Chapter 238

Chapter 238
Elsa

At night, alone in my apartment, I'd stare at his messages and wonder what game he was playing now, chewing my lip until I tasted blood. Sometimes he'd send photos: sunset from his office window, his cat curled up on important documents, or occasionally, a selfie after his workout, shirtless and glistening with sweat.

Those last ones I tried not to look at too closely. I'd turn my phone on silent and shove it under my pillow with a frustrated groan, but that didn't stop the images from playing in my mind as I tried to fall asleep, shifting restlessly under the sheets, my body betraying me with a familiar heat.

I wasn't naive enough to think Drake had changed. He was still the controlling alpha who'd kept me hidden for a decade. But something had shifted between us, and I couldn't quite put my finger on what. Or maybe I just didn't want to examine it too closely. I'd rake my hands through my hair, pulling it in frustration.

Drake was objectively a catch—wealthy, powerful, handsome as sin. But his control issues made my skin crawl. Well, sometimes they made my skin crawl. Other times... I fell asleep with a complicated smile on my face, one hand pressed against my racing heart.

On the last workday of the month, my phone rang while I was organizing files. Olivia's name flashed on the screen. I snatched it up so quickly I nearly knocked over my coffee.

"Hey, I've got good news," she said without preamble. "Emma's case is nearly closed. The judge is ruling tomorrow."

"That's fantastic," I replied, leaning back in my chair with a sigh of relief. My shoulders, which had been perpetually tense, finally relaxed a fraction. "We should celebrate."

"Definitely. You're buying," Olivia laughed. "After all, I did most of the heavy lifting."

"Fair enough." I twirled a pen between my fingers, then tapped it rapidly against the desk. "But I was thinking... maybe we should give Emma a proper goodbye."

There was a pause on the line. "What exactly are you suggesting, Elsa?"

"Nothing illegal," I assured her, a dangerous smile spreading across my face. "Just a reminder that I'm not someone to be fucked with." My voice had taken on an edge that surprised even me.

"This doesn't sound like you," Olivia said carefully.

I gripped the phone tighter, knuckles whitening. "She's been following me, Olivia. Showing up outside my apartment building, watching me from her car. The restraining order doesn't seem to mean much to her."

"You should have told me," Olivia said, her voice sharpening. "I can file for contempt of court."

"I have a better idea," I said, standing up and pacing the small confines of my office. "And it involves lunch."

Olivia sighed. "I feel like I should talk you out of this, but I admit I'm curious. What did Emma say to you last time? You never told me."

I hesitated, biting my lip so hard I winced, remembering Emma's exact words: "What do you have that's so special? Why has he been obsessed with you for all these years?"

"Let's talk about it over lunch," I said, my free hand clenching and unclenching nervously. "How about Bella's at noon?"

---

Olivia realized I was serious when we arrived at the restaurant to find Emma already seated at a corner table, flanked by four security guards in black suits. Her eyes locked onto me with laser intensity the moment we walked through the door, and I had to resist the urge to step backward.

"Jesus Christ," Olivia muttered under her breath. "You actually invited her."

"I told you I wanted to say goodbye properly," I replied quietly, squaring my shoulders and lifting my chin defiantly.

Emma looked terrible. Her face was gaunt, with dark circles under her eyes, her skin sallow and hair limp. She resembled a walking skeleton more than the polished society girl I'd last encountered.

The contrast between us couldn't have been more stark—I'd deliberately chosen a canary yellow dress with a white blazer, my hair falling in soft golden waves, while she was drowning in an oversized black pantsuit. I felt a twisted satisfaction at the difference.

The naked envy in her eyes as we approached was almost uncomfortable to witness. My stomach clenched with a mix of pity and vindication.

"So nice of you to join me," she said in a high, affected voice that attempted to mimic upper-class refinement but missed by a mile. "I was beginning to think you'd stand me up."

I smiled pleasantly, my fingers fidgeting with my napkin under the table. "I appreciate you agreeing to meet, Emma." I was acutely aware of the security cameras positioned throughout the restaurant.

An awkward silence fell over the table. Emma stared at me with undisguised hatred, while I maintained my composure, refusing to be the first to look away, though my heart hammered in my chest.

"Well," Olivia finally said, reaching for the menu, "shall we order? I hear the salmon here is excellent." Her tone conveyed a clear warning: Remember we're in public. I nodded almost imperceptibly.

Emma snapped her fingers at the waiter, the sharp sound making me flinch. "I want a steak, rare, with truffle fries."

The poor waiter looked uncomfortable. "I'm sorry, ma'am, we don't serve steak for lunch. Perhaps our grilled salmon or—"

"Fine," Emma cut him off with a dismissive wave. "Whatever. Just bring me alcohol."

After we ordered, Emma leaned forward, her fingers drumming on the table like insect legs. I had to force myself not to recoil. "I want to know something. Did he ever take you to the Italian restaurant on Fifth? The one with the private rooms upstairs?"

I blinked, momentarily thrown off balance. "No." My voice came out steadier than I expected.

"What about the botanical gardens? Did he give you the private tour after hours?"

"No," I answered, keeping my expression neutral even as my pulse quickened.

"The cabin in the mountains? His yacht? The penthouse in New York?"