Chapter 8: The Bishop's Opening
The encounter with Ben Carter had been a divine intervention, a wrench thrown into the gears of my panic. The urge to flee, to terminate, had been a reaction of the old Elara—the one who sought to avoid pain. The new Elara understood that pain was a currency, and I was now prepared to be a very wealthy woman.
I couldn't go back to the hotel. Silas's surveillance felt like a physical pressure, a gaze on the back of my neck. I needed a fortress, not a temporary hideout. The funds from Kaelen's account were substantial, but they wouldn't last forever buying luxury suites. I needed a base of operations he would never think to look for.
I used a public terminal at the library to search rental listings, avoiding anything trendy or centrally located. I found it in a quiet, unassuming neighborhood known for its population of artists and academics: a small, furnished studio above a independent bookstore. It was paid for in cash, six months upfront, with a lease agreement signed with a false name. The elderly landlord, a retired literature professor, asked no questions, only reminding me that quiet hours after 10 p.m. were strictly enforced.
It was perfect. It smelled of old paper, lemon polish, and quiet solitude. From my single window, I could see the leafy street below, not the glittering skyline of power. Here, I was no one. Here, I could plan.
The first item on my agenda was a visit to a nondescript medical clinic across town. I used my real name, but a different insurance card from my days as a resident—a loose end Kaelen had never bothered to tie up. The confirmation was clinical, cold. The doctor, a brisk woman with kind eyes, offered congratulations I numbly accepted. She handed me a packet of prenatal vitamins. I took them. They were part of the arsenal now.
As I left the clinic, my phone vibrated. Another unknown number. This time, it was a text.
The black koi has developed a taste for the smaller, golden ones. It seems your assessment of its nature was correct. - S.
The message was clear. Silas was acknowledging my presence at the gallery, my little performance with the society women. He was also telling me he was dealing with the fallout—the "smaller, golden ones" were the rumors I'd set in motion about Liana. And he was doing it with the ruthless efficiency I'd predicted. Most chillingly, he'd found a way to contact me directly. My new phone, my new number—it meant nothing to him.
He was toying with me. Keeping me engaged. Letting me know the game was ongoing.
A spark of anger ignited in my chest. He thought he could send me cryptic messages like I was a pet he was training. He thought this was still a diversion for him.
It was time to change the dynamic.
I didn't reply to his text. Instead, I went back to my new apartment and opened my laptop. I needed to stop playing defense. I needed to go after the other player on the board: Kaelen.
In my first life, my focus had been on surviving his neglect, on soothing his ego, on trying to earn a love that was never mine to have. I had turned a blind eye to the specifics of his vices, too ashamed to delve into the depths of his depravity. Now, I dove in headfirst.
I started with his finances. The joint account I was pilfering was petty cash. His real money, his trust fund, was a labyrinth of shell companies and offshore holdings managed by the Sullivan family lawyers. It was a fortress. But even fortresses had weak points. I couldn't break in, but I could look for the deliveries made to the back door.
I cross-referenced bank statements I'd secretly photographed years ago (a habit born of self-preservation) with shipping manifests and exclusive club memberships I accessed through old medical conference databases. I was looking for a pattern, a name, a supplier.
And I found it. A name that appeared over and over, buried in the wire transfers: "Aurelius Imports." It sounded legitimate. A quick search showed it was a high-end artisanal goods dealer. But the amounts were wrong. No one spent $15,000 a month on small-batch olive oil and hand-thrown pottery.
"Aurelius." The name tickled a memory. A fragment from my past life. Kaelen, delirious and sweating during one of his crashes, mumbling about "that bastard Leo" and his "gilded poisons."
Leo. Aurelius.
It was a pathetic classical alias. Leo Aurelius.
I began to dig. Leo Aurelius wasn't a businessman. He was a ghost. A provider of exclusive, experimental intoxicants to the city's jaded elite. He was the source of the hallucinogen that had started all of this. His name was whispered in the darkest corners of the society I'd been tethered to. He was Kaelen's personal devil.
And I was going to use him.
I couldn't approach him directly. He'd vanish. I needed an intermediary. A bishop to move diagonally across the board.
I spent the next two days in the city's underbelly, dressed in my anonymous clothes, asking careful questions in the right kind of bars. Money loosened tongues. I learned that Leo Aurelius was a creature of habit, a man who believed his own invincibility. Every Thursday night, he held court at a private back table of a members-only jazz club called The Velvet Note.
Tonight was Thursday.
I put on the black dress again. It was my uniform, my armor. I didn't look like a doctor or a runaway wife. I looked like I belonged. I walked into The Velvet Note just after 10 p.m., the sound of a saxophone weaving through the smoky, dimly lit room.
I saw him immediately. Leo Aurelius held court at a round booth in the back, surrounded by sycophants and beautiful, empty-eyed people. He was younger than I expected, with sharp, pretty features and cold, assessing eyes. He looked like a fallen angel in a tailored suit.
I didn't approach him. I took a seat at the bar, ordered an expensive mineral water, and waited. I watched him in the mirror behind the bar. I watched his routines, his gestures, the way he dismissed people with a flick of his wrist.
After an hour, he rose and headed toward the restrooms. This was my chance.
I intercepted him in the plush, empty hallway leading to the bathrooms. He paused, looking me up and down with detached interest. I was clearly not part of his usual circle.
"I'm afraid the booth is full, darling," he said, his voice a smooth, bored drawl.
"I'm not here for the booth, Mr. Aurelius," I said, my voice low and steady. "I'm here about your best customer. Kaelen Sullivan."
His bored expression vanished, replaced by instant, guarded coldness. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Of course you don't," I said, offering a thin, cold smile. "But he's becoming a problem. A very noisy, very messy problem. His recent birthday was… eventful. The kind of event that draws attention. The wrong kind."
I let the implication hang in the air. I know what you gave him. I know what happened.
Leo's eyes narrowed. "Who are you?"
"A concerned party," I said. "The kind of party that would hate to see a successful businessman like yourself inconvenienced by the reckless behavior of a client who can't handle his… imports."
I was speaking his language. I wasn't threatening him. I was offering a mutually beneficial arrangement. I was suggesting that Kaelen's volatility was bad for business.
"What is it you want?" he asked, his voice wary.
"I want you to be more careful," I said. "The next time Kaelen Sullivan comes to you, looking for something to make him forget, I want you to give him something… memorable. Something that will make him never want to come back."
Understanding dawned in his cold eyes. He wasn't dealing with a rival or a cop. He was dealing with something far more dangerous: a woman with a grudge.
A slow, cruel smile spread across his face. He enjoyed chaos. "Memorable. I can do memorable."
"I thought you might," I said. I didn't thank him. I simply turned and walked away, leaving him standing in the hallway.
I had just made my first offensive move. I had weaponized Kaelen' own source of solace against him.
As I stepped out into the cool night air, my phone vibrated again. Another text from Silas.
The water in the pond is becoming unsettled. It seems a new player is making waves.
He knew. He already knew I'd been here. He was watching Leo, too.
The game was accelerating. And for the first time, I felt a thrill that wasn't entirely fear.
It was the thrill of the hunt.