men to get her. To make sure she was exactly where he wanted her.
Because if Montenegro thought he could challenge Nicholas Wolfe and walk away unscathed?
He was about to learn a very painful lesson.
Nicholas smirked, dark and lethal.
It was time to remind the world who the real power player was.
The car ride was silent, but tension pressed against Elara’s chest like a vice.
She sat stiffly in the leather seat, her eyes flicking toward the man beside her—the one Nicholas had sent. He hadn’t introduced himself, hadn’t offered even a single reassuring word.
Because this wasn’t a friendly ride home.
It was an order.
And she had obeyed.
Her fists curled in her lap as she forced herself to breathe.
Why had Nicholas sent someone for her? Where was he? And—more importantly—why did she feel like she had just stepped into something far more dangerous than she realized?
She turned her gaze toward the tinted windows, watching as the towering skyscrapers blurred past.
This wasn’t the way to her apartment.
A sinking feeling twisted in her stomach.
“Where are you taking me?” she demanded.
The man beside her didn’t even look at her. “Somewhere safe.”
A cold chill ran down her spine.
That wasn’t an answer.
Elara’s pulse quickened. “Safe from what?”
Silence.
She clenched her jaw. “I deserve to know—”
The car slowed.
Her breath caught as she realized where they were.
Not her apartment. Not Nicholas’s penthouse.
A massive estate loomed ahead, gates of iron and gold sliding open as the car pulled through.
Elara swallowed hard.
This wasn’t just a house. It was a fortress.
The car came to a smooth stop, and the man beside her finally turned, his expression unreadable.
“Mr. Wolfe will be here soon.”
Then he opened the door.
For a second, Elara considered running.
But where the hell would she go?
With no other choice, she stepped out, her heels clicking against the sleek pavement.
The front doors opened before she even reached them, and two more men in dark suits stepped aside to let her in.
She walked through, and the moment the doors closed behind her, one thing became terrifyingly clear.
She wasn’t leaving until Nicholas Wolfe allowed it.
The elevator doors slid open, and Nicholas Wolfe stepped into enemy territory.
The penthouse suite of the Ritz-Carlton was bathed in golden light, expensive liquor scattered across the glass table, a cigar still burning in the ashtray.
And at the center of it all, lounging on the leather couch, was Victor Montenegro.
The bastard smirked when he saw Nicholas.
“Ah, Wolfe. I was wondering when you’d show up.”
Nicholas didn’t speak. Didn’t blink.
Instead, he poured himself a glass of Montenegro’s whiskey, slow and deliberate, before taking a seat across from him.
Then, in a voice calm and lethal, he said, “Tell me, Victor—what the f**k were you thinking?”
Montenegro chuckled. “Straight to the point. I respect that.” He leaned back, exhaling a slow stream of smoke. “Here’s the thing, Wolfe. Business is business. You offered a deal, someone else offered a better one.”
Nicholas smirked. “That’s cute. But we both know that’s not what happened.”
Montenegro’s smile didn’t falter, but something flickered in his gaze.
Nicholas leaned forward. “You didn’t back out because of money.” His voice dropped, dangerous and smooth. “You backed out because you think you can challenge me.”
Montenegro’s jaw ticked.
Nicholas’s smirk sharpened. Bullseye.
He set his glass down. “Let me be clear, Victor. You don’t get to walk away from a deal with me.”
Montenegro’s smirk returned. “And if I do?”
Nicholas’s eyes darkened.
“Then you don’t walk away at all.”
Silence.
A flicker of something—hesitation, maybe even fear—passed through Montenegro’s expression.
Nicholas stood, adjusting his cufflinks. “I’ll give you one chance to reconsider. But if you don’t?” His gaze turned ice-cold. Merciless.
“Then I’ll bury you.”
Montenegro’s smirk faltered. Just for a second.
Nicholas didn’t wait for a response.
He turned and walked out, his phone already in his hand.
Time to end this.
But as he stepped into his car, something pulled at the back of his mind.
Elara.
She was waiting for him.
And after tonight, she’d finally see exactly who he was.
And exactly why she would never escape him.
- Writer
