A long chapter this time!

I really hope you enjoy it! Let me know!

A couple notes:

I got more chapters coming. I took some time to write ahead. Four chapters ahead. They just need to be edited.

Regarding the Russian language parts of the story. Sometimes it's really hard/annoying for me to phonetically write out Russian words. So I've been going back and forth between writing the dialogue in Russian, or in phonetically in English. Either way there will always be a translation. I do want you to hear how Russian sounds like. Just some sounds are almost impossible to type out with Latin letters.

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The morning spring air was crisp, carrying the last remnants of the night's chill as it clung to the city. The Chicago skyline stretched behind them, bathed in the pale orange glow of sunrise, while Lake Michigan shimmered to their right, its surface rippling beneath the soft morning light. To their left, the early sun cast long shadows against the towering buildings, painting the city in muted gold and cool blue.

They were making their way from the Gold Coast to Edgewater, where Liza and Ollie would say goodbye to their apartment—for who knew how long.

Liza guided her Mustang through the slow-moving traffic, fingers drumming idly against the wheel. The familiar purr of the engine grounded her, kept her present, even as her mind drifted back to the night before.

She stifled a yawn, blinking against the grip of exhaustion. None of them had gotten enough sleep. Staying up too late after the Vampire Council party had seemed like a great idea at the time—less so now, with fatigue making her limbs ache. Even if kissing Elijah in the library had been wonderful in the moment.

Ramses was sprawled across the backseat and took up as much space as physically possible, his large paws hanging over the edge of the seat. Every so often, he let out a huff when Liza made a turn, but otherwise, he remained undisturbed, his body loose, his breathing slow.

In the passenger seat, Ollie scrolled through her phone behind the dark lenses of her sunglasses, shielding her tired eyes from the morning glare. She wore a fitted olive-green sweater, the sleeves pushed up to her elbows, paired with dark jeans and her favorite heeled booties. Despite their collective exhaustion, she still managed to look effortlessly put together.

Liza, on the other hand, had opted for her usual—a sweatshirt layered beneath her signature green leather jacket, snug and worn, paired with dark jeans torn at the knees and her well-loved black lace-up boots. The rainbow quartz crystal hanging from her neck caught the morning light now and then, casting tiny iridescent glints across the dashboard as they drove.

Behind them, the sleek black Bentley followed, gliding smoothly through traffic, ever-present, ever-watchful. Liza didn't have to check her mirrors to know it was there—she felt it. Felt him. Still, she flicked a glance at the rearview mirror.

Elijah was behind the wheel, composed as ever, Klaus beside him, looking as if he had somewhere better to be. She couldn't make out their expressions through the morning glare, but she didn't need to see Elijah's face to know that he was watching her. It was absurd the way her body recognized his presence before her mind did, the way awareness curled through her like a slow burn, warm and distracting, settling deep in her chest.

Liza exhaled through her nose and shook her head slightly as she refocused on the road. She wasn't sure what to do with that feeling. Not yet.

Ollie, however, had no patience for internal monologues.

"Alright," she said suddenly, lowering her phone and tilting her head toward Liza. "You've been weirdly quiet this whole drive, and that's saying something, considering, you know, we're literally uprooting our entire lives."

Liza arched a brow. "I've been driving."

"Uh-huh. And thinking. A lot." Ollie nudged her hand against Liza's arm. "Spill."

Liza hesitated, her fingers flexing on the wheel. "It's nothing."

Ollie turned fully toward her, lowering her sunglasses just enough to give her a pointed look. "Bullshit."

Liza sighed through her nose. "It's… Elijah."

The corners of Ollie's mouth twitched upward, but she said nothing at first, just watched.

When Liza didn't speak quickly enough, Ollie prompted her. "Do tell."

Liza shot her a halfhearted glare before looking back at the road. "After you went to bed…. We… ended up in the library."

Ollie hummed and raised one of her already sharply-arched brows. "Uh-huh."

Liza pressed her lips together briefly before continuing. "We talked. About all of this. About us." The words felt graver now that she was saying them out loud. Her pulse skipped a beat. "I told him I didn't just see him as my protector. That I… wanted more. And he—" She gripped the wheel a little tighter. "He feels the same."

Ollie let out a low whistle. "Damn."

Liza glanced at her. "That's it? Damn?"

Ollie smirked. "I mean, what do you want me to say? 'Oh, Liza, how scandalous!'" She waved her hands dramatically. "'The noble Elijah Mikaelson, harboring deep, forbidden affections? How shocking!'"

Liza groaned and shoved her arm lightly. "You are the worst."

"And yet, I'm still your best friend." Ollie adjusted her sunglasses back onto her nose, smug. "So. Did you kiss him again or what?"

Liza inhaled sharply, warmth creeping up her neck. She began to twirl a lock of hair. "…Yes."

Ollie grinned. "Called it."

"Shut up."

"Nope. Not happening." Ollie leaned back and crossed her arms. "So… how was it?"

Liza rolled her eyes. She hesitated, then decided there was no point in holding back—Ollie would get it out of her either way. "It was… different this time. More real, I guess."

"Oh yeah?" Ollie didn't need to be looking at her for Liza to hear the grin still on her face. "Did you see him naked?"

Liza turned to her, aghast, her face heating. "No! He wants to take things slow, to do this right."

Ollie snorted. "God, he would say that."

Liza's lips twitched despite herself. "Yeah. But I don't mind. I want to go slow too."

Ollie shook her head, laughing. "Damn, girl. This is serious. You haven't had a boyfriend since—" She paused, grimaced. "Well, since the douchebag in L.A. And I know you haven't gotten laid since you came back to Chicago."

That was two years ago.

Liza groaned dramatically and slumped against her door, elbow propped beneath the window as they pulled up to a red light. "I hate you."

"No, you don't," Ollie sang and glanced over the top of her glasses with a wicked smile.

Liza pressed her lips together and refused to let a smile slip through. She nudged Ollie's shoulder. "Dude, those two vampires behind us can probably hear our heartbeats—and our entire conversation."

Ollie paused, then raised her hands in mock surrender. "Alright, lovebird, let's focus. We get in, pack up, compel Stan, and get the hell out. Easy."

Liza nodded and exhaled shakily. "Yeah. Easy."

The light turned green, but Ollie hesitated before looking forward. She stole a glance in the side mirror.

