Chapter 31
Chapter Thirty-One
Eli
“Eli, your mother is requesting entry to the penthouse.”
I’ve been standing here since dawn, haunted by Isla’s absence, her scent lingering—or maybe it’s just my memory of it.
“Let her in.”
Mom’s heels click against the hardwood. A military advance.
“Elliot Alderidge, why aren’t you dressed?”
“Good morning to you too, Mom.” I lean against the counter, not bothering to mask my exhaustion or the hollowness carving me from within.
She takes one look at me and her expression softens. “Oh, sweetheart.”
“Don’t.” I straighten, shoulders tensing. “Whatever you’re thinking?—”
“I’m thinking my son looks like his heart is breaking all over again.”
She slides onto a barstool, her eyes cutting through my defenses with surgical precision.
“What happened?”
“Nothing happened.” The lie burns my tongue.
“And that’s why you’re standing in your kitchen at quarter to eight, looking like you haven’t slept in days?”
I slam the coffee filter into place. The sound cracks the silence.
“Mom—”
“What really happened, Eli? Why is she suddenly gone?”
The question hits like a physical blow.
“She made her choice.”
“Did she? Or did someone make it for her?”
Silence stretches between us as the coffee maker gurgles to life.
“She was in Wolfe’s office, Mom. Meeting with him behind my back.” My voice drops, roughened by sleepless nights. “Everything points to her working with him.”
“And you believe that?” Mom’s voice is gentle, but her eyes are steel. “After everything you’ve built together?”
“She left, Mom. Again.” Bitterness coats each word. “Five years ago, now this—maybe that’s just who she is. Someone who runs when things get complicated.”
“Or maybe she’s someone who needs to know it’s safe to stay.”
Her words find the hairline fractures in my armor.
“It’s not that simple.” I grip my coffee mug, welcoming the burn. Physical pain to drown the ache spreading through my chest.
“Then enlighten me.” She reaches across the counter, fingers brushing my arm. “Because right now, all I see is my son making the same mistake his father did—letting pride get in the way of love.”
“This isn’t about pride.” The words slice through the space between us. “This is about trust. About Wolfe, and the Artisan project, and all the secrets she’s still keeping.”
Mom’s hand stills. Something shifts in her expression.
“What do you know about James Wolfe?”
“I know enough to?—”
“No.” She straightens, hardening. “You don’t. Sit down, Eli. It’s time you heard the whole story.”
I sink onto the barstool beside her, watching as she pulls an old envelope from her purse. Her hands tremble slightly.
Inside are photographs I’ve never seen—my father with Alexander Wolfe, both younger, smiling over blueprints. Their faces mirror Isla and me, hunched over designs in my office weeks ago.
The parallel constricts my chest.
“Alexander Wolfe wasn’t just your father’s rival,” Mom says quietly. “He was his friend. His mentor. That land the Artisan Hotel sits on? It was supposed to be their greatest collaboration.”
I laugh, the sound scraping my throat. “Right. Because secret alliances with your mortal enemies always end well.”
Mom glares at me. “Sarcasm isn’t going to help here, Elliot.”
“Neither is rewriting history to make Father sound like a saint,” I snap, gripping my mug tighter.
“What happened?”
“Life. Death. Pride.” She spreads the photos. “Alexander had dreams bigger than his bank account. When the market crashed, he was leveraged to the hilt. Your father offered to buy him out—save him from ruin.”
“And Wolfe refused?”
“No.” Mom’s voice catches. “He accepted. But the shame ate at him. He died believing he’d failed his family. And James—he was young. All he saw was his father’s dream slipping away.”
The coffee turns bitter in my mouth.
“So this vendetta?—”
“Isn’t about business at all.” Mom gathers the photos, her movements careful. “It’s about family, Eli. About legacy. About blood.”
Something in her tone makes me look up sharply.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
She takes a deep breath. “Your father told me something before he died. Something about Isla. About her family.”
My grip tightens on the mug. “What about her family?”
“Edward discovered it during her background check, six years ago. Her father—” Mom hesitates, then continues softly.
“Her father is Jonathan Wolfe. James’s uncle.”
The mug slips from my fingers, coffee splashing across the counter.
“What?”
“Marie worked for the Wolfes before Isla was born. She and Jonathan...” Mom’s voice trails off. “Edward was terrified James would find out. That he’d use Isla to get to you, to everything your father built.”
The room spins as pieces click into place. Wolfe’s interest in Isla. The way he watched her in meetings. Her desperate attempts to handle everything alone.
“She’s a Wolfe.” The words taste like ash. “All this time, she’s been?—“
The betrayal claws at my chest, but beneath it—beneath the anger—there’s something else. Grief.
Because I wanted her to be mine. I wanted her to belong to me in a way no bloodline could touch.
“She didn’t know,” Mom cuts in quickly. “Not until recently. And James...” She pauses, darkening. “He’s his father’s son in all the wrong ways. He knows how to use people’s weaknesses against them.”
“To what end?”
“To destroy what Edward built.” Mom’s voice is quiet but certain. “He blamed your father for everything. And now...” She meets my eyes. “Now he has the perfect weapon.”
“A Wolfe working for Alderidge-Hathaway.” Mom’s hands tighten around her cup. “Can you imagine what someone like James could do with that information?”
