Chapter 13
Whispers in the Dark
Elijah's POV
The conversation with Ezekiel had just ended, and Richard's voice crackled over the speakerphone. Elijah leaned back in the plush leather chair, swirling the dark liquid in his glass. The sound of the ice clinking echoed in the room, an oddly soothing rhythm amidst the tension that clung to the air.
"You really think Ezekiel's going to go for it?" Richard asked, his voice laced with doubt. He had been working with Ezekiel long enough to understand that the older man wasn't one to make decisions lightly. He didn't bend easily.
Elijah's lips curled into a wicked grin. "He'll have to. He's cornered. There's nowhere else for him to turn. The De La Cruz family has already put too much money into Blackwood Industries. If he doesn't play along, it'll be the death of his company."
Richard was silent for a moment before speaking again. "But you know how stubborn he is. He won't just bend because you throw money at him. He's already made his choice."
A flicker of frustration passed through Elijah's eyes, but he masked it quickly. He was never one to show weakness, not even when it gnawed at him. "If Ezekiel doesn't listen to reason, then we'll make him listen. There are always other methods. I'm not above using what it takes to get what I want."
Richard let out a soft exhale. "You're playing with fire, Elijah. You push too hard, and you'll burn yourself."
Elijah's smirk only widened. "I know exactly what I'm doing. Sometimes, a little chaos is exactly what's needed to get the desired result."
Richard didn't say anything further, but Elijah could feel the unease radiating off of him. There was something in Richard's voice that suggested he didn't fully trust the path Elijah was taking. But it didn't matter. It never had.
The man was in too deep. Just like the rest of them.
Elijah glanced at the clock on the wall. The game was in motion, and there was no turning back. Ezekiel was going to have to make his choice, but it wasn't the only thing on his mind tonight. A thought nagged at him, relentless and distracting. He ran his fingers over his glass, his thoughts drifting to a certain woman.
Mary.
It had been days since the party, days since he had last seen her. She was still haunting his thoughts, and it made his pulse quicken just thinking about her. He could feel the obsession growing, seeping into his mind, clouding his judgment. Her green eyes, the way she looked at him—fascinated, cautious, yet undeniably drawn to him. The way she moved, every step almost an invitation.
But she was off-limits. And that made her even more irresistible.
God, he needed to get her out of his head.
He stood abruptly, tossing the glass aside. The ice tinkled as it clattered against the floor, but he barely noticed. He needed something to distract him. He needed to take his mind off of Mary. For a moment, he considered calling one of his usual women, someone easy, someone who wouldn't make him think about things he didn't want to. But that didn't feel like enough. No. He needed something... more.
His gaze landed on Richard, who had been quietly watching him.
"I need someone," Elijah said, his voice low, a slight edge to it. "Someone to take the edge off. I can't keep thinking about her."
Richard raised an eyebrow but didn't speak. Elijah didn't need approval; he was a man of action. He could find what he needed on his own.
---
Stella's POV
Stella sat at the bar, nursing her third glass of whiskey. The warmth from the alcohol spread through her veins, and for a brief moment, she could almost forget the gnawing ache in her chest. The ache that had started the day Mary had married Andrew De La Cruz.
It had been months, but Stella still couldn't shake the feeling of abandonment. Mary, her best friend, the one person who had always been there for her, had disappeared into Andrew's world. Since that night at the wedding, Mary hadn't called. She hadn't texted. It was as if she had forgotten Stella altogether.
She couldn't even just check up on her despite knowing that she had always loved and crushed over Andrew.
You should be happy for her, Stella told herself, but the words felt hollow. She wasn't happy. Not when it felt like Mary had cut ties with everything, everyone she had known before Andrew.
She had just abandoned her leaving her running Helter skelter so as her father legacy wouldn't crumble but a slight appreciation she couldn't even recover from her.
The loneliness clawed at her. There was no one to talk to. No one who understood. Not anymore.
The bartender refilled her glass, but she barely registered it, staring into the amber liquid as if it held some kind of answer. She hated feeling like this. She hated how small and insignificant everything seemed without Mary around.
Taking a sip, she let the burn slide down her throat, hoping it would numb the ache that had settled deep inside her. It didn't. It never did.
She glanced around the bar, noticing the crowd beginning to thin out. A few stragglers lingered, but the place was quieter now, the music playing in the background just loud enough to make her head spin.
She needed to get out of her own head. She needed... something. Someone.
The door to the bar opened, and a tall figure walked in, casting a long shadow across the room. It was a man, sharp-featured, exuding a quiet confidence that made everyone else seem insignificant in comparison. He walked with purpose, his gaze scanning the room before locking on Stella.
Something in her chest stirred, an instinct, a pull She needed... something. Someone.
The door to the bar opened, and a tall figure walked in, casting a long shadow across the room. It was a man, sharp-featured, exuding a quiet confidence that made everyone else seem insignificant in comparison. He walked with purpose, his gaze scanning the room before locking on Stella.
Something in her chest stirred, an instinct, a pull she couldn't ignore. He wasn't the type she usually went for. But tonight, she didn't care.
Without even thinking, she stood up, her legs slightly unsteady from the alcohol. She made her way to him, a little too bold, a little too eager. She wasn't sure what she was doing, but she didn't care anymore.
"Can I buy you a drink?" she asked, her voice rougher than she intended. She didn't wait for him to respond before she slid onto the stool next to him.
The man's lips curled into a smile. "I wasn't planning on it, but I think I'll make an exception."
They exchanged a few casual words, the conversation flowing easily, though it was just a distraction from the whirlwind of thoughts in her head. It was as if the world had stopped existing outside of this moment, the weight of loneliness and uncertainty momentarily lifted.
They talked. Then they moved. The heat between them built slowly, a quiet, unspoken tension that neither one of them acknowledged.
She could feel the intensity in his eyes, the way he watched her with that same predatory gaze she had seen in so many men before. But this was different. She couldn't explain it. She didn't want to.
The night blurred after that, fuzzy and distorted. One minute, they were outside in the cool night air, and the next, she found herself pressed up against the wall of an alley, his lips on hers, a fire igniting between them.
It wasn't love, not by any means. But it was a desperate need, a craving for connection that she couldn't deny.
The kiss deepened, raw and urgent, and Stella gave in to the moment, letting the fire consume her, letting herself forget everything else. She let the stranger take control, and for the first time in a long while, she didn't feel so alone.