Chapter 240
Chapter 240
Elsa
The very idea made my stomach twist into knots. I resumed walking, my pace faster now, almost desperate.
In high school, I'd certainly heard Drake Stone's name thrown around—who hadn't? He was the rich Black Onyx Pack prince, handsome and powerful even then. But our paths rarely crossed. We moved in entirely different social circles; he was the alpha elite, and I was just... me. A nobody. A goddamn omega trying to stay invisible.
"If my mother hadn't fallen ill," I said aloud, barely noticing Olivia hurrying to keep up, "if I hadn't desperately needed money for her treatments and encountered Drake when I was at my most vulnerable."
I stopped so abruptly that Olivia nearly crashed into me. Something nagged at me, like a splinter beneath my skin.
"This is ridiculous," I muttered, running my fingers through my hair and tugging hard enough to send pinpricks of pain across my scalp. "Drake Stone, jealous? Of me and Lucas?" I kicked another pebble, sending it flying. "Bullshit. Complete bullshit."
The very idea was laughable. And yet...
As we walked past the fountain in the center of the park, I began mentally cataloging my interactions with Drake over the years. The way he'd sometimes take me to restaurants where they served my favorite dishes without asking what I wanted.
How he'd buy food for stray cats and dogs—something I'd mentioned doing in passing years ago. And those fireworks he'd arranged for me.
A chill ran down my spine as connections I'd never made before suddenly aligned. I stopped dead in my tracks, arms wrapped around myself. The day I'd begged him to take me in, to help my mother, I'd been prepared for rejection. Instead, he'd agreed almost immediately. I'd attributed it to his need for a competent assistant and the benefits our arrangement would bring him.
But what if there was more to it? What if I had always been important to him?
My heart began to race, my palms sweating as I recalled another conversation—Drake asking me about letters I'd received in high school. At the time, I'd thought it was idle curiosity. But now...
"Oh my god," I whispered, the realization hitting me like a physical blow. My legs weakened and I staggered backward until I bumped into a bench. "Holy shit. Could some of those anonymous letters have been from him?"
"What letters?" Olivia asked, confusion evident on her face as she sat beside me.
I gripped the edge of the bench, my knuckles turning white. "In high school, I used to get these anonymous notes. Some had poetry, others just... observations that made me feel seen." My breathing accelerated. "Those letters are still in my old luggage at home. I need to check them. Tonight."
"Now? It's almost midnight," Olivia pointed out.
"I don't give a fuck what time it is," I said, standing abruptly. "I need to know. Can you drive me? Please?"
Olivia studied my face for a moment, then sighed. "Fine. But you're explaining more on the way."
---
Olivia kept glancing at me as she drove, her eyebrows raised in a silent question. The streetlights cast alternating patterns of light and shadow across her face. I couldn't stop fidgeting, my right leg bouncing uncontrollably, fingers drumming against the door handle.
"So let me get this straight," she finally said. "Emma Watson, who we've established is unstable at best, makes a wild claim about Drake being obsessed with you since high school. And now you're rushing home at midnight to find... love letters?"
Put like that, it did sound ridiculous. I ran my fingers over the silver moon necklace I'd started wearing again recently—the one Drake had given me years ago, tracing its outline obsessively.
"It's more than just what Emma said," I explained, staring out at the passing city lights, teeth worrying my bottom lip raw. "There are things Drake has done over the years—small things I never connected before. Ways he knows me that don't make sense unless..."
"Unless he's been watching you longer than you realized," Olivia finished for me. Her tone shifted from skeptical to thoughtful. "That's either romantic or creepy as hell, depending on how you look at it."
I laughed weakly, the sound almost manic even to my own ears. "Tell me about it. Damn it, Olivia, what if I've been blind this whole time?"
She turned onto my street, slowing as we approached my building. "Is this why you're in such a rush to get back? Because Stone is making some grand romantic gesture tonight?"
"No," I said quickly. Too quickly, judging by Olivia's knowing look. My cheeks burned with heat. "I just... fuck, I need to know the truth."
Olivia parked and turned to face me fully. "You know, loving someone from afar for years without acting on it—that's some serious devotion. If Stone really has carried a torch for you since high school..." She shook her head, impressed despite herself. "The man's more of a romantic than I gave him credit for."
My cheeks flushed hotter, spreading down my neck. I gripped the door handle so hard it creaked under the pressure. "Let's not jump to conclusions. I could be totally wrong."
But my racing heart suggested otherwise.
---
At 2 AM, I crept into my apartment like a thief, trying not to wake my mother or Oliver. The place was dark except for a small night light in the hallway. I tiptoed to my bedroom, wincing at every creak of the floorboards, cursing under my breath when my hip caught the edge of a side table.
My old luggage was stacked in the back of my closet. I pulled out the largest suitcase and unzipped it with shaking hands, revealing neatly folded winter clothes and mementos I hadn't looked at in years. Beneath them was a black cloth bag containing every letter and note I'd received throughout high school.
I yanked on the bag forcefully, impatient. "Come on, you stubborn piece of—" The bag suddenly gave way, and I dumped the contents onto my bed, letters spilling out like autumn leaves, some fluttering to the floor. My heart hammered against my ribs as I scrambled to gather them. Most were from friends—silly notes passed in class, birthday cards, graduation congratulations. But mixed among them were a dozen or so anonymous notes, some containing poetry, others just simple observations that had always made me feel seen in a way nothing else did.
My fingers trembled so badly I could barely hold the papers as I sorted through them. Sweat beaded on my forehead, and I wiped it away with an impatient gesture. And then I found it—a black envelope with handwriting I recognized instantly. The same precise, slanted script I'd seen on countless memos and contracts.
Drake's handwriting.
"Holy shit," I breathed, my voice barely audible. My heart pounded so loudly I feared it would wake the entire apartment. With unsteady fingers, I carefully opened the envelope, nearly tearing it in my haste. Inside was not a letter, but a photograph—a mountain peak bathed in moonlight. I turned it over, my breath catching painfully in my throat, and there, in the same familiar handwriting, was written: "To see mountains is to see you, yet never know your heart."
I sank onto my bed, my legs giving out entirely, clutching the photo to my chest. The implications were overwhelming. I felt dizzy, my vision blurring at the edges. Drake had noticed me—truly noticed me—long before I'd ever realized. While I'd been oblivious, he'd been watching, waiting.
"You sneaky bastard," I whispered, but there was no heat behind the words, only wonder.
I fell asleep with the photo still in my hand, my fingers curled protectively around its edges, my dreams filled with mountains and moons and a pair of golden eyes that had apparently been following me for much longer than I'd known.