Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Elena stepped out of the shower with a towel wrapped around her body, her damp hair caught in another towel. She thought she should feel guilty for having dinner with him—and for desiring her own boss. Maybe even ashamed. But she felt none of that.

There was no mistake.

He had no commitments. Neither did she. They were both adults, free, aware of what they were doing. And the age difference? A crooked smile touched her lips.

To hell with age.

She walked to the mirror, dropped the towel, and stood there for a few seconds, staring at her own reflection.

She put on a light nightgown and lay down on the bed, but sleep didn’t come right away. The memory of Mark’s gaze kept returning. The way he said her name. How he made her feel seen… desired.

She turned onto her side, sighing softly.

Maybe that dinner had only been the beginning.

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The next day, Elena arrived at the company expecting just another ordinary day. She looked around as she walked in, but something felt off.

There was no usual buzz, no low laughter, no constant ringing of phones. People moved slowly, heads down, some with red, swollen eyes.

A knot formed in her stomach.

She approached the reception desk, her heart beginning to race.

“What’s going on?” she asked softly, her voice filled with concern.

The receptionist raised her puffy eyes and took a deep breath before answering.

“You didn’t hear?” She paused. “Ah… our boss passed away.”

The world seemed to shake.

“What?” she whispered. “No… that’s not possible.”

“Yes,” the woman confirmed, shaking her head, visibly shaken. “It’s hard to believe. But Mr. Mark had a heart attack last night.”

Elena placed a hand on the counter to steady herself.

A heart attack? Last night?

The memory of the dinner, the calm smile, the steady voice saying her name. He had been fine. He had been there. Alive. Present.

“The company opened just to inform everyone,” the receptionist continued. “We’ll be closing shortly after. The wake will be at ten in the morning… and the burial at noon.”

“I can’t believe it…” Elena murmured, feeling her eyes burn.

Someone passed by her crying. Another employee hugged a colleague in the hallway, trying to offer comfort that seemed insufficient.

Elena felt her throat tighten.

“Who… who will take his place?” she asked, still unable to believe what she had heard.

The receptionist took a deep breath before answering.

“He has children. Actually, twins, from what I’ve heard. The son will take charge of everything.”

Elena nodded slowly, as if the movement might organize the thoughts spinning chaotically in her mind. She thanked her softly and went to her office. She didn’t work. She just sat there, staring into nothingness, waiting for the time to pass.

She took the address of the wake, wrote it down carefully—as if it were something sacred—and promised herself she would go. She couldn’t miss it.

At nine thirty, she left the company.

She got into her car, entered the address into the GPS, and drove in silence.

At ten oh five, she passed through the gates of the cemetery.

She parked farther away and walked slowly, feeling a strange weight in her chest. The sky was far too clear for a day like that. Unfairly beautiful.

The wake room was enormous, elegant, filled with wreaths of flowers and well-dressed people. Some spoke in hushed voices; others cried openly.

Elena walked among them, feeling out of place and small. When she finally approached the coffin, her heart nearly stopped. There he was.

Mark Darkmoor looked… far too serene. His face calm, his strong features intact, as if he were merely asleep. There was no stiffness, none of the extreme pallor she had expected.

It was as if death had been far too gentle.

A shiver ran down Elena’s spine.

“No…” she murmured sadly.

She stepped back slightly from the coffin, and that was when she felt the air change. The murmur of people around her seemed distant, muffled. Then she sensed the scent. She inhaled deeply… and froze.

Her heart raced.

“Elena Lancaster?”

The male voice sounded far too close. She turned slowly.

The man in front of her was tall, wearing a dark suit perfectly tailored to his young, strong body. His face… far too handsome. Striking features, a firm jaw, dark, attentive eyes, as if they saw beyond what she showed.

“Yes…” she answered, confused.

He extended his hand.

“Vlad Darkmoor. Mark’s son.”

His fingers touched hers. It was enough.

A shock ran through her body. The scent grew stronger. The same scent from the night she couldn’t remember. From the kiss that felt like a dream. From the desire that still burned on her skin without explanation.

She pulled her hand back without realizing it.

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” she said, trying to keep her composure.

Vlad tilted his head slightly, observing every microexpression.

“Thank you for coming. My father… spoke very highly of you.”

She swallowed hard.

“He was… an extraordinary man.”

“He was,” he agreed, stepping a little closer. “And he had refined taste in people.”

The comment made her blush, without understanding why. She looked away.

“I’m sorry… this may sound strange, but…” she hesitated. “I feel like I already know you.”

His eyes gleamed for an instant.

“Sometimes,” he said softly, “souls recognize each other before memory does.”

A shiver ran down her spine.

She looked at him again.

“Your scent…” it slipped out before she could stop herself. “It reminds me of someone.”

Vlad took a deep breath.

“That doesn’t surprise me. Some things… cross time.”

Before she could say anything else, someone approached to greet him. Vlad stepped back one pace, but not before giving her one last look.

“We’ll talk again, Elena Lancaster,” he murmured.

Elena remained there, motionless, with the strange certainty that she had just met someone who was already a part of her.

And that terrified her… as much as it drew her in.

Vlad moved a few steps away, blending in with the guests at the wake, but his senses were not there.

The world had narrowed to a single presence.

Elena.

Her scent cut through the heavy air of the room. Living blood beneath the skin, warm and pulsing. Calling to him. Each beat of her heart echoed in his mind.

He clenched his jaw.

“Control yourself,” he thought.

It was a wake. A damn wake. The body in the coffin had been his. The human mask still had to be maintained.

Vlad took a deep breath, but it was a grave mistake.

The aroma intensified. Clean. Recent. Mixed with her slight nervousness.

His canines pressed against the inside of his lower lip.

“Breathe,” he murmured to himself, almost inaudibly.

He looked away, focusing on random faces, empty conversations, anything that wasn’t her. But the body did not obey as easily as the mind.

She feels you. She reacts. She is yours…

Vlad closed his eyes for a brief second. He saw flashes: the seaside room, her lips parted, the moan when her body reacted to his. He felt again the weight of desire that had almost made him cross the line that night.

“Not now…” he whispered.

He opened his eyes in time to see her look in his direction.

Elena.

Her eyes searched for him in the middle of the crowd without her realizing it. There was confusion in them…

Her heart sped up.

He heard it.

Instinct roared, demanding that he approach her, touch her, mark her.

His fingers curled into fists to try to maintain control.

“Mr. Darkmoor?” someone called him.