She saw that Klaus was grinning. She had no idea what he and Elijah were discussing, but something about the angle of his smile—the way the sun caught the edge of his sunglasses, the dimple in his cheek—had her watching longer than she meant to. He had nice lips... The thought struck before she could stop it. Ollie blinked, then quickly looked away, scowling at herself.

Liza tapped her fingers against the steering wheel as the Mustang rumbled forward, their greystone apartment building now only a few minutes away. The previous conversation still buzzed in her chest, but she wasn't about to let Ollie off the hook so easily.

She flicked her brown gaze toward her best friend, smirking. "Alright, since we're spilling things," she said, drawing out the words, "let's talk about you."

"Huh?" Ollie looked at Liza a little too quickly. "Me?"

"Yeah," Liza said, and jerked her thumb over her shoulder, motioning toward the Bentley. "You and Klaus."

Ollie let out a short, incredulous laugh. "What about me and Klaus?"

Liza shot her a knowing look. "You know exactly what."

Ollie sighed dramatically and shifted in her seat. "Liza, come on. It's Klaus. You know—Klaus Mikaelson? The immortal, sadistic, murderous hybrid?"

"And yet," Liza drawled, "you don't seem as repulsed by him as you should be."

Ollie scoffed and shoved her sunglasses up into her messy bun. "He's obnoxious. Completely full of himself. And don't even get me started on the whole smug fake-British thing he's got going on."

Liza bit back a grin. "And?"

Ollie crossed her arms. "And… yeah, okay, maybe there's something there." She exhaled sharply, shaking her head as though trying to rid herself of the thought. "But don't you dare make a thing out of it."

Liza smirked. "I would never."

Ollie shot her a glare. "You absolutely would."

Liza only shrugged, enjoying this far too much. "So you do like him."

Ollie groaned and leaned her head back against the headrest of her seat. "I don't like him-like him," she said, her voice strained, as if saying it out loud might somehow make it true. "I just—he gets under my skin, and it's annoying. And okay, fine, maybe he's got a little charm or whatever, but—"

"But you're intrigued," Liza finished. It was only fair to push her friend's buttons in return.

Ollie muttered something under her breath, in Russian—it sounded like blyat (fuck)—then shook her head. "This conversation is over."

Liza chuckled but let it go—for now.

As they turned into the alley behind their greystone apartment, she saw the Bentley following close behind. She took a steadying breath, her eyes then roving over the two-story building that they'd called home for over a year. Soon, it would be just another place she'd left behind.

"Alright," she muttered. "Let's do this."

Liza pulled the Mustang into one of the few designated parking spots, and the familiar crunch of gravel beneath the tires settled uncomfortably in her stomach. The Bentley, its polished frame looking almost insultingly out of place against the cracked pavement and the weathered wood of the back staircase, parked as well. The air smelled like damp stone, and there was a lingering trace of someone's late-night barbecue hanging faintly in the air.

Liza cut the engine. Her fingers lingered on the keys longer than necessary.

Ollie stretched in the passenger seat and looked back at Ramses, who had perked up the moment they had stopped, his tail thumping against the leather. "Guess this is it," she said.

Liza hummed in agreement, but her focus had shifted elsewhere—beside them.

On him. She didn't have to turn her head to know Elijah had stepped out of the car. She once again felt him before she saw him, her senses attuned to him in a way that felt inevitable now.

He stood near the Bentley, Klaus on the other side of the expensive car. Their long shadows stretched across the gravel in the morning light. The sun caught the sharp lines of Elijah's suit, the angle of his jaw, the composed set of his shoulders. But beneath that composure, something else simmered–as he and Klaus waited for them to step out. Something unspoken. But she knew what it was. She felt its presence too. Something that had started to take root in the dim light of the mansion's library the night before.

Liza swallowed and forced herself to focus. "Come on," she said, unbuckling her seatbelt. She reached back for Ramses' leash, opened her door, and folded her seat forward so the Akita could jump out.

The morning air nipped, prompting her to tug her leather jacket tighter around her as she stepped onto the pavement. She barely made it two steps toward the staircase before Klaus' voice cut through the quiet.

"Our home is certainly an upgrade," he mused, his blue gaze sweeping over the building with arrogance—because compared to the Mikaelson estate, it was. "I dare say I'm looking forward to seeing your rooms." But the words were directed at Ollie.

Ollie shot him a look and shoved past him with a scoff. "In your dreams, smartass."

Klaus grinned, unbothered. "Every night, love."

Elijah sighed. "Must we?"

But Liza had already moved ahead of them, up the back stairs, Ramses trotting beside her. She didn't need to see Elijah's face to know he was watching her ascend the steps. He traced her movements with the subtle intensity that always seemed to follow her now.

She took out her keys and unlocked the back door. Inside, the apartment was exactly as they had left it. The air smelled faintly of vanilla and citrus—scents from the candles that she and Ollie often burned, one of the small details that had made this place feel like home. The kitchen, neat and spotless, was a testament to Ollie's tidiness. Liza was far more chaotic in that regard.

Ollie planted her hands on her hips, her dark eyes scanning the space with a quiet finality. "Alright, let's make this quick. Clothes, essentials, and whatever we need for Ramses."

After Liza unleashed him, Ramses padded over to his water bowl, lapping noisily at what was left. Then, with a sharp inhale, Ollie straightened and strode toward her bedroom, her movements brisk, decisive. No point in dragging it out.

Klaus, on the other hand, made himself comfortable snooping around the kitchen, casually opening cabinets with the obnoxious curiosity of someone who had no intention of helping.

Liza tried to push past the ache settling in her ribs. She turned down the hall, stepping into her own bedroom, and took a deep breath. The yellow bedspread, the light blue walls (which had never been her choice), the scattered remnants of her life—books stacked haphazardly on the nightstand, a framed photo of her and Ollie at the beach, a pair of boots she'd kicked off some time ago and forgotten—all of it felt more significant. Sad.

Behind her, she heard the soft sound of Elijah's footsteps. He didn't enter, but he lingered in the doorway and watched her quietly as she moved to the closet and pulled out an empty duffel bag.

"If you'd like some space," he began, his voice gentle. "I can give you privacy."

Liza paused for only a second and looked at him over her shoulder as she crouched to retrieve a suitcase from beneath her bed next. It was already packed—with winter clothes she wouldn't need just yet. She unzipped it, pulling out sweaters, setting them aside for now.

"Please stay," she said softly.

Moving into the Mikaelsons' borrowed home was temporary, but the timeline was uncertain. And as much as she would miss this apartment, there was no question in her mind—she wanted to be near Elijah. Not just because he would protect her and make her feel safe… There was the matter of wanting him.

