Chapter 12
A Crossroads
Mary's POV
The moment I hung up the phone with my father, I felt a weight settle in my chest, heavy and suffocating. The room seemed smaller now, as though the walls were closing in, pressing me against the bed where I had collapsed. My fingers gripped the edge of the mattress, the cold fabric grounding me as I tried to steady my racing heart.
Elijah Brooke.
Andrew De La Cruz.
Two men. Two worlds. And both saw me as little more than a bargaining chip in their ruthless games.
I was suffocating.
What could I do? Elijah's offer was tempting, so tempting. My father, desperate to keep Blackwood Industries afloat, might accept it, if he hadn't already. Twice what Andrew invested. The promise of freedom. A way out. A way to break away from the chains that had bound me to Andrew.
But then… what if it was a trap? What if Elijah's proposal wasn't an escape but another set of shackles in a different shape, a devil's den, as my father had warned me? Could I trust him? Could I trust anyone in this world?
And then there was Andrew.
God, Andrew. My heart fluttered painfully at the thought of him. In some twisted, messed-up way, I wanted to stay with him. I wanted to believe that, somewhere beneath the cold, possessive exterior, he cared for me. That the chains he kept me in weren't just about control but about wanting me in some fucked-up version of love.
But I couldn't live like this anymore. I couldn't.
Yet, the thought of leaving Andrew behind, of walking away from the life I had known, felt like betrayal. How could I leave the only person who had ever... no. No, that wasn't it. He hadn't ever truly cared for me. He had owned me. And I had let him.
I stood, pacing the room, trying to make sense of it all. What do I do? My mind screamed for answers, but every direction felt like a dead-end. I had to tell Andrew. I couldn't live with the lie, with the weight of Elijah's offer hanging over me. But the words wouldn't come. I couldn't find a way to say them. I couldn't tell him that I was considering the one thing I had always fought against, the one thing that could break everything.
Just as I was about to pick up my phone again to call him, the door to my bedroom creaked open. I froze. The footsteps that followed were too soft to be my father's. I didn't need to turn around to know who it was.
Andrew.
"You're distant tonight," his voice cut through the silence, smooth and steady, but with an edge that told me he had been watching me for longer than I realized. His presence, heavy and imposing, filled the room.
I didn't turn to face him, didn't want him to see the war inside me, the turmoil that had become my constant companion. Instead, I kept my eyes on the window, watching the city lights flicker in the distance, though I wasn't seeing them at all.
"I'm fine," I said, but even to my own ears, it sounded like a lie. He wasn't fooled.
Andrew moved closer, his footsteps deliberate and quiet, until he stood just behind me, close enough that I could feel the warmth of his body, could smell the faint musk of his cologne. His hand came to rest on my shoulder, a touch so familiar, yet cold.
"You're not fine," he said, his tone sharp, a command rather than a question. "What's bothering you, Mary? You've been off since the party."
I swallowed, trying to keep my composure. Don't tell him. Don't show him how torn you are. But my heart was betraying me. His fingers tightened on my shoulder, and a small, involuntary shiver ran through me.
"I'm just tired," I lied, my voice barely above a whisper. "A lot's been going on lately."
His breath was warm against the back of my neck as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing my ear. "Is there something you want to talk about? You know you can tell me anything."
You don't mean that. But I couldn't say the words aloud. Instead, I nodded, my throat tight, and took a step away from him. He let me go, though I knew he was watching me, his gaze never leaving me as if he could see right through the act, see the lies I was telling myself.
"I'm just... trying to think things through," I said softly, my heart pounding in my chest. "I need some space."
Andrew didn't respond immediately, and I almost thought he was going to let it go. But then, his voice, low and dangerous, cut through the silence.
"Don't forget who you belong to, Mary," he said, each word deliberate, each syllable an unspoken warning. "You don't have the luxury of space."
I turned, meeting his gaze for the first time since his arrival. His eyes were dark, unreadable, but something flickered behind them, something I couldn't quite place. Possessiveness? Fear? I couldn't tell. But I could see the cracks in the façade, the simmering tension that always lurked beneath the surface of his control.
"I haven't forgotten," I replied, though my voice shook just slightly. I didn't mean it. Not anymore.
---
Ezekiel's POV
The phone call from Richard came at the most inconvenient time.
Ezekiel stood by the window of his office, looking out at the dark skyline of the city. The weight of the world was on his shoulders, pressing him down, suffocating him with the choices he had to make. Every step forward felt like a step into the unknown, a plunge into chaos.
"Elijah's PA," Richard's voice crackled over the line, pulling Ezekiel from his thoughts.
"What is it?" Ezekiel's voice was clipped, tired.
"He's asking for your answer. He wants it in three days. His terms remain the same: twice what Andrew offered, but the condition is the same. Your daughter."
The words hit Ezekiel like a slap to the face, though they were nothing new. The stakes had always been high. But now, with the clock ticking, he was starting to feel the weight of the decision press down on him like a vice.
"Three days?" Ezekiel echoed, rubbing a hand over his face. "He's serious, then."
"Very," Richard replied. "I'm afraid we don't have the luxury of time anymore, Ezekiel."
Ezekiel exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. He could feel his mind spiraling. Three days. It wasn't enough. But if he refused Elijah, what would that mean for Blackwood Industries? What would that mean for his daughter?
The line between protecting his business and protecting his daughter was blurring.
"Elijah doesn't play games," Ezekiel muttered. "And neither does Andrew."
Richard's voice softened, but there was no comfort in it. "We're out of options."
Ezekiel's grip tightened on the phone. "I know."
The room seemed to close in on him, the pressure building, the clock ticking away.
He wasn't just fighting for his company. He was fighting for his daughter's freedom, and he didn't know which battle he could win.
He hung up the phone, but the silence that followed was deafening. And in the silence, the choices seemed to grow more impossible by the second.
He didn't have the luxury of time either.