Elijah rose from the long obsidian dining table, dabbing the corners of his mouth with a silk napkin, his movements elegant—like a man used to power and silence in equal measure. The golden chandelier above glinted off the silverware, but the room was cold, still. The kind of stillness that came when something was about to break. A soft knock, then footsteps. Sienna stepped in, head bowed respectfully. Her slate-gray uniform hugged her slender figure, and her heels clicked softly on the marble as she approached. “Master Quinn,” she greeted with a quiet reverence. Elijah turned, his expression unreadable. “Sienna,” he said smoothly. “Have you been keeping an eye on the assignment?” She lifted her gaze, nodding once. “Yes, sir.” Elijah circled the table, his hands clasped behind his back, tone cool. “And what about Valeria? Where did she go?” Sienna opened her mouth to answer— But he didn’t wait. He waved her off, muttering to himself as he stared at the floor with a growing s

Instead, he pulled something from his pocket—discharge documents, folded neatly. He set them on the table beside her bed.“I’ve settled everything,” he said. “The bills. The paperwork. Once the doctor clears you, you’re going home.”She stared at the wall, trying not to let him see the way her eyes burned.Elijah paused at the door.“For your own sake, Valeria… stop chasing ghosts.”Then he left.The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Valeria with the hum of machines—and the cold realization that while Elijah’s mouth said one thing…The hallway outside Valeria’s room was long and quiet, lined with lights and the soft buzz of machines echoing behind closed doors.Elijah walked , every step echoing against the tiles, the hem of his coat brushing against his legs. His jaw was set, his eyes forward, but something tight lingered in the way his hand curled into a fist.His phone buzzed.Sienna.He answered without slowing down. “Talk to me.”Sienna’s voice came through, brisk and clear.

The dining table gleamed, spotless and cold. Valeria placed the final plate down—toast bread, golden brown, with fried eggs delicately placed on the side. A cup of lemon coffee steamed beside it. The scent should’ve been inviting. But all she felt was emptiness. She set a cover over the food. He won’t be back soon, she told herself. Why should I care? A dull throb hit her burnt arm. She sat on the nearest dining chair, exhaling deeply. Her head tilted back, eyes resting on the chandelier above. “Why does he still come back?” she muttered. “If he doesn’t care... why keep showing up?” Ding-dong. Her heart skipped. She jerked upright. “Elijah?” she whispered. She rushed to the door, wiped her hands quickly on her blouse, and opened it— And froze. There he was. Elijah. Holding a bouquet of white roses. For a single second, everything paused. Was it…for her? But before the moment could grow into hope, a silken voice broke the air like a crack of thunder. “It’s cold

The scalding water pounded Valeria’s back as she stood in the marble shower, arms pressed against the slick tile wall, breathing like someone drowning in air. Her palms slapped the wall once—twice—then harder. Bang. Bang. Her body trembled under the stream as she scrubbed her arms, her neck, her chest—as if she could wash the shame away. But it was still there. The screen. The confession. The crowd. It happened. It actually happened. “Elijah…” she whispered under her breath, teeth clenched. “You planned it all…” Her mind reeled. Langston Corp had dropped her. Every headline had her name in quotes—Valeria Langston, the woman who stole empires and fooled many. Board members cut her off. Partners ghosted her. And worst of all—stock prices fell like blood down white marble steps. And yet, what cut deepest… was knowing it all came because of him. Becaue of Elijah. He had secretly built her. Molded her. And now? He had dismantled her. Like she’s some kind of his puppet. V

The morning sun poured over the horizon like liquid gold, splashing across the surface of the rooftop infinity pool perched high above the thirty-second floor of The Crest Royale. The water glistened—a shade of deep blue that mirrored the sky above, while beneath the surface, the transparent glass floor offered a dizzying view of the bustling city far, far below. Elijah reclined in the pool, his sculpted chest gleaming with sunlit beads of water, abs rising and falling with each lazy breath. A pair of security guards stood silently at the marble pillars flanking the entrance, their black suits crisp, earpieces flashing in the light. None spoke. None moved. No one disturbed Elijah Quinn unless they had a damn good reason. He slid on his sleek black sunglasses and tilted his head back, soaking in the heat, arms stretched across the pool’s edge like he owned the sky. Until— Tap. Tap. A soft footfall. Then a maid approached, dressed in white and gold, carrying a custom tray—no