Elijah gave a small nod and stepped inside, leaning against the wall, his gaze steady. His presence filled the room, a quiet strength that they both knew she was craving.

"I understand this must be overwhelming," he said. "But remember, you're not alone in this. You have Ollie, and you have me."

His eyes darted briefly over the framed photographs—the one of her and Ollie, another of Liza with her parents and brother. Then, a smaller frame caught his attention—a picture of Ramses as a puppy, cradled in her arms like a baby, his paws in the air, mouth parted in a doggy grin. A snapshot of belonging, of a life she was leaving behind.

But as much as he recognized what she was giving up, he also knew—this was the only choice that ensured her survival. "And my family, for better or worse, has committed itself to your safety," he added.

Liza glanced back at him, a small smile tugging at her lips. "I know," she said. "It's just… bittersweet."

She turned to her dresser, past where he stood, and began pulling out t-shirts and long-sleeves. "I felt safe here. Ollie and I made it home." Her voice softened as she crouched beside her suitcase, tucking the shirts inside. "But… I also want to be wherever you are."

Her cheeks warmed as the admission slipped out, and she ducked her head, suddenly very focused on folding. "And to be protected," she added quickly. Of course, she wanted Ollie safe too.

Elijah's gaze softened, and the corner of his mouth lifted slightly. Without a word, he reached for more shirts from the dresser, his movements fluid.

"Your safety is paramount," he said. "And as for home–" He crouched beside her. With ease, he folded the shirts, placing them neatly into the suitcase. "Home can be wherever you make it. Perhaps, in time, the Manor might come to feel like home as well."

Liza cast him a sideways glance, and a flicker of surprise crossed her features—not at what he said, but at the simple act of him helping. She hadn't expected it, but maybe she should have.

He hesitated for just a moment before a bit of humor danced across his features. "Provided, of course, my siblings don't drive you too mad."

Liza smirked and lowered her voice as she whispered, "I think Ollie and I are already used to it—used to Klaus. And, well, it's a big house."

Elijah chuckled, the sound deep and warm, his eyes twinkling. He folded another shirt, as if the simple act of helping her pack meant more than he would ever clarify aloud.

"A big house, indeed," he mused. He could hear her heart rate pick up, could feel the warmth emanating from her body as they crouched close, their hands brushing as they worked. He didn't move away.

"There's plenty of space," Liza added, her fingers lingering on the fabric between them. "As for it feeling like home… probably after a little while."

Elijah hummed in agreement, his eyes never leaving her. "With time," he said.

She turned slightly and caught the way he watched her. It was that quiet intensity again, the kind that made her stomach tighten, not unpleasantly, and her breath catch just a little.

"I can't wait to explore more of it," she admitted, and God, the way he looked at her—like she was something rare, something precious—it was enough to make her forget, just for a moment, why they were even leaving in the first place.

It was ridiculous, how something as mundane as packing for an indefinite move could be charged like this. The way he helped, how he folded her clothes instead of just standing there—it shouldn't make him more attractive to her, and yet… it did. Every day, it seemed, Elijah Mikaelson became harder to resist.

His gaze held hers, a silent acknowledgment passing between them. The air between them seemed to still, thick with unspoken anticipation, an undercurrent of something neither of them dared name just yet. Then, as if drawn by instinct, he reached for her hand, his thumb gliding across her knuckles in a slow, deliberate motion.

His touch sent a warm ripple beneath her skin, igniting just beneath the surface. It was a reminder—of what was growing between them, of the connection that existed despite the chaos that surrounded them.

"I'd be more than willing to show you more of the house," he murmured, his voice low, almost a caress. "After you're settled, of course."

She nodded slowly, and her lips parted slightly before she found her voice. "I wouldn't mind seeing the library again."

She knew that he'd know exactly what she was suggesting. The night before lingered at the forefront of her mind—the way they had found each other in the quiet solitude of that room, the way his lips had claimed hers again. But if she didn't pull away now, she'd never finish packing.

Liza stood and stepped back, breaking the moment before it could spiral into something more. She turned to her dresser, pulling open a drawer—and immediately regretted it. Her underwear drawer. Her brain stuttered. She had lived in this room for over a year, and yet, she had somehow forgotten about its contents until Elijah was standing right there.

Heat rushed to her face as she hastily grabbed a bundle of lace and silk and hurried past him, dumping them into the zippered flap of her suitcase, shoving them down fast before he could catch a glimpse.

"Uh, don't fold those," she blurted, and zipped the compartment shut with unnecessary force.

Elijah arched a brow but remained tactful. The only sign of amusement was the subtle twitch at the corner of his mouth, but his dark eyes betrayed him, glinting with restrained mirth. "Of course," he said smoothly, "not all garments require my assistance."

A quiet chuckle accompanied his words as he stepped back, granting her space—though he didn't look away. There was something undeniably charming about the way she flushed, the clumsiness in her hands. He had seen her stand before the Vampire Council without faltering, challenge both himself and Klaus without hesitation, and embrace the tangled fate that bound them all.

And yet, this—this small, human moment, so unguarded, so unexpectedly vulnerable—captivated him just as much.

He moved to the other side of the room, hands clasped behind his back, still watching her with fascination. "The library, then," he mused, his voice thoughtful. "Perhaps in the evening."

It wasn't just a suggestion. It was a promise.

Liza, still willing her face to cool, focused intently on her suitcase. "I… look forward to it," she said, almost distracted.

But the truth? She wasn't thinking about books. Not about the Manor's vast library, its towering shelves, or the scent of old parchment and leather-bound volumes. Not about its architecture or anything remotely scholarly. She was thinking about him. The way his mouth had felt on hers. The way his hand had settled against her back, his fingertips slipping just beneath the hem of her pajama shirt, teasing coolness against her skin. She wanted to feel more of him. His whole hand against her, exploring, claiming—

Shaking the thought away, she moved with more urgency now, reaching for the remaining clothes in her closet. She didn't bother taking them off the hangers, stuffing them straight into her duffel bag. They didn't have time for meticulous packing.

Elijah observed her with a mix of admiration and something gentler—something closer to fondness. Her movements were efficient, practical, but he could see the gravity of the moment pressing on her. The way she was methodically choosing what to take, what to leave behind, the way her fingers lingered on certain items just a little longer than others.

