The sun dipped below the skyline of Velmora, casting long amber streaks over the city's steel and glass bones. Inside the Jefferson estate's secure penthouse—where few were ever allowed—Elsa stood in her silent office, her shoulders tense, eyes cold.
Then, a knock.
It wasn't Kip.
It wasn't any of her team.
When the door opened, the last person she expected walked in.
"You're in my home," she said flatly.
"Correction," came the calm voice. "Hubert Golding's property. Technically, I have partial inheritance rights."
Chess Golding.
In flesh, steel-grey tailored suit, and unreadable calm.
Elsa blinked, caught between fury and confusion.
"You've got some nerve," she said. "Walking into my world unannounced."
"Just returning a favor," Chess replied. "You sent shockwaves through Silas Kade's empire. You rattled him. That pleased me."
He walked over to her bar, poured himself a drink—like he owned the place—and sat down across from her like a silent king. Elsa's jaw ticked.
"Why are you really here?" she asked, folding her arms.
"Because someone just tried to blow up Kip's apartment."
Her heart missed a beat.
"Is he okay?"
"Bruised ego. Minor burns. He'll live. But that wasn't just an attack."
He leaned in, eyes locked onto hers.
"It was a message. To you. And me."
⚡ Forced Alliance
Minutes later, Kip limped in—bandaged, still grinning through the pain.
"Yo. I invited him."
Elsa turned to him in disbelief.
"You what?"
"Look, we're being hunted. You need someone who thinks like them. Someone who already knows where the bodies are buried."
"And your pick is him?"
Chess just raised a brow.
"I'm not here to steal your war, Elsa. I'm here to win it for you."
There was a silence that hummed with challenge.
But Elsa, ever the strategist, recognized truth when it punched her in the face. She exhaled sharply.
"Fine. You're in. But under my terms."
"Agreed."
🌒 The First Night
A storm rolled in that night—fittingly.
The estate's power flickered, and due to a rare system glitch, the private wing's smart doors locked automatically. Elsa and Chess, trapped in the eastern wing—alone, with no staff nearby, and no override for several hours.
She sat by the fireplace with a glass of wine. He leaned against the wall, coat off, sleeves rolled.
"You're surprisingly calm for someone locked in with a stranger," Elsa said, sipping.
"You're not a stranger," Chess replied. "You're the granddaughter of the man who tried to broker peace in a war of snakes."
"And you're the man who disappeared from every photo I ever tried to trace."
"Would you have liked what you found?" he asked softly.
The fireplace crackled.
For a moment, the ice between them started to melt.
"Maybe," she whispered.
Silence stretched again. Not awkward. Weighted.
"Why haven't you made a move yet?" she asked suddenly. "You clearly have the resources to bring Silas down yourself."
"Because I wanted to see what you would do," Chess said. "And I'm impressed."
A heartbeat.
"You remind me of someone," he added.
"Who?"
"Me."
Elsa chuckled. For the first time in weeks.
"God help us both."
They shared that rare kind of smile—the one that says: You're trouble. And I might just like it.
💫 Something Unspoken
As the storm raged, they talked. Quiet, biting, vulnerable in glimpses. Chess revealed nothing about his past—but his gaze, his pauses, hinted at oceans under the surface. Elsa didn't offer softness—but her eyes held cracks he noticed.
By dawn, the storm had passed.
So had something else.
"Get some rest," Chess murmured, as she leaned against the velvet couch, eyelids heavy.
"Don't tell me what to do…"
But her head fell back. Asleep.
He stood quietly.
Watched her.
Then placed his coat gently over her shoulders, the barest ghost of a smile on his face.