Chapter 13: A bedside promise
1151 Words
Isabel perched on the edge of her brother's sleek leather couch, fingers wrapped around a steaming mug of tea. The penthouse was quiet save for the soft hum of the city outside, but inside, her mind was buzzing.
"So," she began, tilting her head and eyeing Noah closely. "How’s Elena holding up? You two looked like royalty at the charity gala, but I know pictures don’t always tell the whole story."
Noah sat across from her, flipping through a few documents but clearly distracted. He sighed and dropped the papers onto the table.
"She’s... managing," he said after a pause. "There’s been a lot. The press. The tension. That blog.”
Isabel narrowed her eyes slightly. "You mean that blog that suddenly stopped writing after a certain someone got involved with the law firm?"
Noah arched a brow. "I didn’t say anything."
"Mm-hmm." Isabel set her mug down. "Look, Noah, I’m not trying to pry, but I know you. And I know you get this tunnel vision thing when you're trying to fix everyone. Is Brielle… involved? Not just in the case, I mean. In your life."
Noah looked at his sister. His silence was answer enough.
"Noah," Isabel said gently. "You’re engaged. To a beautiful, kind woman who I know is trying her best to keep it together. And you two have this spark that’s obvious to anyone with a working pulse. Don’t let that girl hurt in silence."
He leaned back, rubbing his temple. "I know. I know it looks bad. But Brielle’s going through hell. Her case is heavy."
Isabel studied him a moment longer, then softened. "I just hope you know what you're doing. And I hope Elena does too."
Noah stayed silent.
"Anyway," Isabel said with a smile, changing the subject. "I can’t wait for Elena to be my sister-in-law officially. Maybe once you two get married, you can finally move out of this lonely bachelor penthouse and into something with warmth."
He smirked faintly. "This lonely bachelor penthouse happens to be co-owned. I paid for this place, Isa."
"Yeah, yeah, I know," she teased. "Still feels like a hotel sometimes."
He nodded. "If Elena and I do get married, we might stay here... or move. I have options. Houses, estates. It depends on what she wants."
Isabel's smile faltered just slightly at the way he said if, but she didn’t push. "Just keep her happy, okay?"
Later that afternoon, Noah made his way to the hospital. The Carter family had managed to get Mr. Richard Carter in under the pretense of a routine checkup. But the test results came back with concern: a minor heart attack had gone undiagnosed, and he needed monitoring.
When Noah entered the private room, Mr. Carter looked up from his bed and smiled broadly. "There he is. My almost-son-in-law. Come in, boy. Sit. These nurses are trying to starve me with their rabbit food."
Noah chuckled and pulled up a chair beside him. "I heard you gave the family a scare."
"Nonsense. Just a bit of chest tightness. Probably from reading the wedding bills."
Elena, who stood by the window with her arms folded, tried to stifle a smile.
Mr. Carter continued, "Listen, son. When it’s time to get married, don’t let the vendors rob you blind. A man should never spend more than $2,000 on a wedding."
"$2,000?" Elena scoffed. "Dad, you spent ten times that on my birthday party."
"That was different.You were turning twenty-five then. Big age."
Noah smiled. "I’ll keep the budget in mind."
Mr. Carter sobered slightly. "Jokes aside, Noah, I may be getting old, but I’m not blind. I see the way Elena looks at you. She believes in you. And she deserves someone who treats her like gold."
"Dad..." Elena started.
He waved her off. "Let me talk. You two young people think time is forever. It isn’t. So promise me, Noah. Promise me you’ll take care of my daughter."
Noah looked at him. Then at Elena. His voice was steady. "As long as she’ll have me, I will protect her."
Their eyes met.
Something tender passed between them.
They were walking out of the hospital when the package arrived.
A courier approached them in the hospital parking lot. "Mr. Blake? Delivery for you. Signature required."
Noah accepted it, signing quickly. The parcel was slim, wrapped in deep grey paper. The name on the return label read: Brielle Lawson.
Elena noticed instantly. Her hand that had been resting lightly against his arm dropped.
"What’s she sending you now?"
Noah glanced at her. "It’s not what you think."
"Noah..."
"Elena," he said firmly. "I’m being professional. That’s all."
She looked at him for a long moment. "Does she know that?"
Noah didn’t reply.
They got into the car.
For a few minutes, silence reigned.
Then Elena said, "How long are we going to keep this up? Pretending? Smiling for photos? Faking the easy love?"
He glanced at her. "I don’t know."
"Because I don’t know how to separate the act from reality anymore. And I hate that someone else is getting parts of you I thought were reserved for us."
Noah reached for her hand. "Let me handle this. Trust me."
She didn’t pull away. But she didn’t hold tighter either.
That night, in another part of the city, Brielle sat alone in her small apartment, staring at a worn photo in her hand.
The boy in the image was no older than a year. Bright smile. Chubby cheeks.
Her son.
Gone.
The memory hit like a punch to the stomach. She had trusted the wrong man. The father of her child. He had hurt her in every possible way. And the worst of it all?
One night, in a rage, he pushed her against her son and slammed the door like nothing happened, he left them bleeding. The crash was ruled an accident. But she would never forget the way he looked at her before slamming the door. Like her pain was a game to him.
Now, justice was the only thing left.
She heard a knock.
Noah entered, briefcase in hand. He looked tired.
"You sent something to my penthouse."
She nodded. "I wanted to share the file we talked about. The documents."
Noah hesitated. "Brielle... you can email those."
She looked down. "I know. I just... wanted to feel human again."
He sat. "Tell me. About him. Your son."
She closed her eyes. And then she spoke. Broken. Honest. Sharp with grief.
When she finished, she whispered, "I just want him to rot. I want him to feel what it means to lose everything."
Noah nodded slowly. "Then we fight."
And she smiled. Just barely.
Back at the penthouse, Elena watched the skyline.
She knew something had shifted. The roles were blurring. The heart was demanding clarity. And the charade?
It was becoming all too real.
But so was the pain.
- Writer