When she reached for her backpack, she carefully retrieved the old, well-worn grimoire. The same one she had used to ward the apartment. Elijah watched as she placed it inside, alongside her laptop and a small bag of skincare and makeup. A piece of her past. A piece of her present. A piece of the future she was stepping into.

Liza grabbed the last few essentials—a phone charger, sneakers, and the oversized sweater she always wore when she needed comfort, any time of year. She stuffed them into the backpack, zipped it up, and sighed slowly. That was it. Everything important was packed.

Elijah, ever the gentleman, lifted her duffel bag, the weight of it meaning nothing to him. He adjusted the strap and watched as she turned back toward the room, taking it in one last time.

It felt smaller now. Emptier. The framed posters, the clutter, the bed where she had spent so many nights lost in thought or wrecked with emotion or simply exhausted—it was all still there. She lingered in the doorway, her fingers hovering over the knob, memorizing the space, letting the moment settle. The last time she slept here was two nights ago.

With a quiet breath, she rolled the suitcase and closed the door. The second they stepped back into the kitchen, a thud followed the frantic scrabbling of paws against the hardwood floor.

Ramses had clearly sensed the shift—his excitement was palpable as he trotted between Klaus and Ollie, his tail wagging so hard that his entire body shook.

"You're doing it wrong," Ollie huffed, her arms crossed as she watched Klaus casually toss one of Ramses' favorite toys into a reusable grocery bag. "Don't just throw them in!"

Klaus smirked and picked up a bag of treats next. "Darling, I have survived over a thousand years of war, betrayal, and supernatural politics—I assure you, I can handle packing a dog's belongings."

Ramses, oblivious to the bickering, pushed his head against Klaus' leg, letting out a low, happy woof.

Liza blinked. "I still don't get why he loves you so much."

Klaus glanced down at the dog and shrugged, scratching behind his ears. "What can I say? The beast has excellent taste."

Ramses panted happily, leaning into the touch.

Ollie wrinkled her nose. "Or maybe he just thinks you're one of his kind—annoying, territorial, and impossible to get rid of."

Klaus grinned and shifted his hand to scratch under Ramses' chin now. "Jealous, love?"

Ollie scoffed. "Not even remotely."

Liza raised an eyebrow as she watched the the exchange unfold. Elijah, standing beside her, exhaled through his nose—a subtle but unmistakable sign of exasperation.

She smirked and tilted her head toward him. "Enjoying the show?"

He gave her a sidelong glance, his lips twitching. "It is, at the very least, entertaining."

Klaus, of course, noticed their scrutiny. He picked up another one of Ramses' chew toys, tossing it into the bag with a flick of his wrist before flashing Liza a grin. "Don't look so surprised, love. Even I find nothing wrong with having a soft spot for your mutt." Then, with a slow smirk, his gaze flicked back to Ollie. "And certain other creatures."

Ollie groaned, snatched the bag from him, and then shoved it against his chest for dramatic effect. "Carry this and shut up."

Klaus chuckled but took it without protest, clearly enjoying himself.

Elijah shook his head, bu his dark eyes softened a bit. Klaus' playful banter with Ollie was an unexpected yet welcomed sight. The other night, they had danced together at the Vampire Council party. Then, they had picked up Thai food—together—and brought it home for everyone. Small, inconsequential things on the surface, but Elijah knew better. Whatever this was, whatever it could become, Klaus needed it. He needed someone who didn't fear him, who challenged him without ulterior motives. At the very least, he needed a friend. Elijah had spent centuries trying to guide his brother, to steer him away from his more monstrous inclinations, to remind him of the man he once could have been. Had it truly been as simple as Ollie stepping into his life?

The thought was almost laughable. But as he watched Klaus—grinning, tossing another one of Ramses' toys into a bag with far too much amusement—Elijah found himself wondering if, perhaps, Ollie was precisely the kind of good chaos Klaus had never seen coming. And while Ollie claimed to be unaffected, the way her ears burned slightly as she turned away from Klaus was telling.

Elijah leaned in just enough for his voice to be for Liza alone. "It appears my brother has found a worthy adversary."

Liza smirked and continued to watch as Ollie, still muttering under her breath, pulled her sunglasses from her bun and shoved them back onto her face as if that could shield her from Klaus' smug expression.

"Oh, he wishes," Liza murmured back.

Elijah's hand brushed against hers—a fleeting touch, deliberate. "As amusing as this is, shall we?"

His voice was smooth, but there was something beneath his tone, something that sent a shiver down her spine. The suggestion was simple—let's go. But the way he said it, the way his fingers lingered for half a second longer than necessary, made it feel like a different invitation entirely. They just got half of what they needed to complete done for the morning. Liza and Ollie would soon be moved into the Gold Coast mansion. And later… the library.

Liza nodded absently, her eyes still fixed on Klaus and Ollie, who had somehow turned a simple task into an all-out battle of wills.

"Let me," Klaus drawled, and reached for the leash with an infuriating grin.

Ollie yanked it back, narrowing her eyes. "I'm more than capable."

"Very well," Klaus said smoothly—and then, just as she braced for another tug, he let go.

Ollie stumbled back a step, barely catching herself, while Ramses—always eager to contribute—took the commotion as an invitation to start barking.

Muttering under her breath, Ollie clipped the leash onto Ramses' collar and ignored the way Klaus chuckled at her expense.

Liza smirked. "Yeah. Let's go. Before one of them kills the other."

Ollie, still holding onto the leash as Ramses pulled, hefted her suitcase with her free hand. Her gaze swept over their apartment, a flicker of something unreadable crossing her face. Liza knew she was keeping her own sadness at bay.

"Alright," she muttered. "Let's get this over with." Then, turning to Klaus, she jabbed a finger at him. "And you—no funny business in Liza's car."

Klaus pressed a hand to his chest, expression mock-wounded. "You wound me, love. I'm an excellent passenger."

Without waiting for a response, he grabbed her suitcase right out of her hand, tossing it over his shoulder like it weighed a mere pound.

Ollie hesitated. Blinked. "…Okay, what?"

Klaus smirked and spun on his heel before strolling toward the door as if the favor was nothing. "No need to strain yourself, sweetheart. Consider it a courtesy."

For a second, Ollie just stood there, staring at his retreating form. Then, realizing Liza was watching, she cleared her throat, snapped Ramses' leash taut, and stalked after Klaus.

Liza bit her lip and glanced at Elijah, who was effortlessly lifting her suitcase as well, her duffel bag slung over his shoulder. She arched a brow. "Not you too."

