No flowers for the dead - Chapter 11: Chapter 11
You are reading No flowers for the dead, Chapter 11: Chapter 11. Read more chapters of No flowers for the dead.
Alina didn’t sleep.
The room was too clean, too white, too eerily quiet.
It wasn’t a cell, not exactly. It was comfort dressed in control. There was a bed with silk sheets, a vanity with gold trim, a window that didn’t open.
Every luxury, except freedom.
She counted her breaths. Counted the hours. Counted the steps from the door to the farthest wall.
Seventeen.
Seventeen steps.
Her body ached, not from violence, but from stillness.
She was being kept like glass—untouched, but watched.
They hadn’t hurt her yet.
But every time the door creaked open, she expected that to change.
The woman from the car brought her food. Books. Smiles so calm they felt like knives.
“You should eat,” she said, setting a tray on the table.
Alina didn’t move.
“Elias won’t let this stand,” she said softly.
The woman raised a brow. “We’re counting on that.”
⸻
Elias stood on the rooftop of Vale Tower, the wind biting at his jaw, the city burning below him in lights and lies.
He didn’t remember the last time he felt this calm.
The storm had passed.
Now came the wreckage.
He’d already burned four of his father’s offshore accounts. Leaked files. Exposed hidden mergers. The Vale name was starting to fray at the edges—and the board was panicking.
“Do you want to destroy the empire, or just scare them?” the fixer had asked.
Elias had replied without blinking:
“I want them to feel what I felt when they took her.”
Now he stood above it all, watching as the cracks began to spider through the marble.
He didn’t care about the money anymore.
He cared about her.
⸻
Inside the estate, Alina folded the bedsheets into tight lines, over and over, not because she needed to—but because it gave her something to control.
Something to hold on to.
They were waiting for Elias to act.
But she wasn’t helpless.
She was the girl who once built his empire with him.
She knew where to press to make things bend.
And if they underestimated her, good.
That would be their first mistake.
⸻
At dusk, Elias received the message:
A private drop location. A time. A demand.
Come alone.
Unarmed.
“Trap,” the fixer said.
Elias nodded. “Of course it is.”
“You’re going anyway?”
He didn’t answer.
Because of course he was going.
Because some men choose legacy.
Others choose war.
But Elias Vale had chosen her.
And if that meant stepping into the mouth of the beast—
So be it.
The room was too clean, too white, too eerily quiet.
It wasn’t a cell, not exactly. It was comfort dressed in control. There was a bed with silk sheets, a vanity with gold trim, a window that didn’t open.
Every luxury, except freedom.
She counted her breaths. Counted the hours. Counted the steps from the door to the farthest wall.
Seventeen.
Seventeen steps.
Her body ached, not from violence, but from stillness.
She was being kept like glass—untouched, but watched.
They hadn’t hurt her yet.
But every time the door creaked open, she expected that to change.
The woman from the car brought her food. Books. Smiles so calm they felt like knives.
“You should eat,” she said, setting a tray on the table.
Alina didn’t move.
“Elias won’t let this stand,” she said softly.
The woman raised a brow. “We’re counting on that.”
⸻
Elias stood on the rooftop of Vale Tower, the wind biting at his jaw, the city burning below him in lights and lies.
He didn’t remember the last time he felt this calm.
The storm had passed.
Now came the wreckage.
He’d already burned four of his father’s offshore accounts. Leaked files. Exposed hidden mergers. The Vale name was starting to fray at the edges—and the board was panicking.
“Do you want to destroy the empire, or just scare them?” the fixer had asked.
Elias had replied without blinking:
“I want them to feel what I felt when they took her.”
Now he stood above it all, watching as the cracks began to spider through the marble.
He didn’t care about the money anymore.
He cared about her.
⸻
Inside the estate, Alina folded the bedsheets into tight lines, over and over, not because she needed to—but because it gave her something to control.
Something to hold on to.
They were waiting for Elias to act.
But she wasn’t helpless.
She was the girl who once built his empire with him.
She knew where to press to make things bend.
And if they underestimated her, good.
That would be their first mistake.
⸻
At dusk, Elias received the message:
A private drop location. A time. A demand.
Come alone.
Unarmed.
“Trap,” the fixer said.
Elias nodded. “Of course it is.”
“You’re going anyway?”
He didn’t answer.
Because of course he was going.
Because some men choose legacy.
Others choose war.
But Elias Vale had chosen her.
And if that meant stepping into the mouth of the beast—
So be it.
End of No flowers for the dead Chapter 11. Continue reading Chapter 12 or return to No flowers for the dead book page.