Chapter 3: A Knock on the Wrong Door
The diner's flickering neon sign cast a strange glow over their corner booth. Outside, the rain slowed, but the tension inside only thickened.
Elara sipped her now-cold coffee. Her hands hadn't stopped trembling.
Aaron hadn't looked away from her since she said the word: Leo.
He broke the silence first.
"I need to see him."
"You will," Elara said softly. "I promise."
"Tomorrow."
She hesitated.
He leaned forward. "Elara, I've missed three years. I'm not missing another second."
Her eyes welled, but she nodded. "Okay. Tomorrow."
Aaron exhaled, like he'd been holding his breath since the day she left. But before either could say another word—his phone buzzed.
He looked at the screen. Jaw clenched.
"What is it?" Elara asked.
"They know you called me."
Her stomach dropped. "Already?"
Aaron stood up quickly. "We have to move. They'll be watching your accounts, your routes, your people."
"I don't have anyone left—"
He turned to her, eyes fierce. "You have me."
Fifteen minutes later, they pulled into the underground garage of a building with no name, no cameras, and no friendly doormen.
Aaron keyed in a code. Heavy doors opened into a sleek loft—steel, shadows, and silence.
"Stay here tonight," he said. "They won't find you here."
She turned slowly. "Is this where you live?"
"No," he said. "It's where I disappear."
She stared at him. "What have you become, Aaron?"
His smile was bitter. "Whatever I had to."
She showered.
The dress was ruined. Aaron handed her a long black hoodie and sweatpants—his.
They smelled like him.
She came out to find him pacing, phone to his ear.
"Yes. I want cameras on the Roth Tower… back entrances, lobby, garage. If anything moves, I want to know."
A pause.
"No, don't touch them. Just watch. For now."
He hung up, turned—and froze.
Her hair was wet, tied back loosely. His hoodie swallowed her frame.
He stared longer than he meant to.
"What?" she asked, hugging herself.
"You still look like the girl who used to fall asleep on my couch after sneaking out of your father's estate."
"And you still look like the boy who used to leave me notes in Latin to piss off my tutors."
He chuckled. A soft sound. And for one second, it wasn't war. It wasn't betrayal. It was them.
Then—a knock at the door.
They both froze.
Aaron moved first—hand on the hidden gun by the couch. He raised a finger: Stay quiet.
Elara's heart thudded in her ears.
Another knock. Slower. Heavier.
Then a voice.
"Mr. Vale. We know she's in there."
Her blood ran cold.
Aaron looked through the peephole.
He mouthed, "Roth security."
Elara backed away.
Aaron's jaw tightened. He opened a nearby panel and handed her a keycard.
"Back room. Hidden staircase. Take it down to the alley. Get in the car that's parked there. Don't stop. Don't talk. Just go."
"But what about—"
"I'll handle this."
"Aaron—"
He stepped closer, eyes locked on hers.
"I already lost you once. I'm not letting them take you again."
He cupped her face—quick, rough, like he didn't trust himself to hold on longer.
"Go."
She ran.
Five minutes later…
Elara sat in the back of a second car now, breathless. Alone. Heart racing.
Behind her, somewhere in that building, Aaron faced the men her ex-fiancé had sent.
And her phone lit up with a message.
Unknown Number:
You should've stayed quiet, Elara.
Now you've made this personal.
She stared at the words. Her hands tightened into fists.
"Fine," she whispered. "You want personal?"
Her reflection in the car window didn't look like a runaway bride anymore.
It looked like a woman ready for war.