Elijah, unbothered, gave her a small, knowing smile. "I'm merely ensuring we leave in a timely manner."

Liza smiled as well and didn't argue as she secured her backpack over her shoulder.

Ollie was already halfway down the back stairs, Ramses pulling her along, while Klaus, ever insufferable, trotted ahead with her suitcase in his grasp like he owned it. And despite everything, Liza caught the way Ollie glanced at him from the corner of her eye. Ollie smirked. Interesting.

The plan was simple: Ollie and Klaus would take the Mustang back to the mansion with their belongings, while Elijah and Liza would take the Bentley to finalize her resignation at work.

Ollie shot Liza a look before sliding into the driver's seat of the Mustang. "Text me when you're done. And if he tries anything," she jerked a thumb at Klaus, "I'll just push him out at a stoplight."

Liza laughed. Klaus only grinned as he slipped into the passenger seat, entirely too casual. "You wound me, love. You make it sound as though I'm not a delight to travel with."

Ramses, evidently not one to judge, happily hopped into the back seat, curling up as if the Mustang belonged to him alone. Within moments, the engine rumbled to life, and the car disappeared down the street, leaving Liza and Elijah standing beside the Bentley in quiet stillness.

Elijah turned to her, opening the passenger door with a smooth, practiced motion. "Shall we?" His voice was soft, expectant.

Liza hesitated, her gaze flickering to the apartment building. The street she'd called home, the life she'd built within those walls—it all felt distant now, as though she were already a step removed from it. How quickly things had changed. And yet, standing here, Elijah at her side, she didn't feel as lost as she should have.

Elijah didn't press her. He simply waited, watching her with the patience of a man who understood the seriousness of leaving something behind. He had centuries of practice in goodbyes.

After a moment, Liza drew in a slow breath and turned back to him. She nodded and slid into the passenger seat. Elijah closed the door before rounding the car. The Bentley purred beneath his hands, and then they pulled away from the parking spot, out of the alley, and into the street.

The streets blurred past in a familiar, well-worn pattern. Liza had driven this route a hundred times before, but now, with Elijah beside her, it felt different. The city she had once navigated with ease felt bigger. Wilder. More uncertain.

Her phone vibrated in her lap. Mom.

Liza's breath hitched slightly, her fingers hovering over the screen. Irina's face stared back at her—a picture from a few summers ago, taken at her aunt's old dacha in Russia. Liza could still remember the warmth of the sun that day, the scent of wildflowers thick in the air as her mother laughed, holding a basket of fresh berries. Her mother looked like her. Rather, she looked like her mother. The same warm brown hair, but a curly bob, brown eyes, slim nose, and high cheekbones.

Liza swallowed, knowing she had to answer.

Elijah's gaze went to her, and he sensed the shift in her energy, but he remained silent. He didn't need to ask—he could already tell the call carried importance.

With a quick breath, Liza accepted, switching to Russian without thinking. "Mama, privet." Hi, Mama.

Her mother's voice came through, warm yet sharp with motherly concern. "Liza, dorogaya, gde ty? Kak ty?" Liza, darling, where are you? How are you?

Liza kept the call on speaker, which had become habit ever since she learned that a person would receive mild radiation if a cellphone touched the ear. Usually, Liza had her earbuds, but this time, she didn't, so Eljiah heard.

Her grip on her phone tightened as she held it in the air near her face. "Ya v poryadke, Mama," she answered smoothly, forcing a smile into her voice. I'm fine, Mama. "Prosto zanyata rabotoy." Just busy with work.

Elijah's hands remained steady on the wheel, but his fingers flexed slightly, a subtle reaction to the carefully measured tone she used. He recognized it too well—the sound of someone trying to convince a loved one that everything was fine, even when it wasn't.

Irina hummed, unconvinced. "Tak dolgo ne zvonish'. Ty ne zabo'le'la?" You haven't called in so long. You're not sick, are you?

Liza let out a light laugh, hoping it sounded natural. "Net, net, vse khorosho." No, no, everything's fine. "Prosto mnogo del." Just a lot going on.

There was a pause, a thoughtful silence. Then a sigh. "Liza, ty vsegda byla takoy samostoyatelnoy. No yesli chto-to ne tak—" Liza, you've always been so independent. But if something is wrong—

Liza cut in before her mother could press further. "Vse v poryadke, Mama, obeshchayu." Everything's fine, Mama, I promise. "Kak papa?" How's Dad?

Her mother exhaled, clearly recognizing the deflection but allowing it. "On zanimaetsya svoimi delami, kak vsegda." He's keeping busy, as always. "On prosil menya peredat', chto skucha'yet po te' by'e." He asked me to tell you he misses you.

Liza's throat tightened. "I ya po imu." And I miss him. "Ya napishu tebe potom, khorosho?" I'll text you later, okay?

Her mother hesitated, then finally relented. "Khorosho, dorogaya. Beregi sebya." Okay, sweetheart. Take care of yourself.

"I ty, Mama." You too, Mama.

The call ended with a soft chime. Liza exhaled slowly and squeezed the phone in her hand for a moment before lowering it to her lap. The lie sat heavy in her chest. She stared at the city through the windshield, but she didn't really see it.

Elijah's voice, when it came, was gentle but firm. "You don't have to do this alone, Liza."

She blinked and half-turned to him. His profile was calm, composed. He wasn't prying. He wasn't demanding answers. He was simply there. And that, more than anything, made her want to tell him–

Liza sighed and grasped a strand of hair at her ear. "I hate lying to her," she admitted as she twirled her hair. "But how am I supposed to tell her the truth?" She shook her head. "That their daughter is caught up in a supernatural—" she gestured vaguely, searching for the right word, "—shitstorm? That I could be hunted? That I've left behind everything I knew for a mansion full of vampires?"

Elijah's lips pressed together. Then, quietly, he said, "You protect them by keeping them unaware. But you don't have to carry that burden alone." As he looked at her, he meant what he said.

Liza swallowed and glanced down at her phone again before locking the screen, which made a shuffling sound before turning black. "I know," she murmured, her voice softer now.

