All Chapters of unmasked desire : Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

Elias didn’t go home.The decision wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t even fully conscious. He simply didn’t turn the car toward the Vale estate after leaving the club. He drove until his hands ached from gripping the wheel, until the city blurred into meaningless streets, until the only place that felt even remotely possible was Marcus’s apartment.Marcus took one look at him and didn’t ask questions.That, more than anything, nearly broke him.Three days passed.Three days of borrowed clothes and sleepless nights, of sitting on Marcus’s couch staring at nothing, of his phone lighting up over and over again on the coffee table while he pretended not to see it.His mother called first. Then again. Then left a voicemail full of worry thinly disguised as irritation.Alexander didn’t call.He texted.Once.Please let me know you’re safe.Elias turned the phone face down and didn’t respond.By the second day, Marcus had stopped offering food every few hours and started simply leaving plates nearb

The study was too quiet.Not the comfortable silence of shared focus, but the brittle kind that threatened to shatter with the wrong word, the wrong breath. Tall shelves lined the walls, heavy with books that smelled of leather and age. Sunlight filtered in through narrow windows, striping the floor like bars.Elias stood near the desk, arms crossed tightly over his chest.Alexander remained by the window, hands clasped behind his back.They had been summoned here under the pretense of efficiency finish the projections, resolve the discrepancies, present a united front. Their parents’ words echoed faintly in Elias’s mind, hollow and infuriating.Appearances. Always appearances.Alexander cleared his throat. “The Zurich accounts need final approval. If we don’t move by Friday—”“I know,” Elias said sharply. “I’ve read the reports.”Alexander nodded once. “Then you’ll see the risk is minimal if—”“Alexander,” Elias interrupted, his voice controlled but brittle. “Let’s not pretend this i

Marcus doesn’t push.That’s the first thing Elias notices.They’re sitting on opposite ends of the couch in Marcus’s apartment, late afternoon light slanting through half-drawn curtains. A pot of coffee sits untouched on the table between them, already gone lukewarm. Elias has been here for days now, drifting in and out of conversation, answering questions with shrugs or silence.Marcus lets the silence exist.He always has.Elias stares at the wall across from him, tracing the faint crack in the paint with his eyes. His body feels tired in a way sleep doesn’t fix. Processing has taken the edge off the pain, but it’s replaced it with something heavier weight instead of fire.Finally, Marcus speaks.“You don’t have to tell me everything,” he says carefully. “But you do have to tell me one thing.”Elias doesn’t look at him. “What.”“Are you angry because you were lied to,” Marcus says, “or because you cared?”The question lands softly and somehow hits harder than any accusation could ha

Elias waits until the apartment is silent before opening the envelope.Marcus is out giving him space without having to be asked. The temporary apartment smells faintly of coffee and laundry detergent, unfamiliar and impersonal, like a place meant for recovery rather than living. Elias sits on the edge of the couch, letter resting in his hands as if it might burn him.Alexander’s handwriting is unmistakable.Precise. Controlled. Even now.For a long moment, Elias doesn’t open it. His fingers curl around the paper, chest tight, heart thudding with the kind of fear that has nothing to do with danger and everything to do with truth.Then he exhales.And reads.At first, anger rises hot and immediate as his eyes move over the opening lines.You deserve the truth.The words almost make him scoff.Of course I do.He keeps reading anyway.As the letter unfolds, Elias feels something unexpected happen. The rage doesn’t disappearbbut it shifts. It loses its sharpness, blunting into something h

Family dinners at the Vale house have always followed an unspoken script.Appear on time. Dress correctly. Speak when spoken to. Avoid anything real.Elias hasn’t sat at the long dining table in nearly a week, and stepping back into the room feels like walking into a play already in progress. The crystal glasses are perfectly aligned. The candles burn evenly. His mother sits at the head of the table, posture immaculate, while his father scans something on his tablet, jaw tight.Alexander arrives last.He looks composed in the way Elias has learned to recognize as deliberate suit impeccable, expression neutral, movements economical. He takes his seat across from Elias without meeting his eyes.The air is tense before anyone speaks.Dinner is served. Plates are filled. Small talk limps forward on obligation alone.Elias pokes at his food, appetite nonexistent. Across from him, Alexander eats mechanically, barely tasting anything. Their mother talks about an upcoming charity function, he