Calista slammed the front door shut behind her, her breath ragged, her body sore. The moment she stepped into the cold silence of the mansion, she felt it—his presence.
Elias was near. Watching. Waiting.
She didn’t stop. She never did. Kicking off her heels, she rushed toward the stairs, her fingers trembling as they clutched the railing. Just make it to your room. Lock the door. Don’t let him see.
But she barely made it halfway before his voice cut through the dimly lit hall.
"You're bleeding. Again."
Her feet faltered.
She didn't turn around. Didn't acknowledge him. Maybe if she ignored him, he’d let it go.
But Elias never let anything go.
A slow, deliberate sound of footsteps echoed behind her, and then—a hand on her wrist.
"Let me go," she hissed, wrenching away.
Elias didn’t move immediately, but she felt the shift in the air, the crackling tension between them. "Sit down," he ordered, his voice edged with something sharp.
"No."
His gaze dropped to her arm, where blood had seeped through her sleeve. "Who did this to you?"
Calista took a step back. "I said no."
For a moment, there was only silence. Then, in a voice quieter, deadlier, he asked, "Are you testing me, Calista?"
She forced out a dry, bitter laugh. "Testing you? You think this is about you? God, Elias, not everything revolves around your obsession."
His jaw clenched. "You're in my house, coming home with wounds you refuse to explain. You disappear before sunrise, return past midnight, and act like this is normal. It’s not."
Her nails dug into her palms. "It’s none of your damn business."
Something snapped in his expression. The careful control he always carried, the mask of indifference—cracked.
Without another word, he turned on his heel and walked away, his silence far more dangerous than his anger.
For a moment, she thought that was the end of it.
She was wrong.
The next morning, she knew something was off.
The driver she usually called for work was unavailable. The alleyway she used as a shortcut felt too quiet. The people she met during the day gave her looks—curious, almost nervous.
It wasn’t until she left work, stepping into the dimly lit parking lot, that she realized the truth.
He was watching her.
She didn’t see him, but she felt him. Somewhere in the shadows. Somewhere close.
Her fingers tightened around the strap of her bag.
He’s following me.
A cold shiver ran down her spine, but she refused to let fear take over. Instead, she walked faster, her heels clicking against the pavement as she turned down an empty street. If he wants to play games, I won’t be the one to lose.
But as she reached for her phone, a voice—his voice—stopped her in her tracks.
"You think I wouldn’t find out?"
She froze.
Slowly, she turned around.
Elias stood a few feet away, his expression unreadable, but his eyes—his eyes were burning.
He stepped closer, and this time, she couldn't move.
"Tell me, Calista," he murmured, voice deadly soft. "Did you really think I wouldn’t know who hurt you?"
Her blood ran cold.
He knew.
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