Chapter 6 - Chapter 6: Shadows on the Glass

Lila stood in Caspian Thorn's penthouse, his hands framing her face, his lips a breath away from hers after that slow, desperate kiss. The words he'd whispered—I'll give it to you—hung heavy, a promise laced with something darker, something she couldn't quite grasp. Her hands pressed against his chest, half to push him away, half to hold on, the heat of his skin seeping through his open shirt. She wanted to believe him, wanted the truth about Elena, about Brooklyn, about the man staring at her with eyes like a storm about to break. But trust was a luxury she'd never afforded, and Caspian Thorn was a gamble she might not survive."Talk," she said, pulling back just enough to breathe, voice sharp to mask the tremor. "No games. What happened to her?"Caspian's hands dropped, and he stepped away, turning to the window where the city lights bled into the dusk. His shoulders tensed, a silhouette of control fraying at the edges. "Elena," he said, the name a wound he tore open. "She was… everything. Wild, fearless. The only one who saw through my father's bullshit."Lila watched him, arms crossed, the red dress still clinging to her like a battle flag. "And you let her disappear?"He flinched, a crack in his armor, then turned, eyes blazing. "I didn't let her do anything. She was sixteen, Lila. I was twenty, trying to keep her alive while Victor—" He stopped, jaw clenching, and poured a fresh scotch, knuckles white around the glass. "He broke her. Over and over. That night at the club, she was high, screaming at me to leave with her. I dragged her out to save her, not to hurt her.""Blood on the scene," Lila said, voice flat, testing him. "Cops found it."His head snapped up, surprise flickering before it hardened. "You've been busy." He downed the scotch in one gulp, setting the glass down with a thud. "It was hers. She cut her arm on a broken bottle—fighting me, fighting everything. I got her home, cleaned her up. She was gone by morning.""Gone where?" Lila stepped closer, relentless. "Victor said drugs. You're saying different?"Caspian's laugh was bitter, hollow. "Victor said what kept his empire clean. She didn't OD—she ran. Or someone took her. I've spent twenty years chasing shadows, Lila. Every lead, every whisper. Nothing."She studied him, searching for the lie, but his pain was too raw, too real. "Why tell me now?""Because you won't stop digging," he said, voice low, stepping into her space again. "And because I'm tired of carrying it alone."Her breath hitched, his closeness a pull she couldn't fight. "You don't get to unload your guilt and call it a truce. Brooklyn's still happening—your mess, your hands."He nodded, slow, deliberate. "It is. And I'm ending it. But I need time—and you.""Me?" She laughed, sharp. "What, your personal bloodhound?""No." His hand brushed her arm, a spark that jolted her. "My equal. You see the rot. Help me cut it out."She stared, caught between disbelief and a flicker of something dangerous—hope, maybe, or worse, want. Before she could answer, he kissed her again, softer this time, a question in the press of his lips. She melted into it, damn her, hands sliding up his chest, tangling in his hair. The kiss deepened, slow and searing, and when he pulled her toward the couch, she didn't resist.Clothes hit the floor—her dress, his shirt, a trail of need—and they fell into each other, slower this time, deliberate. His hands traced her spine, her hips, a reverence that made her ache. She straddled him, taking him in, and the world narrowed to the rhythm of their bodies, the quiet gasps, the way he whispered her name like a prayer. It wasn't the frantic clash of last night—this was something else, something that scared her more. When they finished, tangled and breathless, she stayed in his arms, the city a silent witness beyond the glass.After, he pulled a blanket over them, his fingers tracing lazy circles on her shoulder. "Stay," he murmured, voice thick with exhaustion.She tensed, reality crashing back. "I can't.""Why not?" His hand stilled, eyes searching hers."Because this—" she gestured between them, voice tight—"doesn't fix anything. I'm still coming for you, Caspian. For the truth."He nodded, a ghost of a smile. "I wouldn't want you any other way."She dressed in silence, grabbing the tablet, and left without looking back. The elevator ride was a descent into chaos—her mind a war of lust and logic. Back home, she dumped the tablet on her couch and poured whiskey, staring at the ceiling. He'd given her Elena, but Brooklyn was still a live wire. She texted Jamie: Thorn's sister—ran or taken. He's in deep. Apex next.Sleep was a lost cause. By morning, she was at the Daily Pulse, bleary-eyed, coffee in hand. Jamie pounced, glasses fogged with steam from her own mug. "Spill. What's he playing at?""He's cracking," Lila said, voice low. "Gave me Elena's story—grief, not guilt, maybe. But Brooklyn's the real fight. Apex is the key."Jamie scrolled her laptop, frowning. "Apex's a shell—bank records tie it to a holding company, Thorn-owned. Offshore accounts, too. Sloppy for him.""Or deliberate," Lila said, leaning over. "He's letting me see pieces. Why?"Jamie's eyes flicked up, sharp. "You're sleeping with him, aren't you?"Lila froze, then shrugged, defiant. "It's not like that.""Bullshit." Jamie sighed, pinching her nose. "You're in over your head, Hart. He's a billionaire, not a boyfriend.""I know what I'm doing," Lila snapped, but the words rang hollow. She grabbed the laptop, diving into the offshore trail—Cayman accounts, wire transfers, enough to bury Apex but not quite Thorn. She needed more.By noon, she was in the Bronx again, tracking a lead from Ricky—the club's old owner, now a junkyard dealer. She found him under a rusted Chevy, grease-streaked and gruff. "Elena's friends," she said, sliding him a fifty. "Who'd she run with?"He wiped his hands, pocketing the cash. "Punk kids, mostly. One stood out—Darius Kane. Rich boy, bad news. Her dealer, maybe more."Kane. Vanessa's brother? Lila's gut twisted. "Where's he now?""Dead. OD'd in '99. Convenient, huh?" Ricky smirked, turning back to the car.Lila left, mind racing. Darius Kane—another thread to Vanessa, to Caspian's world. She hit a coffee shop, digging online: Darius, heir to Kane Industries, dead at twenty, no autopsy released. Too clean. She texted Caspian: Darius Kane. Tell me.His reply was instant: 49th. Tonight. No games, just a pull she couldn't resist.At 8 p.m., she was back, jeans and a leather jacket this time, no dress to hide behind. He opened the door, casual in a black sweater, eyes tired but sharp. "You don't quit," he said, letting her in."Darius," she said, cutting through. "Elena's dealer? Vanessa's brother?"Caspian's face darkened, and he poured two scotches, handing her one. "Yeah. He fed her the drugs, the lies. I blamed him—still do. When he died, I thought it was justice.""Or someone tied up a loose end," she said, sipping, the burn steadying her. "Victor?""Maybe." He sat, staring at the glass. "I never found proof. Just a body and a sister I couldn't save."She sat beside him, close but not touching. "And Vanessa?""Grieves him. Hates me." His voice was flat, resigned. "She thinks I let it happen."Lila set the glass down, leaning in. "Did you?"His eyes met hers, raw, unguarded. "No. But I didn't stop it either."The silence stretched, heavy, and she reached for him—tentative, testing. He pulled her in, kissing her slow, deep, a need that wasn't just physical. Clothes stayed on, but the intimacy stripped them bare, hands and lips a quiet confession. When they parted, she stayed, curled against him, the truth a shadow they'd face together—or die trying.