Elijah eased the car toward an intersection. "In time, perhaps the truth can be shared, but for now, deception is a necessary evil." He paused, considering her carefully before adding, "Though I am certain no harm would come to them, it may be best to ease them into the reality of our world—should you ever wish to." But Liza was already shaking her head, her gaze fixed on the passing streets, her expression guarded. "No, I don't think I can tell them anything," she admitted. "They… didn't even accept my grandmother being a witch. They never believed her, in the first place, and they won't accept that I'm… starting to embrace it." Elijah read the tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers curled unconsciously in her lap. Without hesitation, he reached over, his hand finding hers, offering a firm but gentle squeeze. "They don't have to accept it—not now, not ever," he murmured. "But if the knowledge becomes too much to carry alone, having people you trust can make the burden lighter." Liza exhaled, a small, knowing smile tugging at her lips. "Good thing Ollie and I made friends with a few vampires, then." She turned her hand over, her fingers slipping between his in an instinctive motion. Simple, yet significant. She felt the coolness of his skin against her own, the contrast nice. Elijah's grip tightened just slightly, his thumb brushing along the curves of her knuckles. "Indeed it is," he said, his voice quiet but steady. They gazed at each other, his dark brown eyes locked on her lighter brown ones, studying her. A moment passed, unspoken yet deeply felt—a moment of understanding between two people navigating a world of secrets, finding solace in the certainty of each other. Her trust settled deep within him, an anchor in the shifting tides of everything else. As he rounded the car onto the ramp, the skyline unfolding before them, Elijah cast another glance her way. His eyes softened. With one hand still steady on the wheel, he lifted hers to his lips, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to the back of her hand. Liza's breath caught. It was just a kiss on her hand, nothing scandalous, nothing grand. But the reverence in it, the silent promise, made her pulse stutter all the same. 00000

The glow of his computer screen cast a long shadow across the darkened condo, flickering against the sleek, modern lines of the furniture. The blinds were drawn, shutting out the creeping morning light, as if keeping reality at bay. The only sound was the occasional clink of ice in his glass, catching the light of the monitor.

Marcel Gerard leaned forward, elbows braced on his desk, his sharp gaze locked onto the grainy security footage looping on the screen.

Benny's house had cameras—his mother's idea after too many late-night disturbances from spirits that wouldn't let the kid sleep. At least, that's what Marcel assumed. Smart woman. The footage that he had pulled wasn't perfect—cheap home security never was—but it was enough.

He had spent the night and well into the morning scrubbing through every second of it, enhancing the audio, refining the visuals, searching for something.

Anything that explained why Benny was dead. And now, he had it.

On the screen, Benny sat up in his bed, his head tilted slightly, as if listening to something only he could hear. His eyes were focused on something. But it was the way he moved that made Marcel's stomach tighten. Not sluggishly, not like someone waking groggily from sleep. No, there was purpose to it. Like something—or someone—was directing him.

Marcel turned up the volume. Static crackled through the cheap security mic.

He exhaled sharply, his eyes narrowing. Benny shifted on the screen, moving to his desk. His hand hovered over a piece of paper for only a second before he started writing, scribbling furiously. He muttered to himself as he wrote, pausing, nodding, continuing—like he was taking dictation from something, someone unseen.

Then, clear as day, he said it, said the name slowly, "Elizaveta Belova."

Marcel felt his stomach drop. He zoomed in on the piece of paper. It was grainy but he could see the name written. He rewound the footage, listening again, straining to catch every word. Benny's voice was hushed, almost determined.

"Help the Mikaelsons. Salvation. Blood. Something wrong… Condition? A sickness?"

Benny hesitated, as if waiting for confirmation, then scrawled more onto the paper.

"Family… something in the blood… a cure."

Marcel pushed back from the desk, his fingers drumming against the wood. His mind raced, piecing together what little he understood.

This wasn't just some vague prophecy. This wasn't just some random witch with potential. Liza Belov wasn't just important—she was the key to something bigger. And Benny was dead because of it.

Marcel's jaw clenched, his fingers tightening around his glass as he took a slow sip. He knew the way these things worked. Someone else had put the pieces together. Someone had silenced Benny before he could possibly find out more, or worse, tell anyone else. Marcel's gaze flicked back to the screen, to the frantic movements of Benny's hand, the name scrawled in hurried strokes.

Elizaveta Belova. Must've been her Russian name, not her Americanized one.

Marcel leaned back in his chair, running a hand down his face, the revelation settling deep in his gut. If Liza were as important as this spirit had made her out to be, then the Mikaelsons wouldn't be the only ones who would want her. Which meant she was in far more danger than even they realized.

Marcel's fingers hovered over his keyboard, debating his next move. The smart play would be to bring this straight to Valentin Dupré, let the Council decide what to do with her. But something held him back. The Mikaelsons played their cards too close to their chest. If they were making moves, he needed to understand why before he threw Liza into the proverbial fire.

His eyes focused back on the screen, where Benny sat frozen in time, lost in a conversation with something beyond the veil. A sickness in the Mikaelsons' blood. A cure.

Marcel scoffed under his breath, shaking his head. The Original family didn't need saving. They were the strongest, the first, the foundation upon which all vampirekind had been built. If there was something wrong with their blood, wouldn't someone have figured it out centuries ago?

And yet… Benny had been convinced.

Marcel ran a hand over his jaw, tension tightening in his muscles. Vampires don't need curing. Immortality wasn't a disease—it was the prize. The entire point. But if there was even a chance that Liza had the power to alter it—to undo it—then there were people who would want her dead. Others would want to use her.

And maybe… just maybe… the Mikaelsons were keeping her close because they were afraid of what she could do.

Marcel exhaled slowly and rubbed his fingers over his temples. This was big. Bigger than he wanted it to be. Bigger than Chicago politics or Council posturing.

One thing was certain—Benny had died for a reason. And if Marcel wanted to survive the fallout, he needed to figure out exactly what that reason was before someone else did.

0000

The bell above the door chimed softly as Liza stepped into Adagio Teas, the familiar scent of loose-leaf blends and honey filling the air. It should have felt like just another shift, another morning spent behind the counter measuring out rooibos and oolong for regulars. Instead, today marked the last time she would ever set foot here as an employee. She would've been a lot more nervous about quitting if not for the supernatural perk of compelling her manager.

At her side, Elijah moved with his usual grace, his presence an immediate contrast to the cozy shop. His tailored charcoal suit made him stand out among the warm wood shelves and soft lighting, a stark reminder of just how different her life had become.

Behind the counter, Tina, the store manager, did a double take the moment she spotted them. Stout and no-nonsense, with thick glasses perched on her nose, she held herself with the authority of someone who had been running this place for years. She adjusted her cardigan and stepped forward, her gray eyes flicking between Liza and Elijah with mild curiosity.

"Liza? You're not on the schedule today." Her gaze went to Elijah again, her curiosity deepening. "And… who's this?"

