Elijah's Plan

Elijah followed Blue out of the hotel, his sharp gaze never leaving her as she dashed through the main doors and into the driveway.

With practiced ease, he pulled out his phone, dialing a number while simultaneously keeping an eye on the security camera on the walls and ceilings. His mind calculated quickly—scanning how many cameras he had to deal with, how many blind spots there were, and exactly what it would take to orchestrate a perfect disappearance.

The call connected. Without waiting for a greeting, he spoke in a cold, clipped tone—one that left no room for argument.

"I need you to take care of some CCTV footage. Quickly. Also, send a few men over—I want eyes on someone."

Gone was his usual playful, flirtatious tone. This was Elijah at his most ruthless, his voice carrying the weight of command.

He ended the call without another word, typing the hotel's name into his phone as he continued trailing behind Blue.

She was fast for a little thing, rushing toward the driveway with single-minded determination.

Elijah kept his distance—close enough to intervene, yet far enough to avoid suspicion.

His lips curled in satisfaction, the taste of victory already settling on his tongue.

Everything was falling into place. and Poof under his careful set up Blue dissappeared without a trace.

...

The sprawling golf course stretched endlessly under the overcast sky, its emerald-green fairways perfectly manicured, a private paradise reserved for the elite. A gentle breeze rustled the towering oak trees lining the course, and the distant sound of a champagne cork popping at the clubhouse added to the air of quiet luxury.

Augustine stood tall and commanding in his crisp white golf uniform, the fabric hugging his broad frame, his sculpted muscles subtly flexing beneath his sleeves as he lined up his shot. His grip on the club was firm, practiced, effortless. With a powerful yet controlled swing, the club sliced through the air, striking the ball with a satisfying thwack. It soared high, momentarily vanishing into the thick clouds before reappearing, cutting through the sky in a graceful arc before dropping onto the green. The ball rolled smoothly across the pristine grass, straight into the hole. A perfect shot.

But his expression remained impassive.

Standing beside him, Vladimir mirrored his son's height and stature, though there was an undeniable elegance in his movements, a refined grace that came with age and experience. Dressed in a tailored navy sports jacket over his golf attire, he exuded the effortless arrogance of a man who had long mastered both the sport and the art of winning. He watched Augustine's reaction—or lack thereof—and smirked.

"Have you been practicing without your old man?" Vladimir teased, knowing full well that Augustine's sour mood had nothing to do with golf.

Augustine barely spared him a glance before stepping back. An attendant, dressed in an immaculate uniform, immediately stepped forward, placing another ball on the tee. This time, it was Vladimir's turn. He took his time, adjusting his stance, casually glancing at the distance, and with a single fluid motion, he swung his club. The ball soared effortlessly, cutting through the air before landing just a few feet from the hole.

"I heard you lost that deal."

Vladimir's tone was laced with amusement, as if savoring his son's misfortune. He adjusted the cuff of his designer glove, suppressing a chuckle. "That means no matter how good you get at golf, I'm still better at business."

Augustine's jaw tightened, his grip unconsciously clenching around the club. He shifted his weight, leaning slightly on it as he turned his gaze to his father, his eyes dark with restrained anger.

"You know why that happened."

Vladimir hummed, unimpressed. "Excuses, I must say."

Without warning, he turned on his heel, as if already losing interest in the game. His personal valet was quick to approach, handing him a glass of sparkling water, condensation clinging to the crystal. The other attendants stood in silent formation, awaiting further instruction, their presence more ornamental than functional.

"Send my granddaughter over," Vladimir said idly, inspecting his nails before slipping off his glove. "I haven't wished her a happy birthday yet."

Augustine's brows twitched. "Birthday?"

Vladimir clicked his tongue in mock disappointment. "Yes, the day she was born." He shook his head, exhaling sharply. "You forgot about that too? Pathetic."

Augustine's fingers dug into the shaft of his club, the leather grip creaking under the pressure.

Vladimir's smirk deepened as he took a step closer, his voice dropping just enough to twist the knife. "And yet, a certain someone once told me they would never become a father like me. At least I managed to raise you. But judging by how things are going, I doubt Blue will make it past this year with a father like you."

With that, he turned away, his entourage immediately falling into step behind him as he strode back toward the clubhouse. The sun glinted off his platinum wristwatch, a final reminder of the wealth and power he wielded so effortlessly—power that Augustine, despite all his efforts, had yet to surpass.

Augustine stood frozen for a moment, his pulse drumming in his ears. His father always knew exactly where to strike.

 His gritted teeth never relaxed, his jaw locked so tightly it ached.

It was the day she went missing.

The realization hit him like a brutal punch to the gut.

Augustine cursed himself inwardly, his fingers twitching before he suddenly tossed the golf club aside. It landed with a dull thud against the pristine grass, but he barely noticed. His mind was too consumed by the bitter memory unraveling before him.

The day Blue had disappeared. And when he finally found her—safe, standing before him, those wide, tear-streaked eyes searching his face for comfort—what had he done?

Not embrace her. Not reassure her.

No, he had greeted her with cold interrogation, his voice sharp, his questions relentless. "Where were you? What happened? Why didn't you call?"

He could still see it—her small hands balling into fists, her lower lip trembling as she tried to hold back tears. And then, without another word, she had turned and run off to her room, slamming the door behind her.

His fingers curled into a fist, nails biting into his palm.