Chapter 15: Noxs, Nothings, and the First Strike
Elijah woke up late on Sunday morning to a house steeped in quietude. The lingering scent of coffee was the only sign of recent activity. He threw on a hoodie and sweatpants and went downstairs, finding the kitchen already tidy.
Iris stood at the stove, flipping pancakes with the easy competence of someone who had learned to be self-sufficient young. She glanced over her shoulder at Elijah, her eyes narrowing slightly—assessing him before turning back to the pan. "Coffee's fresh," she muttered, jerking her chin toward the pot.
"Morning, sunshine," Elijah drawled, pouring himself a cup of black coffee thick enough to stand a spoon in. He glanced at the stack of pancakes—perfectly golden—before deliberately grabbing the slightly burnt one from the plate meant for scrap.
"Morning, Eli," she replied, not looking up. Her voice was flat—not hostile, just exhausted. The spatula scraped against the pan as she slid another pancake onto the growing stack.
"Rough morning," he mumbled. He sat at the kitchen table, watching her. "Where's everyone?"
"Church," Iris said, sliding a golden stack of pancakes onto a plate and setting it before him. "Akari went with Mom. They should be back soon." She wiped her hands on a dish towel.
Elijah nodded, accepting the information without comment. The thought of Elara and Akari bonding in some sunlit pew while singing hymns made his mouth twitch with something bitter—not jealousy, just the quiet irritation of knowing his house had shifted subtly around a new gravity. He tore off a piece of pancake with his fingers, chewing slowly.
"You didn't go?" he asked, already knowing the answer. Iris snorted, pouring syrup over her own plate. "Someone had to cook for Your Highness," she sneered, but there was no heat in it—just the worn rhythm of their old dynamic, a script they both knew by heart.
Iris served herself and sat opposite him. They ate in silence for a few minutes, the only sound the clinking of cutlery against porcelain.
"What do you think of her?" Iris finally asked, breaking the quiet. She didn't look up, just stabbed at her pancake with practiced nonchalance.
Elijah stopped mid-chew and looked up at his step-sister, his gaze assessing. "Akari?"
Iris nodded, her own gaze fixed on her plate. "Yeah. She's... different now. We're actually sisters now, you know."
Elijah shrugged, resuming his meal. "She's okay. Quiet." He took a slow sip of coffee, watching Iris over the rim of his mug. "You like playing big sister now? That's new."
Iris's fork scraped against her plate with deliberate force. "Don't be an asshole," she said, though her voice lacked its usual bite. She hesitated, then pushed a syrup-soaked bite around in circles. "Mom's happy. Like... really happy. Haven't seen her this light since..." She trailed off, the unspoken 'since Dad' hanging between them like a ghost neither acknowledged.
Elijah didn't say anything, just looked at her for a moment. That was the problem with Iris—she was sentimental when she thought no one was watching. He shrugged and took another sip of coffee. "Doesn't matter if she's happy or not. Akari's just another body in the house." He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, smirking when Iris' grip tightened around her fork.
"What, you think she's actually your sister now? Because Mom put her name on some paperwork?"
"Don't be stupid," Iris snapped, her knuckles whitening around the fork. "Mom adopted her. That makes her family—whether you like it or not."
Iris sighed, a small, weary sound. "I hope you two can get along. This is Mom's last big effort at 'family harmony.'" She pushed her plate away, half-eaten—uncharacteristic for her—and stood abruptly. "Just... don't ruin this for her."
"Hmmm… We'll be fine, I guess," Elijah assured her, the promise completely devoid of sincerity, chewing slowly on a piece of pancake."I'll try my best to be a good older brother, Iris. Now stop worrying about me and finish your food." The lie came easily, smooth and practiced.
He finished his food and stood. "Thanks for the breakfast, Iris."
"Don't trash the plate," she warned.
Elijah didn't reply, heading upstairs.
————
Once in his room, Elijah locked the door. He pulled out his phone, bypassing his usual school group chats and going straight to his banking application. A notification glowed brightly: a new deposit of 623 Noxs. This was his half of the profits from the 24-hour debut of the video with Vanessa—a substantial sum for a single day.
A text message from Vanessa confirmed the source: That's what we got from the views. More than I expected. The site paid already. When are we doing the next one?
