The world sharpened into a painful focus as the car door
slammed shut, sealing Elara in a mobile prison. The metallic scent of
blood—Steven's blood—clung to the air, mixing with the expensive leather of the
seats. He hadn't even bothered to tie her up, his arrogance a cage in itself.
Sandwiched in the back with the crime lord, two of his
hulking men sat in the front. Elara stared out the window, her mind racing as
the villa's lights faded. They were taking a coastal route, a path less
traveled. She forced her breathing to steady, a silent, desperate prayer
echoing in her mind: Find me, Silas. Please.
"Tsk. Not a single tear, little girl?" A cold, blood-smeared
hand clamped around her jaw, forcing her to look at him. "Aren't you afraid?"
Revulsion surged through her. Elara slapped his hand away,
scrambling back against the door, her own hand instinctively closing around the
hard shape of her handbag. A sliver of gratitude pierced the fear—he hadn't
taken it from her.
"Afraid?" Her voice was tighter than she wanted. "You just
shot your own nephew's wife in cold blood. A woman carrying your grandchild.
How could I not be afraid?"
The memory of Vivian's body jerking, the bloom of crimson on
her white dress, sent a fresh wave of cold dread through her. That life was
undoubtedly extinguished. Would hers be next?
Steven observed her, a predator amused by its prey's
trembling. He withdrew his hand, seemingly pleased by her terror. "Marrying
that vapid creature was a testament to Julian's poor judgement. What worth
could that child possibly have? I merely spared him the disgrace of dealing
with it later."
Elara bit her tongue until she tasted copper. Arguing with a
madman about morality was a suicide mission.
"You feel sorry for her?" Steven's smile was a flicker,
unpredictable and dangerous.
Elara pressed her lips together, refusing to answer.
A low, humourless chuckle filled the space between them.
"Didn't she steal Julian from you? Why should her stepmother care? Isn't it
better for you if her line ends? Especially since Silas can't father children…"
He paused, a theatrical finger raised to his lips. "Ah, but
no. I almost forgot." In the shadowy interior, his pale face turned toward her,
his eyes glinting. "Silas claimed… Julian isn't his. He insisted… he can have
heirs."
His gaze dropped, slow and deliberate, settling on her
abdomen. The look was so dark, so possessive, that Elara's blood ran cold. She
fought the overwhelming urge to cover her stomach, her muscles locking in
place.
She feared that at any second, a bullet would tear through
her, ending the secret hope she clung to.
Steven tilted his head, his smile cruel as he tapped the
dagger's hilt against her belly. "This place… you wouldn't be carrying his
legacy in here, would you?"
"You're the one who said he was sterile," Elara retorted,
feigning a confusion she didn't feel.
His lips twisted into a grotesque smile that froze, then
erupted into ragged laughter. The laugh broke into a violent, wet cough. He
clutched his mouth, his body convulsing. When he pulled his hand away, it was
slick with dark blood, the sight harrowing in the passing gleam of
streetlights.
The coppery tang flooded Elara's senses, and she squeezed
her eyes shut, fighting a wave of nausea.
"Mr. Cohen." The man in the passenger seat spoke, his voice
a low rumble. "We have a tail."
Elara's heart leapt into her throat. She twisted to look out
the rear window. Two piercing headlights ate up the darkness behind them,
closing fast.
A moment later, the driver's phone buzzed. A terse
conversation, and then the grim report: "Roadblock ahead. They've cut us off."
Elara's fingers curled into her palms, a flicker of hope
igniting in her chest. She kept her face averted from Steven's, not daring to
betray her relief.
The atmosphere in the car thickened for a mere second before
Steven's voice, cold and flat, cut through it. "Your dagger. Now."
Elara's eyes flew open wide.
The glint of steel passed from the front seat into Steven's
blood-stained hand. Her hope shattered, replaced by icy certainty. Her hand
crept back toward her bag, fumbling in the dark for the familiar grip.
"Ah, ah, ah," Steven tutted, his wicked gaze pinning her.
"No sudden moves, darling. I'd hate to mar such perfect skin."
Before she could react, he grabbed her arm and, with a deft
flick of the blade, sliced open the buttons of her dress's collar. Buttons
pinged against the window and floor. Elara gasped, her face draining of colour
as she clutched the fabric to her chest.