Before Liza could fumble through an excuse, Elijah smoothly took the lead.

"My name is Elijah Mikaelson," he said, his voice rich and cool. Tina's eyes locked onto his, her pupils dilating. She was metaphorically hooked. The compelling began. "I'm here on Liza's behalf regarding her employment. Unfortunately, due to unforeseen circumstances, she'll need to resign immediately."

Tina's brows shot up. "Wait, what?" She turned to Liza. "You're quitting? Just like that?"

Liza felt a twinge of guilt. Tina had always been fair, even when the job itself could be tedious. But there was no room for hesitation now.

"She will, of course, receive her last full paycheck," Elijah continued smoothly, drawing Tina's focus back to him. "And I trust you'll provide her with a glowing reference should she ever need one."

Tina blinked, her features shifting from resistance to acceptance, the compulsion settling in as Elijah's voice wove through her mind like silk. "She's been an excellent employee," he added, just a touch more warmth in his tone now, as if placing a final seal on the memory. "I'm sure you'll miss having her here."

Tina's shoulders relaxed, her initial confusion settling into understanding. "Of course," she said, nodding slowly. Then she smiled. "Liza's been great. I'll make sure she gets everything she's owed."

Liza exhaled quietly. Well, that was easier than expected.

While Elijah wrapped up with Tina, Liza turned toward the other side of the store, where Melissa was meticulously refilling the matcha tins. A college student with an ever-present tired look and an addiction to chai lattes, Melissa was one of the few coworkers Liza actually liked.

Liza approached, lowering her voice so they wouldn't be overheard. "Hey, Mel."

Melissa glanced up and blinked in surprise. Her black apron was covered in fine green dust. "Hey. I thought you called off today?"

Liza winced. "Yeah… I did. But, uh… I'm actually quitting."

Melissa straightened, her brows knitting together. "Wait, what? Like, today-today?"

Liza sighed and shifted her weight from leg to leg. "Yeah. Something… personal came up. Nothing bad, just—" she hesitated, searching for words that weren't a supernatural mess with vampires and prophecies— "just life stuff. I need to leave town for a while."

Melissa frowned but didn't push. "Damn. That sucks. You were one of the good ones." She leaned on the shelf, her voice dropping conspiratorially. Her gaze darted past Liza—straight to Elijah. "So… is that your boyfriend?"

Liza blinked, caught off guard. She turned slightly, just enough to see Elijah lingering by the counter, pretending to be interested in some honey spoons while Liza had her moment. He looked entirely out of place—like something out of another world. Another time, even.

She faced Melissa again, opening her mouth—then hesitated.

What was she supposed to say? No, but he's a thousand-year-old vampire who's been protecting me, and we may or may not have kissed a few times in an increasingly emotionally, significant way?

Liza settled on the safest answer. "I… don't know."

Melissa raised a brow, confused. "You don't know?"

Liza smiled despite herself, glancing at Elijah again. "It's… complicated."

Melissa let out a hum. "Girl, look at him. Complicated is worth it."

Liza shook her head, but the tension in her shoulders eased slightly. "Noted."

Melissa grinned. "Well, if you ever come back, we'll keep your spot open. And if not—at least text me where you found that one," she jerked her chin toward Elijah, "because holy hell. "

Liza snorted, trying and failing to suppress a grin now. "I'll think about it."

Melissa gave her a final once-over. "Take care of yourself, okay?"

"You too."

With one last glance around the shop, Liza stepped back toward Elijah. He was already waiting by the door, his expression unreadable—but his eyes were sharp, focused. He had definitely heard everything.

"Everything settled?" he asked as he pushed the door open for her.

Liza hesitated for only a second before nodding. "Yeah," she said, stepping past him into the cool Chicago morning. "Let's go."

Whether or not Elijah was bothered by her answer to Melissa's question, Liza couldn't tell. He was good at hiding behind his mask.

State Street was loud and momentarily distracting.

They made their way to the Bentley. They had parked a couple of blocks away, the nearest available space. Before Liza could veer out of habit to the left, Elijah stepped close to her. He moved his hand to rest at the small of her back. He made sure to walk on the side closest to the street—a small, gentlemanly gesture, one he had done both on the way there and now again.

But this time, his touch lingered. His arm curled more securely around her.

Liza instinctively leaned into him, her body reacting before her mind could process the closeness. In response, Elijah's fingers flexed against her waist, pulling her just a fraction nearer.

She tilted her head up to look at him. "Thank you," she murmured. "But just so you know, I'm not about to mooch off you—just because I'm jobless now."

Elijah barely spared her a glance, his voice as nonchalant as ever. "Mooching is such a vulgar word, darling, and that is not what you'd be doing."

Liza faltered mid-step. Darling. That was new. Her heart skipped a beat, her thoughts momentarily derailed. She cleared her throat, attempting to push past it. "I have savings—"

"And we have more money than we know what to do with," Elijah countered easily, not missing a beat. "I—we—would not expect anything in return."

0000000

Thank you for reading! If you haven't left a comment yet, write one! I want to hear what you think!

"Elijah, you're not all of a sudden my… my sugar daddy."

He sighed and shook his head. "Another vulgar word. Of course not."

Liza smirked. "How about this—if I need money, I'll borrow it. But for now, I'm good. You and your family are already putting Ollie and me up in your house. You're doing so much."

"I would like to do more," Elijah said simply. "I can provide you with anything and everything else."

Liza barely suppressed a giggle. "That's exactly what a rich man says to a younger, much poorer woman for whom he has… affections."

He exhaled through his nose, amused in spite of himself. "You're quite right. I apologize—"

"It's okay, Elijah, I'm joking." She paused, then grinned. "Mostly."

Elijah huffed a quiet laugh. Liza wrapped her arm around his back, mirroring his touch. "I get where you're coming from. But trust me when I say this—you've done more for me in the past few days than any man ever has. Just being there for me after the Council party… it meant a lot."

Elijah slowed his pace slightly, his hold on her firm but gentle as he looked down at her. "And I will be there for you always."

Liza's stomach dipped. There was no hesitation in his voice, no hint of obligation. Just a quiet, unwavering promise.

"For the first time in my life," she admitted, "I actually believe that coming from a man."

Elijah's expression darkened slightly. "Did you have… unfortunate experiences with men before?"

Liza sighed and raised a hand to move some hair out of her face–it was windy. "I… yeah. My ex was—" She hesitated. "Let's just say ex-Marine and aspiring filmmaker was not a good combination. And my judgment back then? Not great."

