Chapter 4 The King Watches

Rafe's POV

The church smelled like old roses and too much perfume.

I stood in the shadows of the cathedral, unseen but all-seeing. The heavy wooden doors remained open behind me, letting in slants of sunlight that stained the polished marble floors with color. The scent of incense clung to my coat, but I barely noticed it.

There she was, Elara West.

White lace clung to her skin like a cage. Her red hair, twisted into a simple bun, gleamed under the light of the stained-glass windows. She looked delicate. Nervous. Like a deer about to bolt. My pulse thrummed with satisfaction.

I knew she would run. That wasn't a gamble. It was a certainty.

Lionel stood next to her, tall and arrogant in a tailored tuxedo, a smirk playing on his lips as if he'd already won. I knew that look. I'd seen it before in boardrooms, during negotiations, and even over drinks when we pretended to tolerate each other. We hated one another with a mutual intensity.

The priest droned on, voice echoing off the walls as he spoke of love and sacrifice. I almost laughed. Neither of them knew what love was. Lionel wanted Elara for power, for the influence that came with marrying her into his sphere. And Elara, she wanted safety. A way out. A roof over her and Rosa's heads. A future.

I could have given her all of that. I still will.

Cassian, her best friend, stood nearby, visibly tense. He kept glancing at Elara with concern, and once, she met his eyes. I didn't need to read lips to know what passed between them.

Run.

And she did.

The moment the priest asked if she would take Lionel to be her lawfully wedded husband, Elara's hands trembled. Her lips parted. Her chest rose and fell. For a second, I thought she might faint.

But then she turned.

A gasp rippled through the crowd.

The veil tore from her hair as she bolted down the aisle, heels clattering on marble, breath catching in her throat. Lionel shouted, Cassian moved, and the guests erupted in confusion.

I didn't move. Not yet.

I simply smiled.

Outside, the street buzzed with horns and shouts. She disappeared into a cab Cassian had orchestrated, just like I suspected. Clever boy. Always playing the hero. But I knew the destination before Elara even did.

Roscoe.

A small town nestled in the folds of upstate New York, quiet and forgettable. A good place to disappear.

I turned and walked out of the church as Lionel cursed, shoving guests and knocking over a chair.

Let the drama unfold.

Later that night, I stood by the window of my penthouse suite, staring out over the skyline. The lights of Manhattan blinked like tiny embers, far below me.

Dante entered without knocking. He knew better than to ask permission.

"She's in Roscoe," he said. "Checked in under a fake name. Cassian handled it all."

"I know," I murmured. I was already tracking the cab, already watching her movements through a network of silent shadows. "And Rosa?"

"Still at the hospital. Under surveillance."

I turned slowly, gaze narrowing. "Bring her to me. Make it gentle."

Dante nodded. "She'll be safe."

I dismissed him and returned to the window. My reflection stared back at me, hard and cold. Years ago, I might've felt guilt over any of this. Not anymore.

I hadn't just stumbled into Elara's life. I'd been there, watching. Waiting.

The massacre of her family still echoed in the deepest part of my soul. Blood. Screams. Silence.

Elara and Rosa, two broken little girls covered in blood, wandering the woods, memory wiped clean by trauma.

I never forgot.

And now, I had her back.

Mine.

Not Lionel's. Not Cassian's. Not the world's.

Mine.

I poured myself a drink, the ice clinking sharply against the glass.

Let her think she's free.

Let her believe she's vanished.

Soon, she'll understand just how closely I've been watching. Just how far I'm willing to go.

And when she remembers, when the past claws its way back, I'll be there, waiting.

Rafe Romano doesn't lose what belongs to him.

And Elara West? She belongs to me.L