Chapter 47
1132 Words
Elias POV
I was already late.
Traffic had been a mess, my phone buzzing nonstop with calls I ignored, my mind elsewhere the entire drive. I’d dropped Mara off at Clara’s apartment that morning with the understanding that I’d return for her.
I didn’t like leaving her there, not after everything, but she’d insisted, and I’d agreed, if only to keep the peace.
I parked across the street from Clara’s building and cut the engine. I got out of the car.
That was when I saw it.
A familiar vehicle, parked in front of her apartment.
David’s car.
I stopped.
My jaw clenched as I stared at it, disbelief giving way to irritation.
How did he know of Mara's whereabout?
I moved closer, slowing my steps as I sighted him, with Mara and Clara both outside
“How did you know I was here?” I heard Mara ask.
My hand curled slowly into a fist.
David answered, his tone infuriatingly calm. “I saw you earlier, leaving with him. I needed to make sure you were safe.”
Why did he care?
Immediately my mind drifted back to the elevator moment where he had confessed his feelings to Mara in my very front.
Mara didn’t answer immediately, and the silence stretched just long enough for my imagination to fill in the gaps.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she finally said.
“It’s late already,” David replied. “You should be home already. Looks like he has forgotten you already.”
“I'm sure he'll be here soon" She replied.
I took a step forward before I realized it.
My body reacted faster than my mind. I was already moving toward the door, already imagining the look on his face when he saw me—
And then I stopped when I heard Mara's voice.
“Maybe he forgot,"
I turned away sharply, anger buzzing beneath my skin like exposed wire. I didn’t look back. I didn’t give myself the chance to change my mind. I got into my car and slammed the door hard enough to make the frame shudder.
I didn’t go home.
I drove straight to Mark’s apartment.
Mark’s apartment sat above a closed tailor shop in a part of the city that preferred not to be noticed. The hall lights flickered as I climbed the stairs, my patience already threadbare.
Mark opened the door when I knocked.
“I wasn’t expecting you,” he said.
“I’m here for him,” I replied, brushing past him. “Where is he?”
He hesitated just long enough to irritate me. “Back. Storeroom.”
I didn’t wait.
The apartment was bare, functional, chosen for convenience rather than comfort. The air grew colder as I approached the storeroom, the reinforced door standing out like a scar.
Mark reached for the handle, then paused.
“Open it.” I ordered.
The door creaked.
The kidnapper sat tied to a chair, wrists bound behind his back, ankles secured. His face was bruised, dried blood at his mouth, but his eyes were alert.
I stepped inside.
“Leave us,” I told Mark.
He hesitated, then nodded and shut the door.
Silence.
I studied the man in front of me, taking in his steady breathing, the lack of fear. This wasn’t desperation. This was confidence.
“You know why I’m here,” I said.
He smiled. “I can guess.”
“Who hired you?”
He kept mute, staring deep into my eyes with confidence.
I leaned forward. “I know she wasn’t the target.”
His smile widened. “Smart man.”
My jaw tightened. “Who sent you”
“You live with your enemy,” he said calmly. “And you still don’t see it?”
My blood cooled.
“How much were you paid,” I asked and got a laugh as an answer.
“You think it's about money?” his smile fell instantly. “I would've left her to be used, so that you thick skull will know it's not all about…”
My fist reached his nose before he could complete his statement. He groaned, then laughed, blood spilling from his mouth.
“You look angry,” he rasped. “I should be the one angry.”
I struck him again.
And again.
Each blow carried everything I hadn’t said.
Everything I hadn’t protected. Mara’s fear. Her disappearance. The hollow panic that had consumed me when I’d thought I’d lost her.
Before I could land another blow, the door burst open. Mark grabbed my arm, hauling me back. “Stop. You kill him, we lose everything.”
He laughed, blood dripping down his chin.
“You’re worried about the wrong thing,” he coughed.
I grabbed his collar. “Talk before I kill you.”
“You shouldn’t be worried about me,” he said. “You should be worried about the internet now.”
Something shifted.
“Too late,” he said. “You’re already losing.”
My hands shook as I pulled out my phone.
What was it this time?
Notifications flooded the screen.
I clicked the first link.
The video of me and Mara in the room during the anniversary loaded. My hand shook as I watched it praying our kiss won't be revealed.
It was close to the kiss scene when the video ended. I slid my hands through my hair with frustration, and then turned to Mark.
“Make sure you keep an eye on him,"
Then I left.
Camille was waiting when I got home.
She stood near the stairs, tablet in hand, the television behind her flashing muted footage.
“You’ve seen it,” she said.
“I’ll handle it.”
Her gaze dropped to my hands. The bruises from the blow were already dark.
“What happened to you?” she asked, stepping closer, reaching for my hand.
“It’s nothing.”
“It doesn't look like nothing . Let me see—”
“I said I’ll handle it.”
I left for my room, heading upstairs.
Morning came too fast.
I came downstairs already dressed.
Camille stood in the living room with a guest.
A young woman, elegant and composed.
“Come Son,” Camille said smoothly, “ This is your father’s long-time friend’s daughter. Meet Jacqueline from the Smith family.”
She rested a hand on the woman’s shoulder.
“And this is the woman I want you to marry.”
The words struck like a blow.
“She’s willing,” Camille continued, “to stand by you. To clear the rumors.”
“Mother—”
A sharp sound cut through the room.
Glass shattering.
I turned.
Mara stood frozen at the kitchen entrance, shards scattered at her feet.
Our gazes locked.
- Writer