Elijah remained silent, his patience unwavering, waiting for her to continue.

She exhaled and returned her gaze to the sidewalk. Downtown Chicago was alive with movement, even in the midmorning rush. Businessmen in crisp suits wove through the crowd, coffee cups in hand. Tourists lingered near the intersections, pausing to check maps or snap photos of the towering skyline. Taxis honked impatiently, the scent of roasted coffee and freshly baked pastries wafting from the cafés lining the street.

"I don't know if I mentioned before, but I went to school in LA," Liza continued, focusing on the rhythm of their steps. "After college, I was going to stay, but… well, shit hit the fan—mildly speaking—and I decided to move back to Chicago two years ago. I lived with my parents for a bit, then moved in with Ollie."

Elijah's eyes flickered with something cautious. "Might you elaborate on how "shit hit the fan"?"

Liza gave him a tight smile. "It was just a messy breakup. I took Ramses and got the hell out of dodge." She shrugged, aiming for nonchalance. "Good riddance."

But Elijah wasn't fooled. His jaw tensed slightly. "Were you… hurt?" His voice was calm—too calm. "Did he hurt you?"

Liza hesitated. Damn it. She had said too much. She saw the look on his face, the barely concealed something simmering behind his composed exterior, and she immediately regretted mentioning her ex at all.

"It doesn't matter anymore, Elijah," she said firmly. "And I could handle myself."

His gaze sharpened.

She hesitated before adding, "I… I learned. I moved on."

They reached the Bentley. Elijah's silence was unnerving. He walked around to open her door for her, his movements too controlled. She thought she could feel it—the slow burn of protectiveness bubbling beneath his restraint. She slid into the seat, exhaling softly as he shut the door behind her. A few seconds later, the driver's side opened, and Elijah slipped in, closing them into the quiet of the car.

Liza barely had time to process before Elijah turned to her. His hand found her jaw, tilting her face toward him with a touch both firm and reverent. Then, in a rare moment of unguarded emotion, he pulled her against him, his arms wrapping around her, unyielding.

Liza's breath hitched. No hesitation. No formality. Just quiet, raw protectiveness. She melted into him, her fingers pressing lightly against his chest as her face nestled into the crook of his neck. His scent—clean, rich, unmistakably him—wrapped around her, steadying, intoxicating.

"Elijah…"

"You will never go through something like that again," he murmured, his voice lower, rougher, the words brushing warm against her ear. "Not while I am here. Not while I draw breath."

Liza closed her eyes and absorbed the quiet ferocity in his words.

He pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, his hand framing her face, his thumb stroking lightly over her cheek. "Do you understand me, Liza?"

She swallowed, her pulse erratic, heat curling in her stomach. God, what was he doing to her? "Yes," she whispered.

Elijah's gaze lingered on her, studying her, searching her gaze. Then, slowly, deliberately, he closed the distance—his lips brushing against hers, featherlight at first, then surer. Tender. Exquisitely affectionate.

Liza slid her arms around his neck without thinking and pressed into him, into his warmth. The moment she parted her lips, Elijah groaned softly—a sound that sent heat rushing through her—and he deepened the kiss, his fingers threading into her thick hair, his other hand firm against the small of her back, anchoring her to him.

The kiss built between them, slow but searing. He kissed her like he needed to. Like he had been waiting centuries to. It had only been a night since they last kissed.

Liza would have gladly let it continue, would have let herself drown in him for as long as he allowed—but reality intruded. She squeezed her thighs together where tingles stirred, her breath unsteady, reminding herself they had to get back to the mansion. Klaus and Ollie were already waiting.

She broke away with a gasp, though her mouth still brushed his, her body unwilling to create more distance. She felt him swallow, felt the tension in his grip.

"Would it help," she whispered, her own voice husky, "if I told you that I've never felt this way about a man so quickly?" She lifted her gaze to his, her brown eyes dark with lingering desire. "And that… you kiss amazingly?"

Elijah's brows lifted slightly, surprise suffusing his features before an unbidden smile tugged his lips. Unlike Klaus, he had never needed praise, never sought validation—but something about her words, her honesty, made him flood with warmth. For a fleeting moment, he looked almost… young. Not the composed, centuries-old Original. Just a man, undone by the woman in front of him.

"You make me forget anyone else I've been with," Liza admitted, softer now. "Not that I've… been with many." Even when she partied with Ollie and they both got drunk, Liza wasn't one to makeout with strangers.

Her gaze dropped to Elijah's chest, her fingers tracing down the front of his suit, feeling the solidness beneath the crisp fabric. Elijah caught her hand before it could fall away, his fingers wrapping around hers. The heat in his eyes was undeniable.

"That," he said, his voice low, "is quite the compliment."

Liza's breath hitched as he then lifted her hand, brushing his lips over her knuckles. She would never get enough of his kisses. Warmth pooled within her in particular places, which, perhaps, she imagined him kissing too.

"Liza," he said, his voice dipping, rougher now, "I assure you—any past experiences pale in comparison to this. To you."

She bit her lip, her heart hammering at the certainty in his tone. He said it like a fact. And she believed him. His lips grazing her knuckles once more before he pulled back just slightly.

"And for the record… you are utterly intoxicating."

Liza let out a breathy laugh, though it was shakier than she intended. "That's a very Elijah way of saying you like kissing me."

His lips quirked again. "I would hope my actions made that abundantly clear."

She felt his words as much as she heard them—the way his voice dropped an octave, the way his thumb idly stroked over the delicate skin of her wrist. God.

Her fingers tightened briefly around his hand. "Yeah," she admitted. "They really did."

For a moment, neither of them moved. The car felt charged inside. Liza swallowed, her eyes darting to his mouth. Elijah's hand lingered on hers for just a second longer before he finally—reluctantly—released it.

"We should go," he said at last, though there was no real conviction behind it.

Liza sighed and shifted in her seat, leaning back against the headrest. "Fine," she said lightly. Then emboldened, she added, "But I reserve the right to continue this later."

Even though his eyebrows rose, Elijah smirked and adjusted his cuff before starting the car. "Darling," he said smoothly, devastatingly, "I insist on it."

Liza barely resisted the shiver that ran through her. As the Bentley pulled away from the curb, she pressed her fingers against her lips, still feeling the ghost of his mouth on hers.

This—whatever was happening between them—was thrilling. And she wasn't sure she minded one bit.