Aiden’s POV

"We’re done, and happy birthday."

Her words kept ringing in my mind, haunting me like a curse that wouldn’t lift.

Elara and I had been together for four years. Four years of passion, of nights where her laughter was mine, of mornings where her touch grounded me. I knew her love, the depth of it. Could she really stop loving me overnight?

Impossible.

I clenched the stem of my glass tighter, staring into the swirl of red wine. No, Elara couldn’t leave me. She wouldn’t.

I loved her too much to let her go, and she loved me far too deeply to walk away. I knew it.

Marriage had never been in the picture. Not with her. I was bound to the Clarkson daughter because of my family’s empire, because of the merger that would strengthen our wealth and power. But Elara? She was my fire. My escape. My one true love.

Even if I wore another woman’s ring, Elara would remain mine. She didn’t know it yet, but her place in my life was unshakable.

All I had to do was go to her. She’d see me, soften, maybe even apologize for her cruelty yesterday. She was angry, that was all. Women said foolish things when hurt.

But she couldn’t survive without me.

Neither of us could.

I had called her a hundred times, maybe more. The unanswered calls piled on my phone like accusations. She didn’t pick up, didn’t text back. She was ignoring me.

Playing hard to get. Testing me.

Fine. Let her. I would remind her who she belonged to.

I placed the glass down, the clink echoing in the silent room. My heart pounded with restless urgency.

I showered quickly, the cold spray doing nothing to tame the fire raging inside me. By the time I stepped out, towel around my waist, I had already decided.

Today, I would reclaim what was mine.

I dressed in my corporate attire, sharp and calculated, the armor of a man who could never be refused. I paused in front of the mirror, adjusting my tie. My reflection was flawless: confident, wealthy, powerful. Women craved men like me.

And Elara was no exception.

I strode out of the room, every step heavy with determination.

Outside, the convoy waited. The morning sun glared against polished black metal.

“Good morning, Sir.”

Dave, my loyal assistant, opened the car door with a bow.

I gave him a brief nod and slid inside.

“Take me to Elara’s.”

“Sure, sir.”

The engine growled, and we pulled away.

---

When the car finally stopped before her apartment building, I straightened my suit. This was it. The beginning of her surrender.

Dave hurried to open the door for me. I stepped out, inhaling the familiar air, adjusting my jacket as I strode forward.

Inside, I climbed the steps I had memorized from countless visits. My pulse quickened as I reached her door.

I knocked firmly.

“Elara, open the door. Now.”

My tone was low but commanding, the voice she always obeyed.

After a long silence, the lock clicked.

The door opened, and she stood before me.

Her face was unfamiliar in its coldness. Suspicion narrowed her eyes, irritation flickered across her lips. She looked at me as if I were a stranger.

I reached for her, instinctively, needing to touch her. But she moved away. The rejection burned.

“What are you doing here?” Her tone was sharp, cutting.

I ignored her question and walked past her into the apartment. She glared, but she shut the door.

“To see my woman, of course.” I smirked, leaning in to kiss her.

She stepped back again, out of reach.

“You shouldn’t be here.” Her voice was ice.

I bent to change into the slippers I always used at her place. But when I looked—

They were gone.

“Where are my slippers?”

She crossed her arms, eyes defiant. “I threw them away.”

Her words struck like a blade.

“Why would you do that?” My voice dropped, cold and dangerous.

She glared at me like I was a fool.

“Didn’t I make myself clear to you yesterday?” she snapped.

I scoffed, forcing a smirk.

“Don’t be like that, baby. I was ju—”

And then my eyes landed on them.

Shoes.

Men’s shoes.

Not mine.

The sight sent heat surging through my veins, a fury so sharp I could barely breathe.

I turned slowly, my eyes locking on hers.

“Whose shoes are these?”

She looked away.

“Elara,” I said, stepping closer, voice low and dangerous. “Did you bring a man home?”

She rolled her eyes.

“Please leave. We’re done.” Her tone was final, as she swung the door open, a dismissal.

I stared at her, rage boiling. Another man. In her home. Wearing his shoes on her floor.

No. Not possible.

Not allowed.

I pushed past her, barging deeper inside.

“You can’t just barge in!” she snapped, her voice rising, but I tuned it out.

I searched.

Room by room. Behind the curtains. Under the bed. In the bathroom. Every corner I tore through was empty, and yet my gut told me he was here.

He had to be here.

I wouldn’t stop until I found him.

And then my eyes fell on the drawer.

It sat innocently in the corner, but something about it pulled at me, screamed at me, warning me.

My fingers curled around the handle. My pulse thundered in my ears.

I yanked it open—

And froze.

Nothing.

Empty. Hollow. Silent.

But that silence was worse than any confession. It wasn’t reassurance. It was a challenge, a whisper of something hidden, something I couldn’t see… yet.

My breath caught. My hands trembled. My chest heaved with the sudden certainty that someone—or something—was here. Watching. Waiting.

“Elara…” I whispered, more to myself than her.

Her back was rigid, tense, unmoving. And yet, I felt it in every corner of the room: the lie, the secret, the danger lurking just out of reach.

The drawer revealed nothing… and that made it all the more terrifying.

Because now I knew.

Whoever was here, I would find them.

No one enters her life without paying the price.

Not even him.