The implication settles cold and heavy. I think of Isla in Wolfe’s office, her face pale, her silence speaking volumes. She’s caught in Wolfe’s crosshairs.
“She’s trying to protect everyone. Her mother’s reputation, your family’s legacy?—“
“By lying to me?” I stand abruptly, the barstool scraping against hardwood. “By keeping secrets that affect all of us?”
“Eli—”
“No.” Betrayal burns fresh. “She should have trusted me. Should have let me help. Instead, she’s playing into his hands.”
“She’s scared,” Mom says softly. “Of losing everything she’s built. Of watching her mother suffer. Of hurting you.”
“Well, she managed that last part perfectly.” I turn away. “I need you to go.”
“Don’t do this,” she pleads. “Don’t let pride?—“
“This isn’t about pride!” The words explode from me. “This is about trust! About family! About—” My voice breaks. “About the fact that the woman I love is the one thing that could destroy everything we’ve built.”
Silence falls like a physical weight.
“I’ll go,” Mom says finally, gathering her purse.
At the door, she pauses.
“Remember something, Eli. Love isn’t about who has the right bloodline or the perfect past. It’s about who chooses to stay, even when staying means sacrifice.”
The door closes with a quiet finality. I stare at the scattered photos—evidence of how family secrets and pride poison everything they touch.
My hands shake as I slam the last file onto the desk. The name Jonathan Wolfe stares back at me, stark and unforgiving.
Isla’s name is buried in these pages—a a secret never meant to be found.
And yet, I still see her—laughing at something I said, sunlight in her hair, fingers trailing over my collar as she whispered my name. She looked at me like I was the only thing that made her feel safe.
That woman wouldn’t have played me. But this file...
No. The thought is visceral. There has to be more.
“These were hidden in your father’s private server,” IRIS explains.
I lean closer, my throat tight. The name Jonathan Wolfe jumps from the screen, and something cold settles in my stomach. Not James Wolfe’s father—his younger brother.
“Cross-reference this with Marie Carrington,” I command, voice rough.
The screen fills with dates, letters, and photos. Each piece clicks into place. My father knew. He knew about Marie’s relationship with Jonathan Wolfe. Knew about Isla.
“Fuck,” I breathe, gripping the edge of the desk until my knuckles turn white. “He knew what James would do when he found out.”
He’d pushed her away five years ago thinking he was shielding us both, and now Wolfe was using that very protection as a weapon. He wasn’t just trying to destroy the company—he was forcing Isla to destroy herself.
“When did my father discover this information?”
“Six years ago. Shortly before Ms. Carrington’s first interview with Alderidge Global.”
My legs give out. “He hired her knowing this would happen.”
I’d been looking at it all wrong. Dad tried to make things right by bringing her back, giving her the career she deserved. But Wolfe never needed to beat her—he just needed to make sure she walked away on her own. And I let it happen. I practically handed her to him, wrapped in my own stupid pride.
“Call Drake,” I say, already reaching for my coat. “And download everything. Every file, every photo, every piece of correspondence.”
I pause at the door, looking back at the scattered files. Six years of manipulation. Six years of my father playing chess with people’s lives.
And Isla had been protecting me from this truth all along.
“God, I’m an idiot,” I mutter, running a hand through my hair.
I find myself outside Marie Carrington’s apartment twenty minutes later, my hand hovering over the doorbell. The door opens before I can press it.
“I wondered when you’d come.” Marie looks exhausted, her copper hair—so like Isla’s—pulled back in a messy bun. “You finally found out.”
“About Jonathan Wolfe.” I follow her into the small kitchen, watching as her hands shake while makes coffee.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“The same reason Isla didn’t.” She turns, tears in her eyes. “To protect you. To protect everyone.”
“What happened when she was here last?” My voice roughens. “Before everything fell apart?”
Marie sinks into a chair, suddenly looking older. Her fingers wrap around the table edge, knuckles white.
“James came to see me first. He threatened to expose everything—not just about Jonathan, but about Edward’s role. He said he’d make it look like Isla orchestrated everything, used you to infiltrate the company.” Her voice cracks. “He promised to turn our whole life into some tawdry scandal.”
She looks up, eyes bright with tears.
“But worse than that, he swore to destroy you, Eli. Everything you’ve built with the Artisan Hotel, your chance to step out of your father’s shadow—he said he’d make sure everyone believed Isla manipulated her way into your life.”
Isla wasn’t just protecting her mother’s dignity—she was protecting my future, my legacy. She chose to let me hate her rather than watch Wolfe destroy us both.
Marie’s voice breaks. “She said she had to leave. Had to protect us both. I tried to stop her, but—” She meets my eyes. “She’s just like me. We’d rather destroy ourselves than watch the people we love get hurt.”
Cold settles in my gut. “When?”
“Two weeks ago. She hasn’t answered my calls since.”
I’m already heading for the door when Marie’s voice stops me.
“Eli?” I turn back. “She loves you. Even when she’s running away.”
The words slam into me, sharp enough to cut through the anger.
Because now, I see her—not the woman who walked away, but the woman who kissed me like she was memorizing me. The woman who held onto me like she knew we were running out of time.
And I let her go.
The tightness in my throat spreads, making it hard to breathe. Because for the first time, I understand.
This wasn’t just about Isla choosing to leave.
It was about me never fighting for her to stay.
And that? That’s about to change.