Chapter 123

No.1

The next morning, the Manhattan skyline was hidden behind a thick wall of gray clouds.

Elisa sat behind the massive glass desk in her private office at Aethel Intelligence HQ. She wore a sharp,tailored black blazer over a crisp white silk shirt.Her posture was rigid,her fingers flying across the mechanical keyboard with blinding speed.She was deep in the source code, optimizing the neural pathways for Project Chiron's upcoming demonstration at the MedTech Expo.

A soft knock broke her concentration.

The heavy glass door swung open. The executive secretary walked in, pushing a sleek metal serving cart. Sitting in the center of the cart was a massive,incredibly lavish gift box tied with a thick gold ribbon.

The secretary's eyes were wide with poorly concealed envy.

"Miss Wilder," the secretary said, her voice breathy.

"A courier from the Chambers Group President's office just dropped this off. They insisted it be delivered directly to your hands."

Elisa stopped typing. Her black eyes locked onto the box. A cold, physical wave of revulsion washed over her skin.

No.2

"Leave it," Elisa commanded,her voice flat.

The secretary quickly nodded, parked the cart neal the desk, and practically ran out of the room.

Just as the door clicked shut, it opened again

Alastair Cromwell strode in, holding a stack of legal files. He wore a dark navy suit, his sharp eyes

immediately locking onto the massive gold box.

Alastair raised a dark eyebrow. A mocking smirk touched his lips.

"Well," Alastair drawled, tossing the files onto the desk. "It seems someone's midnight escape left him with a heavy conscience. What did the billionaire send to buy your forgiveness today?"

Elisa didn't smile. She reached out and grabbed the edge of the gold ribbon. She yanked it hard.The knot unraveled, and she pulled the lid off the insulated Pierre Hermé box.

No.3

Instantly, a thick, overwhelmingly sweet, tropical scent exploded into the sterile air of the office.

It was a massive, custom-made French mango mousse cake. The bright orange glaze gleamed under the fluorescent lights.

Stuck directly into the center of the cake was a thick, gold-embossed card. The handwriting belonged to Simon, August's assistant. It read: To my favorite, a little compensation.

Alastair looked at the cake. The mocking smirk vanished from his face in a fraction of a second.The blood drained from his cheeks.

He lunged forward. His large hand slammed onto the lid, violently shoving it back over the cake. He grabbed the entire box and shoved it to the absolute farthest edge of the glass desk, away from Elisa.

Alastair spun to face her, his chest heaving, his eyes wide with absolute, unfiltered rage.

"Is he out of his fucking mind?" Alastair roared, his voice shaking the glass walls.

Elisa looked at the pushed-away box. A slow,chilling smile stretched across her pale lips. It was a smile completely devoid of humor.

No.4

"He's not insane, Alastair," Elisa said softly. "He just doesn't care."

Alastair knew her medical files. He knew that Elisa was deathly allergic to mangoes. A single bite would trigger severe anaphylactic shock. Her throat would close in minutes.

And they both knew exactly whose favorite flavor this was. It was Allena's.

August hadn't even bothered to pick out a gift. He had just told his secretary to order "her favorite."And the secretary, conditioned by the past few weeks of August's public obsession, had automatically ordered the mistress's preference.

"Seven years of marriage," Alastair gritted out, his jaw clenched so tight his teeth ground together."And he doesn't even know what could literally kill his own wife."

Elisa leaned back in her ergonomic chair. She looked up at the ceiling. The heavy,sweet smell of the mango still lingered in the air, acting like a chemical trigger in her brain. It pulled up a memory she had buried under layers of ice.

"He doesn't know a lot of things," Elisa said.Her voice was terrifyingly calm, as if she were reading a weather report.1

She lowered her gaze and looked directly into Alastair's furious eyes.

No.5

"Eight years ago, before we were married," Elisa began, her tone flat, "August attended a private yacht party off the coast of Montauk. He ate a canapé cross-contaminated with a rare shellfish allergen. He went into immediate anaphylactic shock."

Alastair froze. He stopped breathing, sensing the weight of the secret she was about to drop.

"The private doctor on board panicked," Elisa continued. "August's throat closed completely.He was turning blue. I was just a medical student then.I grabbed a pairing knife from the galley and a hollow plastic straw."

Elisa raised her right hand, pointing two fingers at the base of her own throat.

"I knelt on that blood-soaked teak deck for two hours," Elisa whispered. "I performed an emergency tracheotomy without anesthesia. I held his airway open with my bare hands until the medevac chopper arrived. I dragqed him back from the dead."

Alastair's eyes widened in absolute shock. His heart hammered against his ribs. He stared at the small,slender woman sitting in front of him, trying to comprehend the sheer magnitude of what she had done.

"But when he woke up in the VIP ward at NYP,"Elisa said, a cold, bitter edge finally bleeding into her voice, "the first face he saw was Allena's. She had rushed to the hospital. She cried, weaving a desperate, tear-soaked story about how she hadn't cared about the blood, how she had frantically pressed down on his wound to keep himn alive.She didn't just let him believe it; she actively,masterfully stole my credit with a performance worthy of an Oscar."

"And you?" Alastair demanded, his voice cracking with raw anger. "Where were you?"

No.6

"I was kicked out of the waiting room by his security," Elisa replied smoothly. "Because my clothes were covered in his blood, and I looked like a crazy vagrant."

Alastair slammed his fist down on the glass desk.The impact rattled the pens.

"Why didn't you tell him?" Alastair yelled,the injustice burning his lungs. "Why did you let that parasite steal your credit for eight years?"

Elisa looked at Alastair. Her black eyes were crystal clear, completely free of any lingering pain.

"Because, Alastair," Elisa said softly, "waking up a man who is pretending to be asleep is impossible

Telling him the truth wouldn't have made him love me. It would have only humiliated me."

She stood up. She walked over to the edge of the desk.

She picked up the heavy Pierre Hermé box. She didn't hesitate for a microsecond. She dropped the entire box, cake, card, and ribbon, straight into the metal trash can beside her desk.

No.7

It hit the bottom with a heavy, wet thud.

The last remaining ghost of her past, the secret of the saved life, was officially dead.4

Elisa pulled a sterile sanitizing wipe from a dispenser on her desk. She meticulously wiped down her fingers, scrubbing the skin as if she had just touched something diseased.

She threw the wipe into the trash. She looked up at Alastair, the cold, calculating light of Faye returning to her eyes.

"Take out the trash on your way out," Elisa commanded, her voice sharp and focused. "We have a neural network to finalize. The Expo waits for no one."