Page 260 of Fractured Loyalties
“Of course they do.”
Her eyes are steady, clear in a way that unsettles me. “You’ll come with me.”
It isn’t a question.
I almost tell her no, that their world and mine were never meant to overlap. But then I see the way her hand lingers on the folder of clinic records, the way her fingers tap against the paper as if reminding herself that life exists there too. Hope threads through her shoulders. Not fear. Not shame. Hope.
“Yes,” I say. “I’ll come.”
Relief softens her mouth. She doesn’t thank me. She doesn’t have to. She knows the only reason I agreed is becausesheasked.
__________________________________________________________
Lydia shows up two days later, unannounced, as she always does. The buzzer rattles, and when I open the door, she’s already brushing past me, tablet under her arm, coat slung across one shoulder. She doesn’t glance at Mara, who’s curled on the couch, though I can tell she clocked every detail of her posture and expression the second she walked in.
“You don’t answer texts anymore,” she says, dropping the tablet onto the counter. “Either you’re bored of me or you’ve finally learned how to pretend your life is stable.”
“I answer when there’s something worth answering,” I tell her.
She snorts, looking me over like she’s checking for blood. “And here I thought I’d be scraping you off the dock by now. Instead, you look…domesticated.” Her eyes flick toward Mara, sharp, assessing. “Almost civil.”
Mara lifts her gaze from the folder in her lap. She doesn’t shrink under Lydia’s stare. She just says, evenly, “You don’t have to stay if you don’t like what you see.”
The corner of Lydia’s mouth tilts. “Not bad. She finally bites.”
I step in, the edge in my voice enough to turn Lydia back toward me. “You came here for a reason.”
“Yeah,” she says. “To tell you I’m done pulling threads for free. You want eyes, you pay. You want cleaners, you pay more. And if Mara becomes a liability, I don’t burn for you. Not anymore.”
Her bluntness used to needle me. Now, I almost respect it. “Fair.”
“Good,” she says, and picks up her tablet again. She pauses at the door, looks back once at Mara. “Careful what world you think you’ve chosen. Sometimes men like him don’t let you choose twice.”
Mara doesn’t flinch. She just holds Lydia’s stare until the door shuts. When the lock clicks, she exhales, a soft sound meant only for herself.
Later that night, Dom calls. The club hums faintly through the phone, bass leaking down the line like an old heartbeat. His voice is silk cut with warning.
“You’ve been absent too long,” he says. “People notice.”
“I don’t care.”
“You should. Detachment is currency here. You bring your…entanglement into my circle, and I cut you out. Permanently.”
I lean against the window, watching Mara at the table, her head bent over her notes. “Then cut.”
Dom laughs, but it isn’t humor. “You’re softer already. That’s how it starts. You think it makes you stronger, but it doesn’t. She’ll unravel you, Elias.”
“She already has,” I answer.
A silence stretches. Then, his tone turns cold, professional again. “Then we’re done.”
The line goes dead.
I set the phone down. For the first time in years, I feel no hunger for that world. Not the rules, not the games, not the staged power. I already have the only surrender I ever wanted, and it isn’t something I trade for an evening.
Mara glances up from her files. She doesn’t ask who it was. She just watches me with those beautiful eyes, quiet, knowing, as if she’s piecing together exactly what I just cut loose.
And I let her see it.
