Chapter 23

Eliora's POV

I sat on the cold stone bench, the bright orange Cheetos packet crinkling nervously in my hands. The fight with Tonia had provided a release, but Zoey's sharp gaze immediately replaced the physical shock with emotional anxiety.

“What do you mean?” I asked, avoiding her gaze, suddenly finding the packaging of the Cheetos pack very intriguing, tracing the ridges of the plastic with my thumb.

“I saw the fear in your eyes when I saw you,” she said, her eyes narrowing into two scrutinizing glasses. I could hear a slight judgment in her tone, the kind of knowing tone only a best friend could use.

"When I rushed in, you were pale, panicked, and looked like you could pass out any minute. Those dry streaks of tears, Eli— weren't just because you were shaken up."

I breathed out exasperatedly, forcing a wave of cold denial over myself. “I don't know what you are talking about, Zoey. Anybody would be shaken up if they saw their business partner lying lifeless on the floor of his office. It was a massive shock. It’s called human decency.”

“Oh, decency? Since when, Eliora?” Zoey chuckled, a dry sound. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees.

I froze, the Cheetos bag still in my hand. I stared at the bright orange dust on my fingers. Did she notice anything? What if she fixes the puzzle together and figures out what I'm hiding from her?

Zoey is already doing so much for me. I can't let her find out about this, at least not yet until I get a hold of what is really happening.

If she does, she might just as well end up neglecting herself in the process.

“Wait!” She yelled, and my heart stopped for a moment.

“So he is a business partner now?” A small smirk played on her lips, and her eyes shone with mischief. “That is so fast, Eli. I didn't know we've gotten to that level yet,” she said, trying to keep a poker face, but a smile broke through, spoiling her facade.

I opened my mouth to say something, but nothing came out. So instead, I huffed. "That's it. I'm leaving." I sprang up to my feet.

“Hey, hey.. take a chill pill, okay?” Zoey quickly gathered her Fritos packet and her bag, rushing to follow me.

But I was already halfway out of the courtyard and toward the street.

“Eli, wait for me.” She said, now laughing, knowing she had won.

....

The drive home was silent. My mind was everywhere at this same time and yet nowhere. I couldn't piece anything together. Zoey, on the other hand, seemed to be deep in her thoughts.

I sighed deeply, leaning my head on the car window. The fear of what I had seen—the pale face, the blood, the photos—combined with the crushing weight of Tonia’s words, made the silence necessary.

Once inside the apartment, the first thing I did was check on Ezra. Margaret confirmed he was asleep, oblivious to the terror that had just unfolded. Seeing his crib, seeing his tiny stuffed elephant, was the only thing that allowed me to breathe again.

Finally, I got alone in my room. I locked the door and walked to my vanity table, pulling the damning contents from my coat pocket.

I spread out the letter and photos on my vanity table. The paper was stiff, the bold lettering demanding attention.

“Just a warning. But honestly, you two look good together. I wonder what the press would think about this.”

I ran my fingers over the edges of the glossy photos, then ran my hands through my hair.

This wasn't photoshopped. They weren't blurry cell phone snaps; they were clear, high-resolution pictures, taken with a serious camera. The clarity of the image showing my raised hand before the slap was chilling. Someone hadn't just been there; someone had been waiting for a breakdown.

I brought out my phone and opened up the Anonymous chat—the texts I had been receiving since Kian reappeared, filled with vague threats and warnings about Ezra.

What are the chances that they are from the same person? I stared at what was laid in front of me: the text warning about Ezra, the attack in Kian's office, and the note threatening media exposure.

The messages were about controlling the narrative; the attack was about inflicting fear. But the goal was identical: to ruin Kian using me. By using means exposing all my secrets, and by exposing my secrets means hurting Kian, because for some reasons, my secrets are tied to Kian and his reputation.

“God damn it!”

I picked up the note again, re-reading the line: "you two look good together.”

This wasn't a business rival trying to kill Kian for money. This person is trying to get revenge on Kian, and what's worse is that, knows I and Kian's past all too well, and I am being used, in one way or another, as a tool to bring Kian down.

What could Kian have done? And who could this be?

Kian mentioned it was an old friend of his father, right? I closed my eyes tight, trying to recall anyone or person close to Mr. Donovan, but nothing.

I breathed out sharply, feeling a familiar pang in my headache.

I paced my room, the adrenaline making my thoughts race. I realized with a cold certainty: the only way to track someone who was obsessed with Kian and me was to be right there, in the middle of their obsession.

I stopped pacing and walked back to the vanity table, looking at my reflection—the fear was gone, replaced by a ruthless resolve.

I have to get closer to Kian to know what's up. That's the only way I can truly protect Ezra.

It was a terrible, desperate gamble, but I had to insert myself back into Kian’s world. Only by becoming the central focus of the stalker could I understand their game and shut it down before they exposed the ultimate truth: Ezra.