Chapter 228

Chapter 228
Elsa

I stared after him, stunned, my mouth actually hanging open. Drake Stone, walking away from a confrontation? Letting someone else have the last word? It was so out of character that I wondered if I'd imagined it. I sank back into my chair, legs suddenly weak.

Bruce guided me to the second-floor dining area, his hand on the small of my back making my skin crawl in a way Drake's never did. We settled at a table near the window, and I kept stealing glances outside, where Drake stood in the light rain, apparently waiting. Water darkened his expensive suit, but he made no move to seek shelter. My fingers unconsciously traced patterns on the condensation of my water glass as I watched him.

"You keep looking at him," Bruce observed, his voice laced with irritation.

I forced my attention back to the menu, which I was gripping so tightly it crinkled between my fingers. "I'm not," I lied, though my eyes betrayed me, flickering to the window again. Drake hadn't moved, rain streaming down his face now, hair plastered to his forehead. Something twisted in my gut—guilt? Concern? Damn it.

"Emma's been having a hard time," Bruce said abruptly, changing the subject. "She's been in a psychiatric hospital since... everything happened. She's not well, Elsa."

I set down my menu with a thud, my appetite completely gone, bile rising in my throat. "Is that supposed to make me feel sorry for her?" I snapped, crossing my arms tightly over my chest.

"The Watsons are prepared to offer a million dollars in settlement," Bruce continued. "Plus a condo in East Lake Towers. They want this to go away quietly."

My eyes widened, and I leaned forward, hands flat on the table. "A million dollars and an apartment? Why tell me this now?"

Bruce leaned forward. "You should know that the Watsons have been trying to arrange a marriage between Emma and Drake for years. That mineral gift wasn't just a business gesture—it was a dowry of sorts."

The pieces suddenly clicked together, and I felt like I'd been punched in the gut. "That's why they hate me so much. I'm in the way of their plans." My voice came out as a whisper, and I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly cold.

"Exactly." Bruce took a sip of his water. "Which means if Emma goes to jail, the Watsons will make it their mission to destroy you." His voice dropped lower. "What do you think will happen to your mother if Emma serves time? How long will her medication remain... available?"

My blood ran cold, a violent shiver running through my body. It wasn't just a settlement offer—it was a thinly veiled threat. My hands began to shake, and I clasped them together to hide it.

"I just want justice," I said quietly, swallowing hard past the lump in my throat. "That's all I've ever fucking wanted."

"Justice is a luxury, Elsa," Bruce replied. "Take the settlement. Walk away. Let them save face."

I stared out the window again, teeth worrying my bottom lip. Drake was still there, soaked through now, waiting in the rain like some sort of sentinel. The sight made something twist painfully in my chest. Goddamn him. Why did he have to make everything so complicated?

"No," I said finally, my voice stronger than I expected as I slammed my palm on the table, making the silverware jump. "I want more than money. I want them to admit what they did. I want a real apology, not just hush money."

Bruce's phone rang suddenly, and his expression changed as he checked the screen. "I have to take this," he said, already standing. "Emergency board meeting." He hesitated. "Think about what I said, Elsa. "

As he hurried away, I turned back to the window, chewing nervously on my thumbnail. Drake still stood there, rain pouring down his face, his eyes fixed on the restaurant as if he could see through walls to where I sat.

I realized then that the war with the Watsons was far from over. And in this particular battlefield, I wasn't sure who my allies really were. "Shit," I whispered to myself, suddenly feeling very alone.

The night air was crisp against my skin as I stepped out of the restaurant. A light rain had fallen earlier, leaving the mountain roads slick and glistening under the moonlight. I pulled my jacket tighter around my shoulders, my fingers nervously fidgeting with the zipper as I breathed in the clean scent of wet pine and earth.

Despite everything that had happened with Bruce and the Watsons' threats, there was something peaceful about this moment—just me, the mountains, and the pale glow of the moon peeking through scattered clouds.

The distance between the restaurant and the hotel wasn't far, maybe a fifteen-minute walk. I could have called a cab, but I needed this—time alone with my thoughts, away from men trying to control my every goddamn move.

"Fuck them all," I muttered under my breath, kicking a small stone off the path, my words forming little clouds in the cool air. The Watsons thought they could buy me off, Drake thought he could protect me whether I wanted it or not, and Bruce... well, I still wasn't sure what game Bruce was playing.

I followed the winding path, my boots crunching on the wet gravel as I shoved my trembling hands deep into my pockets. I appreciated how the raindrops clung to the leaves of the shrubs lining the walkway. Each drop captured the moonlight, turning ordinary foliage into something magical. For a moment, I forgot about all the chaos and just existed.

As the hotel came into view, its warm lights a beacon in the darkness, I spotted a familiar figure standing near the entrance. Olivia. My stomach tightened instinctively, acid rising in my throat. She'd left the restaurant early, and now she was waiting for me?

"Elsa," she called out, waving as I approached. "I was beginning to worry."

"What are you doing out here?" I asked, crossing my arms tightly across my chest, studying her face for clues. Her usual composed expression seemed strained around the edges, her smile not quite reaching her eyes.

"Eric called with an emergency," she explained, falling into step beside me as we entered the hotel lobby. " I wanted to apologize for leaving so abruptly."

I nodded, though something about her explanation felt off. My fingers tapped an anxious rhythm against my arm as I chewed my lower lip. Eric was her husband, and while he often needed her legal expertise.

"Everything okay now?" I asked as we stepped into the elevator, leaning against the wall and avoiding my own reflection in the mirrored surface.

"Yes, all handled," she said quickly—too quickly. She was hiding something, but I was too exhausted to press the issue, my eyelids heavy with fatigue.