Elijah smirked, leaning back in his chair. He typed a teasing response:
Are you that eager to get your next fuck? Or just eager for more money?
He could vividly imagine her flustered, embarrassed, yet undeniably eager expression right now—an image confirmed when she replied with a flustered stream of emojis. This made him grin; she was already hooked.
He replied, setting the date. "Make up an excuse to Mom on Monday. We can meet then. I'll be running an errand and need a cover story, and some help." Vanessa's reply was immediate—an eager 'yes' followed by a string of heart emojis, her façade crumbling faster than expected.
He then sent a quick, coded message to Chang: Eyes on asset. All day. Send reports at 10 PM. With the two main facets of his plan—finance and surveillance—secured, Elijah switched off his phone and opened a large hardback book on advanced statistics, burying himself in formulas.
—————-
In the late afternoon, with the house still quiet, Elijah picked up his phone and called Chloe. He didn't use the burner; he used his personal number, maintaining the elaborate performance of the normal, devoted boyfriend.
"Hey, baby," he cooed into the receiver, his voice shifting effortlessly to sound warm and slightly wounded from their time apart. "I miss you. These past few days have been hell, but I keep thinking about you."
Chloe giggled happily on the other end. "I miss you too, Eli! I was just thinking about you. Elara is being so strict, I wish I could see you."
Elijah sighed dramatically, pacing his room as he spoke with calculated pauses. "Listen, I had an idea—what if I sneak out Monday after lunch? I'll tell Mom I'm studying at the library. We could meet by the old train yard, where no one ever goes." His fingers drummed against the windowsill, eyes flickering toward the hallway to ensure no one lurked outside his door.
Chloe hesitated; he heard the soft rustle of fabric shifting as she shifted uncomfortably. "Eli... I don't know. That place gives me a bad feeling. Last time, you said—"
"Last time?" Elijah cut in smoothly, tilting his head as if genuinely puzzled. "What happened last time, Chloe?" His voice dipped into gentle concern, expertly layered with just enough confusion to make her second-guess herself.
"You... you know," she stammered, fingers nervously twisting the hem of her shirt—Elijah could picture the motion perfectly. "You said it was safer there. That no one would see us. But then those men—"
"Men?" Elijah interrupted, injecting just the right note of bewildered concern. He let the silence stretch three calculated seconds before continuing, softer now. "Chloe, baby, we never went to the train yard together. You must be thinking of someone else." The lie came coated in honeyed worry.
Her breath rushed out in a shaky exhale. "No, I—" The phone creaked under her tightening grip. "You... you took me there after your soccer game in November with the boys. You said—"
Elijah cut her off with a soft, pitying chuckle. "Babe, I tore my ACL in October. I was on crutches until January." The lie slid effortlessly off his tongue, reinforced by the faintest tremor of hurt in his voice. "Are you confusing me with someone again?"
The line went silent except for Chloe's shallow breathing. He could practically hear her mind racing. "I—maybe I dreamed it," she whispered finally, her voice small and lost.
"It's awful," he lied smoothly. "I hate being away from you." He poured on the charm, whispering sweet nothings, asking about her day, and letting her lead the conversation. He steered clear of any topics that would reveal his intense scrutiny, maintaining the mask of the loving, albeit recently absent, boyfriend. But guess what, she didn't agree to meet at the train yard.
Elijah ended the call with a promise to text her later, tossing his phone onto the bed. His mask dropped instantly, leaving his face blank.
In the evening, Chang delivered the final batch of surveillance. The photos spanned the whole day. A few images, chillingly, showed Chloe engrossed on her phone, smiling—likely the exact moment Elijah had been whispering those false words of love to her. The last few pictures showed Chloe and Mark entering her apartment building, confirming they had spent the rest of the day together. The evidence was irrefutable and complete.
Elijah skimmed the collection one last time, a dangerous grin spreading across his face. He didn't need any more evidence.
He picked up his burner phone. He created a secret, anonymous text account. With calculated precision, he drafted the message, the words chosen to maximize psychological impact.
He sent the text to Mark:
You seem happy for someone trying to cuckold Elijah Miller. I wonder what he would do if he finds out. Guess you're gonna know soon.