Mag-log in(Elara's POV)
My head pounded like a drum as sunlight stabbed through the curtains. I groaned, rolling over, my mouth dry as sandpaper. The bed felt too stiff, and floral. These are not my penthouse sheets. I blinked hard, squinting at the room. Pastel walls, photos of me and Jane from college pinned up everywhere. What the hell I'm I doing in Jane's apartment? My heart raced, confusion mixing with the hangover fog. I sat up slowly, the room spinning like a bad carnival ride. My skirt was wrinkled badly, twisted around my thighs. Blouse half-untucked, buttons missing one. "Jane?" My voice came out croaky, barely a whisper. Footsteps padded fast from the kitchen, getting louder. Jane burst in, her short brown hair messy and sticking up, her eyes wide with worry. She was in old gray sweats, holding a steaming mug of tea in both hands. "Elara! Oh my God, you're awake." She rushed over quickly, sitting on the bed edge, pulling me into a tight hug right away. Her arms wrapped warm around me, smelling like vanilla. "You scared me to death last night, girl…….. what's up, I don't think I've ever seen you the way I saw you last night." I hugged back weak, my head throbbing with every heartbeat. "How... How did I get here? The last thing I remember is the bar, and that strange man leaving." She pulled back slowly, her hands still gripping my arms. Her brow furrowed deep as she stared at me. "Bar?" she said, her voice low and serious. "Listen, around 1 a.m., my old neighbor Mrs. Lopez called me." Her eyes stayed sharp. "She said she saw you stumbling down the street, drunk out of your mind. You fell hard on the sidewalk and just passed out under a streetlight." She shook her head. "Mrs. Lopez yelled your name, but you barely responded, like you were dying. The moment she came home and told me, I jumped in my car and tore through red lights to get to you." Her voice softened a little. "You were out cold, muttering 'James' over and over. I carried you inside myself. Girl, you’re so thin now. What’s going on?" I rubbed my temples hard, shame burning my cheeks hot. "Shit. I'm so sorry, Jane. I... I didn't mean to drag you into this mess. God, I'm such an idiot." "Stop that right now." Jane cut me off sharp, handing me the tea mug. Her voice was firm but kind. "Drink this. It's ginger, it helps the nausea. Now, what happened? You look like absolute hell." The tea warmed my cold hands, steam rising soft, but my chest tightened. Tears rolled down my eyes already, hot and ready. I set the mug down on the nightstand with shaking fingers, my voice cracking. "It's James..... I caught him with Mel, my stepsister on our bed." The words stuck in my throat like glass, and sobs hit hard, deep from my gut. I buried my face in my hands, my shoulders shaking bad, and tears soaking my palms. "The funny thing is, he didn't even stop fucking her……he just…turned his head, smirked at me like i was a joke.” “He then gave me divorce papers right there on the floor., and kicked me out. After everything I did for him... after everything…. everything Jane." Jane's face went red instantly, jaw clenched tight. She jumped up from the bed, pacing the small room fast, fists balled. "That piece of crap! I always knew James was trash. Always! Remember I told you from day one? The way he looked at other women, and Mel? That sneaky snake. Family or not, she's a straight-up bitch. I should've ripped her hair out years ago." I cried harder, snot mixing with tears, running down my chin. I wiped my face rough on the sheet, but more came. "I know. I know you're right. But... God, Jane, I miss him. So bad it hurts right here." I clutched my chest, the sobs shaking my body. Each breath came ragged and hard, my whole chest rising and falling. "Even after... after everything—" My voice cracked. "He treated me like dirt. Backhanded me, yelled, cheated. I keep wishing I could go back, beg him on my knees. Fix it all. Be his wife one more time." A shaky breath escaped me. "I love him, Jane. I still do. I can’t stop... I’m nothing without him." "What the fuck are you talking about, Elara? Go back to who? After he fucked your stepsister in your own damn bed? Gave you papers like you're yesterday's trash? Treated you like garbage once he sucked you dry?" I nodded fast, sniffling loud, tears dripping steady on my lap. "I know it's stupid. So stupid. But... without him, I'm lost, I'm empty…….. it's not easy to let someone go just like that Jane." "No!" Jane yelled, voice sharp as a knife. She grabbed my shoulders gently but firmly. She shook me slightly, forcing me to look up. Her eyes were sharp, full of anger and pain. "Listen to me." She took a deep breath, voice steady but harsh. "He used you up. Took your money, your life, your soul, and threw you away like you were nothing." She stepped closer, voice dropping low. "Do you remember how many times I warned you? Don't give him the inheritance, Elara. Don't sign over Voss Enterprises. But You never listened." Tears streamed down my face while she spoke. Her words cut deep. "'He's my first love, Jane…….I was blinded by love." She pulled back, arms crossed, watching me crumble. "And now you sit here crying for that piece of shit?" Her words stabbed deep, twisting in my heart. I rocked back and forth on the bed, sobs turning ugly and loud, face all twisted. "I was wrong…..so wrong. I was so blind, I loved him with everything, I gave him my whole life. And now... nothing left. Nothing." We sat quiet for a long beat, my cries echoing off the walls, filling