"Steven, you're insane!" she snarled, her voice trembling
with a mix of fury and violation.
He ignored her, instead yanking the elegant hairpin from her
bun, letting her hair tumble down. "I'll make her jump. You punch through the
roadblock."
"Understood."
"Jump?" Elara's mind went blank.
The car slowed as it rounded a bend. Steven's arm became a
steel band around her, dragging her close. His lips were at her ear, his breath
a foul promise. "You jump, or I put a bullet in your head right here. Silas
won't get a broken wife back; he'll get a corpse."
He spoke with a chilling calm. "I'll count to three. Then
you jump. Understood?"
Elara stared at the blur of dark, unforgiving undergrowth
whipping past the window. Her blood felt like ice.
She gritted her teeth and gave a sharp nod. "You won't get
away."
"We'll see. One… two… three… Jump!"
The door flew open. A powerful shove sent her tumbling into
the void. Instinct took over. She clutched her bag like a lifeline, wrapped her
arms protectively around her stomach, and curled into a ball.
The impact was a explosion of pain. Twigs snapped and
scratched at her skin. She landed in a thicket, the dense foliage cushioning
what would have been a bone-shattering fall, but agony lanced through her arm
and leg. A deep, ominous ache immediately bloomed in her lower abdomen.
"Get up!" Steven was there, panting, his own injuries
slowing him. He hauled her to her feet and dragged her, crouching low, deeper
into the woods.
Elara stumbled behind him, one hand on her bag, the other
pressed against her belly, her face a mask of pain and determination.
Not thirty seconds after their escape, two cars screeched to
a halt where they had jumped. A figure, moving with lethal grace, launched from
the lead vehicle—Silas. Two more followed—Ethan and Ben. The hunt was on.
The roar of the ocean grew louder, a relentless boom
guiding—or trapping—them.
"I can't… my ankle… I can't go on," Elara gasped, bending
over and stopping.
Steven whirled, seizing her arm. The cold edge of the dagger
pressed against her cheek. "Keep moving, little girl. Play your part, and you
might just live to see your husband again. Fight me, and I'll leave him with a
corpse to mourn. Now, move."
He yanked her forward. They burst through the final line of
brush and onto a windswept, deserted beach. The vast, black ocean merged with
the starless sky, waves crashing against the shore with a sound like finality.
Steven spun her around to face the tree line just as three
figures emerged.
Silas stood at the forefront, a spectre of vengeance. His
presence was a physical wave of cold fury, his dark eyes burning with a promise
of death as they locked onto Steven.
"You always did have terrible timing," Steven called out,
his knife arm tightening around Elara's neck. With his free hand, he traced a
finger along the torn collar of her dress, exposing her collarbone. He buried
his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling deeply as a grotesque parody of
affection. "I was just starting to enjoy your wife's… fragrance."
Elara shuddered, her eyes meeting Silas's, pleading and
furious. As Steven taunted Silas, her freed hands worked behind her back,
slowly, carefully easing the pistol from her bag.
"Turn. Around." Silas's voice was low, but it carried over
the roar of the sea like the crack of doom. His knuckles were white, his entire
body coiled to spring.
Without a word, Ethan and Ben turned their backs, shielding
their boss's wife from further humiliation.
"This is between you and me, Steven. Let her go. She's
innocent."
"Innocent?" Steven threw his head back and laughed, a raw,
broken sound. "She married you! How can she be innocent?"
His gaze snapped back to Silas, all mockery gone, replaced
by a decades-old hatred so potent it poisoned the very air. He tightened his
grip on Elara, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper.
"You want to talk about innocence? How innocent was that
foolish girl, Elora Cohen, all those years ago?"
Elara froze, the name 'Elora' hitting her like a physical
blow.
"If she hadn't been trying to save you," Steven spat, "would
she have fallen into the hands of those animals? Where were you when they were
defiling her?! Where were you when she screamed your name? Why didn't you turn
back and save her? WHY?"
He was screaming now, his sanity fraying before her eyes.
"You call this one innocent?" he raged, his body shaking.
"Elora was just eighteen! Was she not innocent too?"
Before anyone could react, a sharp, searing pain exploded in
Elara's neck as Steven, in a final, twisted act of vengeance against a ghost,
sank his teeth into her flesh.