INICIAR SESIÓNThe whole penthouse is quiet. It’s not the calm, peaceful kind of silence. But rather, a strange one—one that leaves me sitting with my thoughts for longer than I intend to. I’m standing beside the kitchen island with my phone in my hand, staring down at the untouched glass of water in front of me while the sound of cartoons drifts in faintly from the living room. Theo has been there for almost thirty minutes now. Since I ensured he had his bath and changed into one of the clothes Nathaniel got him, he requested to put on cartoon in the living room, and I let him. Every now and then, though, I hear the sound of movement from the television before silence swallows the space again, and each time it happens, I have to stop myself from turning to check if he’s still there. And I have no idea why. But my thoughts won’t stop circulating around how Nathaniel treated him. And despite him telling me why, I still can’t bring myself to understand why someone would love my kid—a kid that
I wake slowly, like my body is resisting the return to awareness. For a few seconds, I don’t understand where I am at first. The ceiling above me looks very familiar, but my mind fails to recognize it, still trying to catch up to the present. And that’s when everything rushes to my mind. I suddenly remember staring at this same ceiling last night, thinking about a lot of things until Nathaniel and I eventually started speaking. I remember trying to talk to him, him getting up to leave, me still trying to reach him until he left me there. Then, every single detail of the argument that follows comes after. His confession, the woman, the blood of innocent people in his hands, and most importantly, the reason he became like this. I feel my chest tighten instantly, and I close my eyes, trying to breathe through it. I can’t be this toxic. Surely, I should be more worried about the fact that the man I’m married to has a lot of blood on his hands. But no, my mind and heart choose
I’ve been in the study for over an hour. Maybe even longer. I honestly can’t tell anymore. The glass of whiskey sitting in my hand has gone warm a long time ago, but I still haven’t finished it. I just remain there in silence, staring at nothing while the city lights beyond the windows from behind me blur together. My mind should be on the past. On her. On the things I said tonight that I swore I would never say to another living person again. But somehow, that’s not what keeps replaying in my head. It’s Elara. My mind is stuck on the way her breathing turned uneven as I spoke, the tears in her eyes, the way she held onto the door like her body could no longer carry her weight, and — I shut my eyes briefly and lean back against the chair, not allowing the thoughts to continue. Fuck. I’ve seen people cry before. I’ve seen people break. Hell, I’ve caused it more times than I can count. So why the fuck is this affecting me this much? Another image of a tear rolling down El
I don’t realize when I reach for the door behind me, holding onto it so I don’t fall. My knees can no longer hold me, my fingers are shaky, body taut, heart racing so fast I fear it might jump out of its ribcage, and even inside my body feels hot, like I’m catching on fire from within. And Nathaniel’s words won’t stop playing in my mind again and again. He had someone he loved. Someone he loved so deeply, her death has something to do with how he is now. Another tear rolls down my cheek at the thought, followed by another, and I watch as a look of worry flashes in Nathaniel’s eye, his jaw clenching. He’s worried. But is it about me? For me? As if he can read my mind, he takes a step towards me, but I put a hand out to stop him. “Elara—“ I shake my head, cutting him off. Crazy because I still want to know. Want to know about the woman who carved herself deep into his heart that he hates his own family for her. And why I want to know is beyond me. I have no idea why I
The moment the words leave Nathaniel’s mouth, the breath swooshes out of my throat. My hearts thumps wildly in my chest, pulse roaring in my eyes. What? A murderer? Is this a joke? I expect him to take back the words. To say he’d just said it in the heat of the moment. However, he doesn’t. If anything, he repeats it. “I’m a murderer.” For a second again, I think he will shut down again. I think he’ll turn away and rebuild whatever wall he hides behind and leave me standing here with nothing but that. But he doesn’t. He exhales slowly, dragging a hand over his face like he’s already tired of it — of me, of this, of whatever he just let slip. Like he even regrets saying it. Calling himself a murderer. What does he mean? I open my mouth to speak, to say something— anything — but nothing comes out. So, I snap it back shut and blink back the tears I realize is blurring my eyes, letting him speak. He’s not even looking at me like he’s in control anymore. He seems
I don’t wait for a second go pass before pushing myself up. Nathaniel already has his cock tucked back into his trouser, shoulders stiff as he makes his way back to the bed when I do that. Then, before I can even stop myself, I blurt out, “So this is how you deal with problems? This is your solution?” He stops, but doesn’t turn. He only tilts his head to the side slightly, looking at me from the corner of his eyes. “Drop it, Elara.” My chest tightens at the dismissal, and I almost let out a laugh. However, I keep my face straight when I reply. “No.” I watch as something flashes across his face, but it disappears almost immediately. His mouth opens as if he wants to speak, but he decides against it and turns again, his fists clenching beside him. I step closer to him. “You were about to say something, no?” When he says nothing, I add, “what was it?” Again, he doesn’t say anything. And that’s when the anger bubbling inside me rushes, surging through my veins. “If you knew you w
“Adrian has been granted bail.”The moment the words reach my ears, I freeze for a second, the kitchen cabinet door staying open in my hand. At first, I don’t turn. I just stand there, staring at the row of mugs like I’ve forgotten what I came here for.Then I do.The movement is too quick that my
I can’t take my eyes off Nathaniel. His hands are slipped into his pants pockets, his calm gaze fixed on Adrian, and before any of us can say a word, he begins to walk toward us slowly.The moment he stops right beside me, the warmth from his figure making the air feel suddenly heavy, he meets Adr
The elevator is quiet. It’s not that empty kind of quietness, but rather the type that presses in uncomfortably, settles under your skin, and makes you aware of things you would rather ignore. Like how close to me Nathaniel Hale Monroe is standing. He’s not touching me though, but he’s not standi
The station feels colder than I expect it to be. Not only in temperature, but also in feeling. It’s obvious that in a place like this, you have no one to save you, and the chilling, frightening atmosphere of the building is a proof of that. It’s late in the evening, and just as the lawyer said ea