the whole room. Then my stomach flipped hard, twisted like a knife inside. Acid rose fast, burning hot up my throat. "Oh God—" Panic hit, my eyes wide. I bolted off the bed, crashing against the wall as I stumbled toward the bathroom. I dropped to my knees on the cold tile hard, the impact jarring my bones. I threw up hard whiskey, and chunks of that burger from last night, splashing into the toilet. My stomach clenched tight like a fist, forcing wave after wave out. I clutched the seat so hard my nails scraped the porcelain. Tears streamed down my face, mixing with the mess. I gasped again, that burning in my throat making me gag. Snot bubbled out of my nose. I muttered, “Fuck,” ribs hurting from the force. Cold sweat ran down my forehead and neck It finally slowed, only shaky spasms rocking my body. My throat felt raw and torn. I tried to heave again, but only in pain. My vision blurred and darkened at the edges. I whimpered with my forehead pressed to the toilet rim, tears falling into the mess. Minutes or maybe hours passed. My body just shook from the burn and the ache inside. When it was over, I coughed weakly and slumped against the tub. My chest heaved, skin pale and clammy. Jane knocked soft on the door, voice shaking with worry. "Elara? You okay in there?" I flushed the toilet, slumped heavy against the tub, wiping my mouth with a shaking hand. "No. Fuck, I can't breathe properly." She pushed the door open slowly, knelt right beside me on the tile, hand gentle on my back. Rubbed slow circles, up and down. "You sick? Flu or something? Talk to me." I shook my head side to side, breaths coming ragged and short. "I don't know, I've been throwing up... for three days now. It started last Monday, I thought it was just stress." Jane's eyes narrowed sharp. She helped me up slowly, her arm around my waist strong. She stared at me hard in the mirror, face all serious and pale. "Three days straight? Every morning? Elara... you pregnant?" I spun around, anger boiling through the haze. “Pregnant? Are you serious right now?” I pushed her hands away sharply, my voice jumping loud. “You know damn well we’ve tried everything to get me pregnant, years of trying.” I swallowed hard. “Pills that made me bleed for weeks. Shots that made me swell up like a damn cow. My hormones turning me into a crazy monster.” My voice cracked. “James blamed me every time it failed. He even called me barren right to my face. ‘Barren Elara.’” My chest tightened. “I’m broken……that’s what I am.” I stared at her, voice low but fierce. “Don’t you dare say that shit now like it’s some kind of joke.” Jane didn’t flinch. She stood her ground, calm but steady like a rock. “Elara, stop yelling,” she said quietly. “I know everything. I was there every step of the way.” Her eyes softened. “I held your hand through every needle, every test that came back negative. I cried with you in this very bathroom, remember?” She took a breath, voice firm. “But listen to me, three days of puking like this? It could mean you’re pregnant. It could be stress, or flu, or something else really bad. You need to see a doctor. Right now.” She grabbed my arms soft but steady, eyes locked right on mine. "Even if you're not pregnant, you're sick as hell. Throwing up every morning nonstop like this is bad, you need to do a full body check up." I slumped heavily against the sink, fighting draining out slowly. Tears rolled silent down my cheeks. "Fine!!! I'll go, but I know it's just stress..that's all." Jane nodded quickly, pulling me into a warm hug tight. "We'll see what the doc say." I nodded into her shoulder, my heart heavy. Barren. Broken. Now this puking hell? What next? God, what comes next?(Elara's POV)The darkness of the carriage house was not merely an absence of light. It was a physical weight pressing against my eardrums as the hum of the high end servers died a sudden violent death. When Peter cut the power the silence that rushed in was deafening. It was broken only by the rhythmic mechanical hiss and click of Silas's portable ventilator. The sound echoed like the breathing of a wounded beast hidden in the corner of the room."Peter the gurney now," I whispered. My voice felt small against the backdrop of the encroaching storm.Outside the world was no longer peaceful. The Heights with its manicured lawns and silent streetlights had betrayed us. I could hear the gravel of the driveway crunching under tires that were not trying to be quiet. These were not scouts. They were a recovery team."I cannot just yank the leads Elara." Peter's voice was a frantic jagged edge in the dark. I could see the pale
(Elara's POV)The carriage house was a relic of a different era, all dark oak beams, smelling of linseed oil and the cold, damp scent of sleeping stone. It was a fortress disguised as a family heirloom.While Charles and Peter worked with the grim efficiency of soldiers to move Silas into the ground-floor suite, I stood in the center of the room, my hands still vibrating from the adrenaline of the chase. The silence here was different than the silence of the clinic. In the clinic, the quiet was manufactured, sterilized. Here, the silence felt heavy, layered with the ghosts of my own childhood and the encroaching reality that we were now officially fugitives."He's stable," Peter called out, his voice echoing slightly off the high ceilings. He was hovering over the monitors he'd just patched into the house's backup generator. "The transport didn't tank his stats as much as I feared. His heart rate is hovering at 62.
