Chapter 4: How?

The next morning, Elliot sat in his black leather chair at his enormous mahogany desk going over documents. His desk sat strategically in front of a massive bay window anchored by floor-to-ceiling bookshelves at both ends. The view from his window showcased his estate and wealth.

His study was his haven. With a light blend of new leather, rich polish, and the aroma of fresh coffee. Tasteful decor touches filled the room, including three paintings gifted from Alexia over five years ago.

Elliot's mind was still set on the details of the contract he'd given Alexia the night before. He glanced at his phone for a time, then texted Georgia.

"Tell Alexia face-to-fact that I've set a 10:30 am meeting with her about the contract. Ten minutes only."

Elliot leaned back in his leather chair; he was eager to see how she would respond. Their business had just begun.

Georgia texted Elliot: "Heading to deliver your message in person."

Georgia found Alexia in her studio, standing motionless, staring at a painting.

"Bold piece," Georgia remarked, her eyes drawn to the bold strokes of crimson and black. "Love the title."

"Appropriate. Agree?"

"Yes, it is. Quite fitting."

Georgia shifted her weight slightly before answering, "Mr. Cummings asked to meet with you at 10:30 about the contract."

"Tell him I'll be there.10:30."

"I'll let him know."

"Thanks," Alexia murmured, her eyes drifting back to the painting as Georgia left.

What would she say to him? What did he really want? She pushed the thoughts aside. For now, she'd play along.

An hour later, Alexia stood in front of Elliot's study door, dreading the meeting. Just knock on the door and get this over with. One meeting.

"Come in," said Elliot.

Inside, Elliot gestured toward a conference table. Alexia joined him.

"I have no questions. It is quite clear what your client wants."

"And do you have everything you need to complete it?"

"Yes, for all three pieces."

Elliot leaned forward slightly. "Perfect. Let me…" His phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen and answered. "I need a moment," he told the caller before turning back to Alexia.

"We'll continue tonight over dinner at 7:30."

She opened her mouth to object, but he was already back on the call. Annoyed, Alexia rose and left without a word.

"What a waste of time," she muttered once she was out of the room. He's still pulling the strings, controlling everything. Damn it, now I have to eat with him. But maybe I'll finally figure out what he wants.

Alexia stormed back into her studio; she grabbed her phone and dialed Myra. Her best friend helps her keep grounded.

"This better be good," Myra answered over the noise of blow-dryers in the background.

"Oh, it's not," Alexia shot back. "I'm stuck in this ridiculous deal with Elliot, and I'm ready to strangle him."

"Ugh, what now? Did he manipulate you again?" Myra's voice was dry, punctuated by the clinking of scissors.

"No, worse, he called a meeting, then cut me off to take some 'urgent' call. It's like I'm not even worth his time, but somehow, he still thinks he can control everything."

"Typical. He's a walking ego in a tailored suit," Myra paused. "Listen, you need a night out. Let me finish these roots, and we'll talk over wine and overpriced breadsticks tomorrow."

"I'll do you one better—I'll take you somewhere actually nice. My treat. Tomorrow, eight o'clock?"

"You're paying? In that case, I'll wear heels."

"You in heels? This I've got to see."

Myra laughed, her voice light and teasing. "Don't start. I've got another client waiting. Go paint something angry and meet me tomorrow."

"Fine. And thanks, Myra."

"Always. Now go make some art."

Alexia ended the call, her tension easing slightly. Myra always knew how to ground her, even from miles away.

Elliot sat at the now-empty dinner table, Alexia's parting words still ringing in his ears. Her anger had been expected, calculated even, but watching her leave, the tight knot in his chest felt less like victory and more like failure.

He reached for his phone and tapped open his messages. The one he'd sent to Jonathan earlier that morning glared back at him. "Call me at exactly 11:34."

Jonathan executed it perfectly. Elliot knew Alexia would never agree to dinner if he asked outright. She'd see it as another play for control, another move in whatever game she thought he was playing. The interruption, seemingly spontaneous, had been the perfect solution, a way to steer her where he needed her to go.

"You're a damned fool," he muttered, tossing the phone onto the table.

Manipulation came naturally to him, as it always had. But this time, it wasn't about control, not really.

"I just needed time," he whispered, as though the words alone could make it true. "Time to make her see."

"I know sir," Jonathan had said earlier.

The truth was messier than any contract or dinner arrangement.

It was about protecting her from the parts of the past she didn't know, and never needed to. He couldn't just sit by and let her life fall apart again.

Every move he made to bring her closer seemed to push her further away. And yet, he couldn't risk sharing, not while she still saw him as the manipulator.

"Five years ago, I had no choice," Elliot thought, the memory hurting more than he expected. But choices had consequences. Alexia's exhibitions, her struggles… it all traced back to him, to decisions she could never know about. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

"She'll think I'm manipulating her, Jonathan," he'd told his driver that morning, as they'd gone over the plan. "But that's the only way. She won't hear me otherwise."

"You are sure you want to do it this way, Mr. Cummings?" asked Jonathan.

Elliot hesitated for just a moment. "No," he admitted. "But I have to."

Now Elliot wasn't so sure.

"How do I make her understand?"

Elliot stayed at the table long after the staff had cleared it, his thoughts heavy and unrelenting.

How do I protect her? How?