8. Research or stalking?

ELOWEN

The engine's subtle drone filled the silence. City lights pierced the tinted glass, casting a shimmering effect across Alexander Veyrek's defined features.

He didn't say anything. Didn't budge. Just sat there—quiet, calm, like the kind of guy who makes silence really intense.

I, on the other hand, was unraveling.

My palms were damp. My pulse still raced from the flashbulbs. My face felt hot, raw. I wanted to claw off my own skin just to stop feeling.

And those words of his—bothering me to the core. Finally, I snapped…

“Why do you care?” My voice cut through the quiet, bitter and trembling. “Another charity case for your billionaire boredom?” I was too bitter to even care.

His gaze slid to me, slow, piercing. “If I didn’t,” he said softly, “you’d be tomorrow’s headline under a morgue sheet.”

The words struck hard — not because of the threat, but because they were true.

I scoffed, trying to hide the ache under sarcasm. “So you rescued me for your own entertainment, then?”

“No,” he said, voice low and steady, “because you looked like someone who wouldn’t survive another punch from the world tonight.”

That… silenced me. I hate to admit it, but it's the cruel truth of my life...

The car just cruised down the highway. Outside, the city was a blur — neon lights, rain-covered windows, a bunch of people who didn't even know my world was falling apart.

Inside, it was just us. One was unbothered about the world, and me?—Well, do I even need to say the tragedy? I don’t think so!

Alexander reached into his jacket and held out a white handkerchief toward me.

I didn’t move, only stared at it.

“Still proud while bleeding?” His lips curved, barely a smile. “Impressive.”

“Go to hell.” I fumed.

“I live there, tempest,” he murmured, gaze locked on mine. “Want a tour?” His lips raised to a sly sneer that only irritated me more!

My breath hitched. That damn smirk — the kind that made you hate yourself for reacting.

Damn this man!

I turned away, glaring at the passing lights as though they're the reason for my misery. “Everything is fun to you?”

“I think it’s predictable,” he replied, his tone still light, almost careless. “They destroy what they can't handle. You gave them your name with all your feelings attached. They just set it on fire.”

“Stop acting like you understand me.” I hissed out. Hating the fact that a man like him is advising me, and hell he is right!

He leaned slightly closer, his scent—smoke and cedar, suddenly too close to me. wrapping around me like a poison I want to defy, but can't. “I don’t have to understand you to see you burning…”

I clenched my jaw, my pulse quickened yet I didn't move. Instead, staring out the window until the tension in my chest threatened to crack my ribs.

“Just—drop me home.” I muttered and fell silent…

——————

When the car finally slowed, I expected my apartment building. Instead, the sleek black vehicle stopped before a glass tower that sliced the night sky — Veyrek Tower.

My spine stiffened, my head snapped at him. “I said drop me home.”

He didn’t even budge. “You want your home swarmed by vultures again?” He tilted his head toward the tinted window, where I caught sight of a few camera flashes even here. “I did you a favour, tempest.”

“A favour?” I barked a bitter laugh. “Dragging me into your building? You think I owe you now? You're just igniting the fire more.” I almost hissed.

His lips twitched. “You already do.”

Before I could argue, the door opened. A uniformed man stepped forward, wordlessly holding an umbrella. Alexander exited first, every movement deliberate, controlled and severely calculated. When I didn’t follow, he simply looked over his shoulder.

“Are you coming, or do you prefer the cameras?”

Damn him!

With a sharp exhale, I stepped out.

The lobby inside was made with marble. Everything gleamed with luxury, all cold and perfect. Just like him.

“Mr. Veyrek—” the receptionist started, but he raised a hand, immediately shutting her up.

She lowered her head as though she just met her king.

He guided me into a private elevator. The doors closed and in the small space the air between us tightened, again.

By the time the elevator opened into his penthouse, my nerves were strung thin.

The place was a contradiction of modern and dark structures, alive with firelight and city glow. A decanter gleamed on the bar. He poured himself a drink, then offered one to me.

“No, thanks.” I refused.

“Still refusing help,” he said dryly. “At least you’re consistent.”

I folded my arms, ignoring the ache in my throat. “Why am I here?”

He took a sip before replying. “Because you need to be.”

That made me snap again. “You don’t get to decide what I need.”

His eyes flicked up, cold and almost unreadable. “Maybe. But I’m offering what you can’t get anywhere else.”

“And what’s that?”

He reached into his briefcase and slid a black folder across the glass table toward me… “A lifeline.”

I hesitated, then opened it, only to be stiffened.

Business proposal. Investment details. My designs — my sketches.

“How—where did you—?” I was stunned. How is this bloody possible!?

“I do my research.” He cut me off.

My pulse jumped. “Research? This is literally stalking!”

He chuckled, sitting down on the couch, like a king and looking at me. “Don't tell me you have never done your homework before, Miss Corvella.”

I blinked and honestly he was right, reminding me of the same things as it is…

“You’re insane if you think I’ll accept money from you.” I dropped the file on the tea table.

“Not money.” His tone sharpened. “Opportunity.”

I gazed at him, confused and furious. “What?”

“Because I like watching fires rise again,” he said simply. Then, after a moment of pause, “And because you owe me.” he added.

My eyes narrowed. “Owe you for what? You barged into my life!”

He leaned back, his gaze heavy. “Correction Miss Corvella, I saved it.”

And again silence and that silence stretched long enough to hurt.

He set his glass down, then stood up, stepping closer. “You want your perfume line to survive? You want your name back? Fine. Then we rewrite the story. Together.”

“What story?” I almost gasped, taking a step back instinctively.

“The one the world’s already decided for you,” he said. “You’re not the ‘cheating wife’ anymore. You’re Elowen Corvella — an independent designer, rising entrepreneur — and the newest business partner of Alexander Veyrek.”

My stomach flipped. “You’re using me!”

His smile was slow, dangerous. “We’ll use each other. That’s how power works.”

“I’m not your pawn!” I hissed.

He stepped closer. I could feel the heat of him, the danger coiled under his calm. “Then stop letting everyone else play you.”

My breath caught, fury and shame colliding in my chest, but he didn't stop.

He lowered his voice. “You can keep crying behind locked doors while they laugh at you… or walk beside me, and let them choke on your name.”

I wanted to scream. To throw the glass. To say no. But the truth was — I was tired.

So tired of being pitied. So tired of being powerless.

“What’s in it for you, Mr. Veyrek?” Finally, I asked.

He smiled faintly. “You’ll find out when I’m done…’

The silence stretched between us again. My mind was a mess, but not too much to agree to his bizarre request. Therefore, I stepped back.

“Not happening.” I said confidently. “I have already found investors and they're interested in working with me. So, no thanks.” I said, holding my head high.

“Thanks for helping me, Mr Veyrek. See you never!” And then, without a reply I turned around and left his penthouse.

There is no hell of a chance that I'm going to agree to his offer and sell my soul to the devil!