Chapter 161: Chapter 161
Theresa had barely crossed her threshold when she heard the murmur of voices echoing from the back halls.
Her maids seemed to be whispering, or actually speaking to someone. She hated them almost as much as she hated the sting of Amara’s words replaying in her head.
She paused by the door, forcing her breath steady. She would not let the humiliation of the park carry her into her home.
This was her kingdom, gilded and dripping with luxury, a place where no one could challenge her. Not Amara. Not anyone.
However, before she could even shrug off her scarf, the sound of another door creaked open.
Her head snapped up.
Elias stepped through the lobby door like a shadow invited in by the house itself. His cap was pulled low, and his stride unhurried. He walked as though he owned the air around him, as his silence cut more than any insult.
Theresa’s lips curled into a scoff, masking the pinch of unease in her chest. She hated people seeing her unmasked but if there was someone she hated the most, it was Elias.
He stopped at the front door, meeting her in the entryway. His eyes, sharp and storm-dark, didn’t so much as flicker toward her.
"Let’s go in, shall we?" Elias asked. His voice was polite. But his eyes—his eyes were not. They burned with controlled fury radiating like heat waves.
Theresa laughed under her breath, brittle and loud. "My house, my rules." Still, she swung the door wide and stepped inside, her heels clicking like gunshots against the marble floor.
Elias followed her in, quiet as a shadow, and closed the door behind him with a measured click.
The maids scattered.
Theresa dropped her scarf onto the nearest console, tossed her sunglasses carelessly aside, and turned to find Elias already seated on her gilded couch. His cap lay on the table, his posture relaxed, with one arm draped against the armrest as though he had been invited.
Her eyes narrowed. "You can’t get a seat without my permission."
Elias raised his head slowly, his gaze meeting hers from beneath his lashes. His stare was unflinching, and his voice low and razor-sharp when he answered.
"And you," he said, "look like a whole shameless clown."
Theresa’s mouth fell open before snapping shut again. The audacity.
"Don’t be so rude," she hissed, her heels clicking as she advanced. "Remember you work for me."
"I work for your father," Elias corrected flatly. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his tone heavy with warning. "Don’t be stupid about it."
Theresa scoffed again, masking the flicker of unease in her chest. "I never liked you."
Elias tilted his head, lips curving into something almost like a smile, though it carried no warmth. "The feeling," he murmured, "is very mutual."
Elias stared at her face, nodding mentally with satisfaction, at every mark he saw on her face given to her by Amara. She didn’t just hit her, she also left a mark.
Her nails dug into her palm as she fought to keep her composure. She needed her control back. And then she saw it—the opening. The small crack in his armor she had been searching for.
"You think you hide it well," she said, her voice dropping into a sly murmur. "But I see it. Everyone in the underworld does. The way you look at her. Amara."
Elias’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. His silence was a confirmation.
Theresa’s smile spread, venom dripping sweetly from each word. "You don’t just watch her. You want her. Don’t you? The watchdog who fell in love with his own leash." She mocked.
Elias’s fists curled against his knees.
"And it must sting," Theresa continued, circling him like a predator that thought it had found prey. "Because you know she’ll never look at you the way she looks at the pictures of her ex at night. You’ll always be in the shadows. You’ll always be nothing but the hired hand who—"
Her words cut off in a sharp gasp.
Elias rose. Slowly, and deliberately, he stood to his full height, and suddenly the air in the room shifted. He loomed over her, his shadow swallowing hers. His eyes locked on her face with a fury so sharp it could slice through glass.
His hand lifted before any of them could think about it. His palm hovered inches from her cheek.
Theresa froze.
However, the blow never came.
Elias’s hand trembled once, then lowered, curling into a fist at his side. His chest heaved with the effort it took to restrain himself."Say her name again," he growled, voice low, dangerous, every word dripping with promise. "And I won’t stop myself next time."
"I saw it," he went on, his voice now steady and small.
She opened her mouth to lie. "You weren’t there, you—" but he cut it with the exact details that made her skin go cold. She watched him swing his step.
Elias moved then with the economy of someone who has practiced the motion in worse rooms. He eased his hand inside his waistband, and withdrew the pistol.
He set it on the lacquered table between them like a punctuation mark.
Theresa’s cheek flamed where Amara’s hand had left color. Her eyes snagged on the gun as if it were a reflection of a future she had not imagined.
"If you had been anyone else," Elias said, quietly, "I would have finished it in the park. It would had been quiet, and simple with no later questions." He said it in an honest way that made her stomach drop. "I would have pulled the trigger the moment you slapped her, if you were someone else. Be thankful for the last name you have. Its a beautiful day to have that name."
"But she—" she started, and paused. Then, her breath came faster. "You’d kill for her," she spat, equal parts of disbelief and accusation.
He met her with a look that made the gilding blur. "I would pull the trigger if the moment demanded it. Today I didn’t because this is your first mistake. Tomorrow, if you make this my business again, I won’t care who you are. Not your father’s name. Not your money. Not the witnesses. I won’t ask permission."
He slid the pistol back into place with an effortless motion and straightened. "Remember this," he said, voice low. "Next time, I won’t care who your father is."
Then he left the living room immediately. The door clicking shut behind him like a final verdict.
Elias walked into the night with the image of Amara’s calm hand pressed into his head. He had been assigned to watch; he had made the watching his own. It was messy. It was wrong in ways he couldn’t fix.
He miss her. All he wanted right now was to hug her so he could finally stop the beast in him from taking full charge of him.