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
Mark's apartment was small but beautifully curated. The modern interior had a warm, lived-in feel, with soft lighting that cast a cozy glow over the space. The subtle scent of coffee and vanilla lingered in the air. It was the kind of place that felt safe. Comfortable. Something I hadn’t felt in a long time.
Nina was exhausted, barely making it to the couch before drifting off to sleep. I tucked a blanket around her, brushing a stray curl from her forehead. She deserved to rest—without fear.
“Thank you for letting us stay here,” I murmured as I straightened up. “We’ll be gone by tomorrow.”
Mark, standing by the kitchen counter, glanced at me with a frown. “You can stay as long as you need. I just did what felt right.”
He poured two cups of coffee and handed one to me. It was sweeter than I expected—almost overwhelmingly so. I shot him a knowing look. “You have a serious sweet tooth.”
A sheepish grin spread across his face. “Guilty.”
I let out a soft chuckle, the first real one in days.
But beneath it all, my mind was anything but at ease.
I had spent the entire day running—from Elijah, from Ben, from the truth neither of them would fully give me. Their words kept circling in my head, each one twisting into the next, leaving me stranded in a maze of doubt.
"He’s dangerous, and you know it."
"Elijah killed your mother"
"Do you regret it?"
I squeezed the cup in my hands. I didn’t know what to believe anymore. Ben had his version, Elijah had his, and I… I was stuck in the middle, trying to piece together a story that still had missing pages.
But tomorrow, I’d find out. I’d get my answers.
Tomorrow, I’d find Steven.
He had always kept his distance from all of this. But if there was anyone who could give me answers, it was him. And then…
I exhaled sharply.
Then I’d try to contact my father.
It had been so long since I last heard from him. His old number had stopped working months ago, and I had no way of knowing where he was. If he was even alive.
I didn’t have time for doubts anymore.
“Come on,” Mark said, setting his cup down. “Let me show you my favorite part of this place.”
I followed him through the apartment, taking in the details along the way. Fake plants and cacti lined the shelves, and framed artwork filled the walls—each piece carefully chosen, blending seamlessly with the space. But what caught my attention were the photographs. A younger Mark, smiling with his family. Another one with a soccer team, his arms draped around teammates.
