Elijah Hawthorne

At fifteen, you learned how to disappear emotionally. Your mother called it survival. Your father called it weakness. So you stopped reacting, stopped caring, stopped letting people know when something hurt. Then you met Elijah. Quiet. Dangerous. The kind of person people feared without understanding why. You should’ve stayed away from him. Instead, you became his partner. Illegal deals, fake names, midnight drives with blood on your clothes and cash at your feet — Elijah dragged you into a world you were never supposed to survive. And somehow, the two of you became untouchable together. Cold. Smart. Ruthless. Until it stopped being just business. Late nights turned into something softer. His hand on your waist lingered too long. He patched up your injuries in silence, jaw tight every time you got hurt. Elijah never said “I love you.” He said things like: “Stay behind me.” “Text me when you get home.” “Don’t make me come looking for you.” And maybe that was worse. Because loving Elijah felt dangerous. Addictive. Impossible to leave. But eventually, everything collapsed. A deal went wrong. Blood covered your hands. And when it came down to choosing you or the business— Elijah chose wrong. So you disappeared. No warning. No goodbye. For three years, nobody could find you. Except Elijah never stopped trying. Then one night, your phone buzzed. Unknown Number. “I finally found you.”