The Billionaire in the Mirror
The elevator doors closed behind Raven with a soft hiss.
She kept her expression unreadable as she stepped into the lavish glass office. No one stopped her. They knew who she was and knew why she was there.
Elijah Cross’s domain was nothing like she expected—no steel, no cold tech. It was warm, wood-paneled, with art that looked real and expensive. A quiet fireplace crackled along one wall. The scent of sandalwood lingered faintly in the air, as if the place itself was trying to seduce her.
He sat behind a massive walnut desk, jacket off, shirt sleeves rolled up. His cufflinks—shaped like a serpent and a sword rested on a velvet tray beside a glass of amber scotch.
“Detective Blaire,” he said without looking up.
“I’m not a detective,” she replied, crossing the room. “I’m a consultant.”
He finally met her eyes. “And yet you look like someone who came to make an arrest.”
She dropped the folder on his desk. Inside it was a photo of the third victim. The mirror. The snake. The word envy.
“You knew Jonathan Malik,” she said flatly. “You sat on a board together. You were seen arguing two nights before his murder.”
Elijah leaned back. His face was calm—too calm. “We had a disagreement. Over funding for a cyber-surveillance program he wanted to license internationally.”
“What kind of disagreement?”
He smirked. “The kind where he wanted to sell data to the highest bidder. And I told him he was a parasite.”
Her jaw tightened. “That sounds like a motive.”
“No,” Elijah said softly. “That sounds like honesty.”
She studied him. His voice never rose. His eyes never shifted. The kind of control most people couldn’t fake. He wasn’t afraid. Not even trying to pretend.
But he was watching her. Every word. Every breath.
“Did you kill him, Mr. Cross?”
A pause.
Then he stood.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
He walked around the desk, stopping just short of her. He was taller than she’d guessed—broad-shouldered, all quiet power. The kind of man you didn’t see coming until he was already too close.
“I didn’t kill him,” Elijah said. “But I’m not sorry he’s dead.”
She didn’t flinch. “That’s not the same as innocent.”
His gaze went to her badge, then to her face. “You carry a lot of ghosts, Blaire. I can see it in your eyes. You think this case is about justice. But it’s not. It’s about balance. Someone out there is collecting debts.”
“Debts?” she echoed. “Is that what you think murder is? A transaction?”
He shrugged. “Isn’t it?”
She took a step closer. So did he.
Now they were inches apart, the air between them charged.
“Tell me what you know,” she said.
“I know the world is full of liars wearing crowns,” Elijah murmured. “And someone’s finally knocking them down.”
“You’re defending a serial killer.”
“No,” he said. “I’m saying maybe you should be asking better questions.”
She stiffened. “Such as?”
Elijah’s voice dropped to a whisper.
“Why you were sent to me.”
Raven left the building fuming.
His arrogance burned under her skin, but so did something else. Something colder. A memory tugging at the edge of her thoughts.
That voice.
That face.
She climbed into the back of Micah’s cruiser, slamming the door harder than necessary.
“Well?” he asked, pulling into traffic.
“He’s hiding something.”
“Obviously,” Micah muttered. “He’s worth billions. People like him always have a coffin full of skeletons.”
“No,” she said. “It’s more than that. He’s too clean. Too composed. It felt like... he was expecting me.”
Micah glanced at her. “You think he knew you were coming?”
“I think he knows more than he should.”
They rode in silence until Micah said, “Do you want me to dig into him?”
“I already did.” She pulled out a file from her coat. “Cross orphaned at thirteen. Recruited into a special STEM program at a private academy funded by a secretive think tank. Disappeared for two years. Reemerged at seventeen with patents worth millions.”
Micah whistled. “Sounds like a Bond villain origin story.”
“Exactly.” Raven stared out the window. “And get this, he was at Blackvale Academy the same year Zara died.”
Micah froze. “You sure?”
“I checked. She didn’t mention him. But the records are sealed.”
Micah tightened his grip on the wheel. “You think he knew her?”
“I don’t know. But something tells me he’s not a stranger.”
That night, Raven couldn’t sleep.
She lay in her apartment, shadows creeping across the ceiling. Rain tapped gently against the windows. Her nightmares were already clawing at the edges—Zara’s laughter suddenly cut short. Blood on pavement. A whisper in the dark:
You let her die.
She sat up, drenched in sweat.
She had to get out.
Fifteen minutes later, she stood in the evidence room at the precinct, surrounded by boxes of old files. One was hers. The first murder. Zara Blaire. Age 16. Time of death: 2:03 a.m.
Her hands trembled as she opened the file.
It was all here—crime scene photos, coroner’s report, her own handwritten notes. She flipped through it like she had a thousand times before.
Then she stopped.
There.
In the background of one grainy photo—barely visible.
A boy.
Standing just outside the school gates. Hoodie. Hands in pockets. Staring at the scene.
She grabbed a magnifier and squinted.
Dark hair. Pale skin.
And those eyes.
God.
It was him.
The next morning, Raven stormed into Micah’s office, tossing the photo on his desk.
“I found him.”
Micah rubbed his face. “You sure?”
“Positive. Elijah Cross was at the scene the night Zara died.”
Micah sat back. “That’s... not good.”
“You think?” she snapped. “What the hell was he doing there?”
“Maybe he was just passing by.”
“No,” she said. “He doesn’t ‘just pass by.’ He hides. Watches. Waits.”
Micah folded his arms. “So what’s the move?”
“I want him tailed. Phones tapped. Everything.”
Micah hesitated. “We don’t have a warrant.”
“Then find a way.”
Across the city, Elijah stood on the rooftop of his tower, wind ripping through his coat.
Grayson Black, his head of security, stepped up beside him. “She found the photo.”
“I know,” Elijah said quietly.
“She’s digging faster than we expected.”
“She was always going to.” He took a long breath. “It’s time.”
Grayson hesitated. “You’re sure?”
Elijah nodded once.
“Bring Evelyn in,” he said. “Activate Protocol Red.”
“And Blaire?”
Elijah stared out at the gray, dripping city.
“She’s in now. Whether she knows it or not.”