Chapter 23: Familiar Stranger.

RWL INDUSTRIES — 10:03 AM

The echo of applause from the livestream faded to a hum in Ryker Wellesley's private suite. He stood rigid before the mounted screen—jaw locked, one hand gripping a crystal tumbler of untouched scotch, the other braced against the window ledge.

On-screen, Kaius Blackwood sat composed, cool as polished stone.

"Let's just say… I'm very interested in seeing how that story plays out."

The words replayed, taunting. Ryker's fist shot forward.

Glass shattered against the stone wall, amber spilling down like a slow-bleeding wound.

Outside, assistants flinched but didn't dare enter.

"Son of a—" Ryker hissed, pacing. "He played that damn interview like a chessboard, and I'm still two moves behind."

From this height the city looked conquerable—until Kaius reminded him it wasn't.

He stabbed the intercom. "Bring Harold."

Seconds later, Harold, VP of External Relations, slipped in, eyes flicking to the splintered glass but saying nothing.

"I take it you saw it," Harold ventured.

Ryker's laugh was a thin blade. "He gave them everything—clean energy, urban vision, a hint of mystery. And he smiled on live television."

He spat the word smiled like poison.

On screen, the reporter's question rolled again:

"Would you care to confirm or deny any involvement with the Green Border site?"

Kaius's slight smirk followed:

"I'm very interested in seeing how that story plays out."

"He's staking claim without saying a word," Ryker growled.

"We can pivot," Harold offered. "A counter-narrative—subtle, firm. Cast doubt on Blackwood's government favor."

"We're not challenging him," Ryker replied, voice dropping to ice. "We're replacing him. Find another leverage point, a new media route. Push Garcia out of the picture. We go in clean—sleek, strategic, savage."

Then, quieter: "And be sure any leak on Green Border never traces back to me."

"Understood."

The door clicked shut. Ryker poured a fresh measure of scotch but never raised it. Penelope Garcia's closing remarks murmured from the speakers, but he no longer listened.

Kaius's frozen frame stared back—untouchable, infuriatingly poised.

He said yes.

Not to Green Border. Not directly. But to someone. One word, and investors were already twitching.

The war had just gone public, and Ryker Wellesley did not intend to lose.

If Kaius Blackwood wanted Green Border, Ryker would remind him:

Some storms don't whisper before they strike.

They roar.

-*-*-*-*-*

ELIZABETH'S POV

11:07 AM

The Living Room

I wasn't watching at first.

The television had been on in the background—just noise to fill the heavy silence in the room. But then a voice shifted the tone. Crisp. Measured. Like authority cloaked in velvet.

I looked up.

The screen was mid-broadcast, the EchoGrid logo glowing subtly in the corner.

And there he was.

Kaius Blackwood.

Something in me stilled.

It wasn't recognition — not exactly. More like… déjà vu.

A nudge in the ribs of my mind. Like I'd seen him before but couldn't place where. Or when.

He looked… sharp. Cold. Like a man carved out of stone and strategy.

And yet—

Familiar.

Familiar in a way that made my chest ache and my fingers twitch, like my body remembered something my brain refused to explain.

I blinked and sat up straighter, studying the screen.

"He's everywhere these days," Mom said gently from across the room.

"They say he's building something big. All clean tech and media perfection. Maybe a mall… that would be nice, right?"

I nodded faintly, watching as he answered a question.

His suit. His voice. The way he sat like he belonged to a different kind of world — sharp-edged and steel-boned.

But it wasn't any of that that made my breath pause.

It was his face.

There was something in it. Something I couldn't place.

A strange, echoing sensation hummed at the base of my skull — like déjà vu, but not quite. More like my mind whispering,

You've seen him before. Not on TV. Not online. Somewhere closer.

I blinked.

No...

That wasn't right. I was just projecting. He was a public figure, that's all.

That face was everywhere — articles, headlines, business magazines. Of course he seemed familiar.

Still… my fingers hovered on the remote, eyes tracing the sharp lines of his expression as he spoke about urban integration.

A smile flickered on the screen — brief. Gone.

And just like that, the news cut away.

The spell broke.

I stood up too quickly, the notebook on my lap sliding to the floor. I caught it mid-fall and clutched it to my chest.

I couldn't sit still.

I needed to move. To do something. The thoughts in my head were starting to fray again, and I didn't want to lose the clarity I'd carved out the day before.

The proposal was done. Or at least, the first draft.

And Maverick needed to see it.

I headed toward the living room, where Mom was curled up on the sofa with a devotional in her hands. The soft morning light made her look younger. Calmer.

"Mom?"

She looked up, surprised.

"I'm heading to Blue Haven," I said quickly. "I have something to show Mav."

She nodded slowly. "Take the car."

I turned toward the kitchen counter where the keys sat waiting. On my way past her, I paused, leaned down, and pressed a kiss to her temple.

Her brows rose slightly — surprised — but she smiled.

"Drive safe," she said softly.

I nodded, offering a quiet smile of my own.

And with the proposal clutched tight in my bag, and Kaius Blackwood's face still haunting the edges of my thoughts, I stepped out the door.

-*-*-

The sky had shifted slightly — warm but uncertain, as if the wind hadn't made up its mind about where to go.

I knew the feeling.

But for now, I had something to deliver.

Something that felt like the start of everything.

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

BLUE HAVEN CAFÉ – 11:54 AM

The scent of roasted beans hit me the second I stepped inside — rich, warm, grounding. For a moment, it steadied me. The café was half-full, mellow jazz humming beneath quiet conversation. It was Maverick's style — clean, dark wood finishes, subtle lighting, and framed photos from his travels lining the walls.

He always said the café was his peace.

I hoped today, I'd bring a little of mine into it.

He stood behind the counter, sleeves rolled, towel over one shoulder, talking to a barista. His head lifted the second the door chimed. And when he saw me, his whole face softened.

"Lizzy?" he called.

I smiled and lifted the small leather folder I carried. "Brought you something."

He waved the barista off gently, walking toward me and gesturing to the table in the back — his table. The one he reserved for no one but himself.

I slid into the seat, exhaling as I laid the folder on the table.

He sat opposite, studying me before the folder. "You look like you haven't slept."

"Didn't," I replied honestly. "This wouldn't let me."

He opened the folder. Inside: the proposal. Drafted at 3 AM. Edited at 4. Touched again at 7.

"Whisparé," he murmured, reading the title page. "You really did it."

I nodded, heart in my throat.

For a moment, we just sat in the quiet hum of the café. And then — he reached across and squeezed my hand gently.

"I'm proud of you, Liz."

I blinked hard. Swallowed. "It's not perfect."

"No," he said, flipping another page. "It's better. It's yours."

And suddenly, just for a moment, everything felt okay again.

---

MAVERICK'S POV

I'd seen Elizabeth tired. I'd seen her angry, quiet, giddy, and numb.

But I'd never seen her like this — wired with something delicate and burning just under her skin. Hope, maybe. Or fear.

Or both.

When she handed me that folder, she tried to play it off casual. But I knew. Every word in there mattered to her. Every line was her trying to find a way to stand again.

I read the first few pages — clean structure, clear goals, brand vision that actually felt alive. It wasn't perfect, not in a business sense. But in an Elizabeth sense?

It was gold.

"You really poured yourself into this," I said.

She gave a shy shrug and looked away.

I didn't press about her dreams or why she looked like she'd run a marathon without moving. I didn't mention that something in her gaze had changed since yesterday — like she'd seen something she wasn't ready to admit.

All I said was, "Let's take this to Alex. Get it started."

Her smile returned. A soft one. Fragile at the edges, but real.

And for now, that was enough.