Chapter 17: Small Mercies
1224 Words
Elise’s Penthouse – Late Evening
The city lights glimmered beyond the glass, casting soft reflections across the polished floor. Elise sat behind her desk, but she wasn’t working.
She was staring at a printed message—encrypted fragments that had unlocked a ghost from her past. Adrian.
A knock.
“Come in,” she said quietly.
Luis stepped inside, freshly changed but still carrying the weight of the day. He didn’t speak right away. Just waited.
Finally, Elise looked up. Her voice was calm, but fragile at the edges. “You’re wondering why I’ve been distant.”
Luis stepped forward. “I figured you'd tell me when you were ready.”
Elise gave a bitter smile. “I thought I was stronger than this. But he’s still haunting me, Luis. Even in death.”
She held up the paper. “Encrypted. His old cipher. No one else would use this. I decoded it last night.”
Luis moved closer. “What did it say?”
Elise’s eyes glistened. “He wrote… ‘You broke me once. Let’s see if you survive round two.’” Her voice cracked. “He’s dead, Luis. I know that. But it still feels like he’s winning.”
Luis reached out slowly. Placed his hand over hers.
“I won’t let him win,” he said. “Not again.”
And for the first time in days, she didn’t pull away.
The air between them was still charged with what had almost been said.
Elise stood by the bar, slowly pulling her hand from Luis’s. She took a breath, steadying herself.
Luis glanced at the untouched wineglass, then at her. “Have you eaten?” he asked softly.
Elise blinked. “No. I forgot.”
He didn’t scold her. He simply turned and walked toward the small kitchen in the corner of the suite, rolling up the sleeves of his button-down. “Sit,” he said gently, not as a command—but as someone who knew she needed grounding.
She watched him move around her space like he belonged there. No hesitation. Just quiet certainty. He opened cabinets, checked the fridge, took out a container she didn’t even remember asking Maria to stock. Rice. Grilled salmon. Garlic sautéed greens.
He plated it like a ritual. Warmed everything. No fuss, no questions.
When he returned, he placed a tray in front of her, then pulled a stool beside her. No candlelight, no pretense—just a quiet meal shared in the soft hum of the city outside.
Elise gave a short chuckle as she picked up the fork. “I feel like you’ve done this before.”
Luis gave a half-smile. “Once or twice.”
They began to eat, the silence no longer heavy but comforting.
She glanced at him. “You cook too?”
“I survive,” he replied dryly. “Ethan would say I’m the least fun dinner companion. No sauce. No salt. Too clean.”
That earned a real laugh from her—light, unguarded. “You? No fun? I don’t believe that.”
He looked at her sideways. “I’m serious. You’re just distracted enough not to notice.”
She nudged his arm playfully with her elbow. “I’ve seen you laugh. Twice. That already makes you more expressive than half the board.”
His smirk deepened, and for the first time in days, she looked truly at ease.
They kept eating—slowly, sharing bites, trading quiet stories about random things. An embarrassing college speech she gave. A disastrous suit he once wore to a gala. Nothing strategic. Nothing important.
Just two people, in the stillness of the night, remembering who they were beneath the armor.
At one point, Elise leaned back and sighed, touching her stomach. “That was probably the first proper dinner I’ve had this week.”
Luis looked at her but said nothing.
She added, “Thank you, by the way.”
He reached for her empty plate and stood. “Anytime.”
She watched him rinse the dishes. Her voice softened. “You always take care of things before I realize I need them.”
Luis didn’t turn, but she saw the slight curve of his lips.
And for the first time in days, Elise didn’t feel like a fortress waiting to be breached.
She just felt… human.
Luis dried his hands with the small kitchen towel and turned back to her.
Elise was still sitting on the stool, arms crossed casually over the counter, chin resting on one hand. The usual sharpness in her eyes had softened, as if the walls she’d built were momentarily at rest.
“Hey,” she said, voice gentle. “Can I ask you something personal?”
He leaned against the counter, curious. “You already are.”
She tilted her head. “Why are you still single?”
Luis blinked at the question, caught off guard by its simplicity. He let out a soft chuckle, brushing his fingers through his hair.
“You always go for the easy ones, huh?” he teased, then looked away before answering seriously. “I guess... I’ve been busy trying to matter.”
Elise’s brow furrowed, her smile fading. “You already do.”
He met her gaze, surprised.
She added, “I mean—at work, with Ethan, with me. You’ve always been someone I can count on. I just…” she hesitated, looking down at her fingers, “I sometimes forget to ask what you need.”
A long pause. Then Elise’s voice lowered even more, quieter than before. “How’s your father, by the way?”
Luis straightened slightly. “He’s doing better. Still on maintenance meds, but he’s stable.”
A silence passed between them before Elise said, “You know… I barely remember it. But I think I was the one who signed off the hospital bill when you were new.”
Luis nodded once, slowly. “You did.”
“You didn’t even ask.”
“I didn’t have to.” He gave her a look—grateful, full of something unspoken. “HR rejected my request for an early salary release. Said they couldn’t approve it without exec sign-off. You didn’t ask questions. Just said, ‘Take care of your family first.’ Then walked out.”
Elise blinked. She barely remembered the moment—but the weight of it echoed in his voice.
“I never forgot that,” Luis added, more softly now. “That’s why I stayed.”
Her chest tightened. She looked at him, really looked at him, and saw not just the man who’d stood beside her all these years—but someone who had quietly rooted his loyalty in the smallest kindness.
“Luis…”
He didn’t let her speak further. Just gave a small, tired smile and said, “You were the first person who saw me as more than just a name on a résumé.”
She blinked fast. “And now you’re the one holding me together.”
He shrugged. “Fair trade.”
She smiled—but it wasn’t her usual composed, camera-ready smile. It was real. Faint and raw.
There was no strategy in this part of the night. Just honesty.
Just the quiet miracle of two people finally seeing each other outside of war rooms and boardrooms.
- Writer