(Elara's POV)The transition from the clinic to the van was not the clean, clinical extraction I had imagined. It was a desperate, fumbling heist where the cargo was the man I loved.The hallway of the private wing felt a mile long. Charles and Mercer moved with a synchronized, predatory grace, flanking the gurney while Peter trailed behind, his eyes glued to a tablet that showed the clinic’s security feed in grainy thermal patches. I walked at Silas’s side, my hand resting on the railing of the bed, feeling every vibration of the rubber wheels against the linoleum.He looked so small. Without the grand mahogany desk of his office or the tailored lines of his charcoal suits, Silas was just a collection of sharp bones and pale skin. The portable ventilator hissed—a rhythmic, mechanical sigh that felt like the only thing keeping the world from collapsing in on itself."Clear," Mercer whispered into a headset.W
(Elara's POV)The clinic was too quiet. Not the peaceful kind of quiet, but the heavy, pressurized stillness of a tomb. The only thing breaking it was the hum of the air filter and the rhythmic, hollow beep of Silas’s heart monitor.Morning light cut through the blinds in sharp, golden slats, but it didn't make the room feel any warmer. My neck was a knotted mess from sleeping in that rigid chair, and my eyes felt like someone had rubbed sand into them.Peter was hunched over a laptop in the corner, his face washed in a sickly blue light. He hadn't muttered a word in an hour. By the window, Charles stood like a gargoyle, arms crossed, staring down at the parking lot. He was waiting for the world to break.Mercer was a shadow behind the door—always there, always silent.The vibration of my phone on the plastic nightstand felt like a physical jolt. I didn't recognize the number. I let it buzz a few time
(Elena's POV)The silence after Silas slept again was different. It was not the quiet of waiting. It was the quiet of a decision made. The air felt charged, like the moment before a lightning strike.Charles moved first. He picked up the gray ledger from the side table with precise movements. He flipped it open to Thorne’s page, his eyes scanning the cold, clinical text."Lycos Holdings. Starling Trust. Mako Ltd."He read the names of the shell companies like a judge reading a verdict."The audit trail for Lycos is the thinnest. It is the most exposed. He will have the least time to move or hide it."He looked at me. The question was not in his words, but in his eyes. He was asking if I was ready.My husband’s hand was still in mine, warm and slack. He had woken up a stranger and handed me the sword. If I hesitated now, the man who did this to him won. The woman who manipulated my father won. My pathetic and
(Elara's POV)The clock on the wall didn’t tick.It bled.167:59:02.One hundred and sixty-seven hours.Peter had spoken those digits with a cold, technical reverence. He sounded like he was reading the remaining runtime on a battery. To him, it was a data point. To me, it was the sound of a coffin lid being nailed shut. One second at a time.I sat in that plastic chair until my body felt like it was made of glass.Every joint ached.My spine felt fused to the seat.I had been in this room so long that the smell of antiseptic and old coffee had become my new skin. It was a sour scent. It was a smell of waiting and decay. I was beyond tired. I was hollow. I was a ghost waiting for a body to wake up.A week.In a week, Marcus Thorne would find us.In a week, the empire Silas built would crumble into ash.I looked at the man in the bed.He looked so small under the white sheets.This was the man who moved mountains.This was the man w







