Chapter 15
Trigger Warning: This chapter contains depictions of domestic violence and emotional abuse. Reader discretion is advised.
Elias Crane sat in his corner office, the late afternoon sunlight bleeding through the tinted windows. The entire floor was quiet, save for the occasional clicks from his assistant’s desk outside. But Elias was far from focused on any spreadsheet, email, or investment deal. No, his mind was tangled in memories—hot, sinful memories that burned behind his eyes like wildfire.
He leaned back in his leather chair, letting the weight of the moment wash over him. The sterile scent of the hospital still lingered in his nose, mixed with Jace's shampoo—the sharp, clean citrus of it. Elias closed his eyes.
Jace's body under him, writhing and responsive, his mouth spilling desperate, gasping pleas. That sinful mouth. Elias could still feel the imprint of Jace’s lips stretched around his cock, feel the tremble in his thighs as Jace took him in so submissively, so willingly. And then the way he’d surrendered in that sterile VIP room like he belonged to him. Elias’s breath caught as a shiver slid down his spine. His cock twitched in his trousers.
He swore under his breath and adjusted himself in his seat, attempting to refocus. But it was useless. The memory of Jace's mouth, the arch of his back, the way he whispered Elias’s name—it all came flooding back in detail too sharp to ignore.
His hand moved down instinctively, pressing against the growing hardness in his pants when—
The door burst open.
Elias bolted upright, yanking his hand back as his father, Victor Crane, stormed in like a thundercloud.
Victor didn’t bother knocking—he never did. The older man’s presence filled the room instantly, his tailored navy suit as sharp as the glint in his eye. Power radiated off him like static. The man didn’t have to speak to command attention.
"We need to talk," Victor said, voice clipped.
Elias inhaled through his nose, irritation rising fast. "I assume this couldn't wait for a call?"
"Not when it involves the company and you playing house with some no-name boy in hospitals," Victor replied, his tone laced with disgust.
Elias's jaw tightened. "You’ve been spying on me again?"
Victor scoffed. "Spying? Don't flatter yourself. It’s called protecting my investments. I’ve had whispers from staff, board members... Do you realize how this looks, Elias? A Crane heir caught in some tawdry affair with a bartender?"
Elias stood, slowly, the air thickening between them. "His name is Jace."
"I don't care if his name is God," Victor snapped. "He's nobody. You’re the future of this company, and I will not have you dragged down by someone beneath you."
Elias's eyes narrowed. "Funny, you sound just like the man who ruined every decent thing in his life."
Victor took a slow, menacing step forward. "Cut him off, Elias. That’s an order."
The air between them crackled with tension.
Elias folded his arms. "You're not in a position to order me around. Not anymore."
Victor's voice turned dangerously low. "You think I won’t dismantle everything you’ve built if I have to? You’ve forgotten who owns this empire."
"You may own the empire," Elias said coolly, "but you don’t own me."
Victor leaned in. "Then consider this your final warning. End it, or suffer the consequences."
Elias's jaw clenched. He didn’t blink as Victor turned and stalked toward the door. But just as he reached for the handle, Elias spoke again.
"Why do you care so much? He’s just a bartender, right? Or are you afraid there’s something more?"
Victor paused.
He didn’t answer.
Then, without a word, he slammed the door shut behind him.
Elias stood in silence for several long seconds. His heart pounded from rage. He turned toward the window again, breathing heavily, his reflection staring back at him in the glass.His fingers rested against the cool glass as if trying to reach something beyond it, something lost. Then, something inside him cracked.
A memory stirred unwelcome and violent pulling him backwards through time.
He saw his mother.
Warm eyes. Soft smile. Fragile hands constantly trembling.
He blinked. But the memory didn't fade.
He was ten again, crouched behind the grand staircase of the Crane estate. It was late too late for anyone to be awake but the sound of glass shattering had pulled him from bed. Then came the yelling. His father’s voice deep, cruel, laced with venom.
Then came her voice, his mother’s pleading, crying.
“I said dinner was cold,” Victor Crane spat that night. “What the fuck do you do all day, Elena?”
“I-I tried” her trembling voice, so gentle it hurt.
Another crash. A slap.
Elias remembered curling into himself, pressing his palms to his ears, but it never worked. He always heard everything. The worst part was the silence after—the stillness that meant she’d fallen again. That she wouldn't get up.
He had asked her once, weeks later, when her cheek was still purple beneath the concealer, “Why don’t you leave him, Mom?”
And she had smiled that heartbreakingly beautiful smile and said, “He’ll change, sweetheart. One day. Just love him enough.”
But Elias had stopped believing that.
The most vivid memory of all came years later.
Elias had been in college, studying late into the night, when he got a call from one of the housekeepers saying his mother had been asking for him all day. The next morning, he hurried back home. He remembered running up the marble steps, backpack slung over one shoulder, already imagining her soft laugh and the smell of her lavender perfume.
“Mom?” he called out.
No answer.
He reached the second floor, turned the corner toward her room, and froze.
She was on the ground—limp, blood seeping beneath her. Her silk nightgown torn at the shoulder. Her hand outstretched, as if reaching for help.
And his father was standing there. Calm. Shirt unbuttoned, blood on his knuckles.
Elias screamed.
One of the nannies rushed in, gasped, and bent to check his mother’s pulse. “We need an ambulance!”
But Victor didn’t even blink, He wiped his hands on a cloth.
“You monster!” Elias lunged, fists swinging, but the butlers restrained him. He kicked and shouted, tears already spilling. “What did you do to her?! What the fuck did you do?!”
“She is weak,” Victor said, like it explained everything.
Elias went to the hospital that night in the ambulance, holding his mother’s hand the entire way, whispering that she’d be okay. That he was here now. That she’d wake up.
But she didn’t.
Machines beeped around her, tubes snaked into her arms, and her skin had gone pale—so pale. He barely recognized her without her warm smile.
He stayed beside her all night, refusing to move, ignoring every call. His throat was dry from crying, his chest tight from rage and fear. The nurses tried to comfort him, but he wouldn’t leave.
Then, just as dawn crept through the hospital blinds, security came.
“Mr. Elias Crane?” one asked softly. “Your father has requested that you return home.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Elias replied, voice hoarse.
But they insisted. Roughly. They dragged him away from her bedside as he screamed, reaching out for her, like a boy again, helpless and broken.
Back at the mansion, he locked himself in his room. Refused to eat. The silence was worse than the shouting. Every tick of the grandfather clock felt like a countdown to something inevitable.
Two days passed.
Then Victor came in, as emotionless as ever, sipping his scotch.
Elias sat on the bed, hollow-eyed.
“She’s dead,” Victor said simply.
Elias stared. “What…?”
“She died this morning,” Victor continued. “Didn’t fight hard enough. Like I told you—weak. Useless.”
That was the moment something inside Elias shattered forever.
He hated his father. Every breath that man took was a thorn in his flesh, a stab to his chest, a reminder that he was a weak man. A weak man for not being able to protect the one person he loved the most.
Alas, Elias was still under his father’s thumb.
Still playing the obedient heir to the Crane empire.