It was a sinner's suicide for anyone to work at Coopers Incorporation. It was no surprise that people aimed to stray far from the Devil known as Mr Elijah Cooper.
Cold, demanding, and rough, he ruled over everything with an iron grip and a calculati...
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Nora's p.o.v
Then he asks, his voice quiet but sharp,
"Tell me. What are you really afraid of?"
The words linger between us, heavy, pressing against my ribs. My fingers twitch at my sides. I should lie. I should say something meaningless, brush him off like I always do. But for some reason, I can’t.
I shift on my feet, my gaze flickering over him. His shirt is slightly unbuttoned, the sleeves rolled up, a half-empty glass of whiskey sitting beside him. He looks exhausted, his usually sharp features softer in the dim light. He’s drunk. Maybe that’s why he’s asking this. Maybe that’s why I feel off-balance, like I’m standing on the edge of something I don’t know how to name.
"I think you should get some rest," I say, turning to leave.
But before I can take a step, he grabs my wrist.
"Nora."
Just my name. No arrogance. No anger. Just a quiet pull that I can’t seem to resist.
Slowly, I turn back to him.
"Do you think I’m a good person?" His voice is quieter now, almost hesitant. It throws me off. Elijah never hesitates.
I exhale, my chest tightening. I hate him. I hate how he manipulates, how he plays his little power games, how he always finds a way to get under my skin. But… that’s not the full truth, is it? Because despite everything, despite how much I want to stay angry, he’s also the one who helped me when no one else did. The one who—no matter how much I hate to admit it—has become impossible to ignore.
I hesitate, then shake my head. "You make it difficult for people to love you."
His jaw clenches, his grip on the glass tightening. "That’s not what I asked."
I sigh. "You want the truth?"
He nods once.
"You’re not a bad person, Elijah. And yes, people love you. Even if you don’t see it."
Something flickers in his expression, but I can’t tell if he believes me.
Then, barely above a whisper, he asks, "Do you?"
The air in the room shifts. My stomach twists.
I don’t know how to answer. I want to say no. I want to tell him that I could never feel that way about someone like him. But my silence speaks louder than any denial ever could.
