No flowers for the dead - Chapter 7: Chapter 7
You are reading No flowers for the dead, Chapter 7: Chapter 7. Read more chapters of No flowers for the dead.
The next day, Elias didn’t go to his office.
He brought the office to him—his phone lit up nonstop, his team summoned to the penthouse, his assistant arriving with folders too sensitive to email.
Alina stayed in the background, listening from the hallway as his voice cut through the tension like steel.
“No, I don’t care what the board thinks of her.”
“Pull out of the Weybridge merger. Quietly. We don’t beg for partnerships we don’t need.”
“Yes. Move the funds to the Estrella account—offshore. Immediately.”
He was shedding the skin of the heir, piece by piece.
Not breaking down—transforming.
Alina recognized it. Elias wasn’t preparing to lose.
He was preparing to burn everything down so no one else could have it.
That night, she found him in the glass-walled sitting room, staring out over the city like he wanted to make it kneel.
“You’re going to war,” she said quietly.
He didn’t turn. “I already declared it.”
She walked to him slowly, barefoot, the hem of her silk robe whispering against the floor. “And what happens when they fire back?”
“They already have. But they haven’t realized yet that I stopped playing by their rules.”
She reached out, brushing her fingers against his back. “You scare me when you talk like that.”
He finally turned.
And what she saw in his eyes wasn’t rage. It was grief—sharp, dark, buried.
“I wanted to give you the world,” he said, voice low, rough. “Instead, I dragged you into a graveyard.”
“No,” she whispered. “You showed me the bones beneath it.”
His mouth found hers then—urgent, searching, as if he needed her breath in his lungs to keep going. He lifted her effortlessly, carried her to the bedroom, and made love to her like she was the only thing left worth saving.
They didn’t speak afterward.
Because neither of them wanted to ask the question that lingered in the dark between their bodies:
If we survive this, who will we be?
⸻
The next morning, Alina awoke alone.
Elias had already left—no note, no text. Just the lingering scent of him on the pillow and the ghost of his hands on her skin.
She found a folded folder on the kitchen counter.
Inside: her name on a property deed in Italy. A bank account under her mother’s maiden name. An offshore trust. Legal papers granting her full power of attorney if anything happened to him.
It was love in paperwork.
A goodbye in everything but name.
She pressed the folder to her chest, tears burning her eyes.
Because even though he hadn’t said it… Elias Vale was preparing to die for her.
He brought the office to him—his phone lit up nonstop, his team summoned to the penthouse, his assistant arriving with folders too sensitive to email.
Alina stayed in the background, listening from the hallway as his voice cut through the tension like steel.
“No, I don’t care what the board thinks of her.”
“Pull out of the Weybridge merger. Quietly. We don’t beg for partnerships we don’t need.”
“Yes. Move the funds to the Estrella account—offshore. Immediately.”
He was shedding the skin of the heir, piece by piece.
Not breaking down—transforming.
Alina recognized it. Elias wasn’t preparing to lose.
He was preparing to burn everything down so no one else could have it.
That night, she found him in the glass-walled sitting room, staring out over the city like he wanted to make it kneel.
“You’re going to war,” she said quietly.
He didn’t turn. “I already declared it.”
She walked to him slowly, barefoot, the hem of her silk robe whispering against the floor. “And what happens when they fire back?”
“They already have. But they haven’t realized yet that I stopped playing by their rules.”
She reached out, brushing her fingers against his back. “You scare me when you talk like that.”
He finally turned.
And what she saw in his eyes wasn’t rage. It was grief—sharp, dark, buried.
“I wanted to give you the world,” he said, voice low, rough. “Instead, I dragged you into a graveyard.”
“No,” she whispered. “You showed me the bones beneath it.”
His mouth found hers then—urgent, searching, as if he needed her breath in his lungs to keep going. He lifted her effortlessly, carried her to the bedroom, and made love to her like she was the only thing left worth saving.
They didn’t speak afterward.
Because neither of them wanted to ask the question that lingered in the dark between their bodies:
If we survive this, who will we be?
⸻
The next morning, Alina awoke alone.
Elias had already left—no note, no text. Just the lingering scent of him on the pillow and the ghost of his hands on her skin.
She found a folded folder on the kitchen counter.
Inside: her name on a property deed in Italy. A bank account under her mother’s maiden name. An offshore trust. Legal papers granting her full power of attorney if anything happened to him.
It was love in paperwork.
A goodbye in everything but name.
She pressed the folder to her chest, tears burning her eyes.
Because even though he hadn’t said it… Elias Vale was preparing to die for her.
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