Chapter 113
Chapter 113:
A board member, a man named Blackwood who had survived the corporate wars of the eighties but looked like he was about to faint now, cleared his throat.
“Sir, before we proceed to the merger acquisition… there is a matter of… public relations p>
Elias slowly turned his chair. His gaze landed on Blackwood like a physical weight. “Speak p>
“The tabloids,” Blackwood said, sweating. “The altercation on the street. Putting your nephew in the hospital. The… declaration regarding Miss Vance. The stock is stable, but the rumors of a marriage alliance are affecting our bachelor-demographic marketing. Are you… is there a wedding planned p>
The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.
Elias leaned forward. He placed his hands flat on the cool glass of the table. His fingers were long, elegant, and currently tense enough to snap a pencil.
“My private life,” Elias said, his voice dangerously quiet, “is not a line item on your agenda. I do not answer to this board regarding my personal associations. You are here to manage dividends, Blackwood, not my diary. Focus on the financials, or I will find someone who can p>
“Crystal, sir,” Blackwood squeaked.
Elias sat back, the scowl returning to his face. He felt a dull ache in his chest, a hollowness that had been expanding ever since he dropped Aurora off at her penthouse days ago. He had claimed her publicly to save her, yes. But privately? She was a ghost he couldn’t catch.
His phone, resting face-down on the table, buzzed.
It was a single, short vibration. A notification.
Elias frowned. Only three people had priority access to bypass his Do Not Disturb mode: his mother, his head of security, and…
He picked up the phone. He didn’t intend to check it. He intended to silence it and fire whoever dared to interrupt him.
𝗦𝗼𝘂𝗿𝗰𝗲 𝗶𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲 → gⱯ𝗅𝗇𝗈ν𝗍𝖊𝗅𝘀⍰𝖼𝗈𝗺
He tapped the screen.
Instagram: Aurora_V liked your photo.
Elias froze.
The air in his lungs seemed to solidify. He stared at the screen. It was a photo he had posted three months ago—a stark, black-and-white composition of a lone King chess piece lying toppled on rain-slicked pavement. It was abstract, melancholic, and utterly devoid of life. He hadn’t captioned it. It had zero engagement because he kept his account private and locked down to a select few aliases.
Aurora had found it. Likely through one of the burner accounts she used to monitor market trends. And she had liked it.
A small, red heart sat next to her name.
The icy scowl on Elias’s face fractured. The tension in his jaw released, replaced by a softness that looked entirely alien on his sharp features. His thumb hovered over the notification, tracing the shape of the heart as if it were a physical object, something fragile and precious.
She was thinking of him. She was scrolling through his history. She understood the isolation captured in that image.
A dopamine hit, stronger than any closing bell on Wall Street, flooded his system.
“Sir?” the CFO asked tentatively. “About the merger proposal? The risk assessment is still p>
Elias looked up. His eyes, usually the color of frozen ocean water, were now gleaming with something that looked suspiciously like warmth.