The dim light of the Mystic Grill flickered as you stood across from Elijah, his expression cold and distant, like it had been for months now. Once, the two of you had shared fleeting moments of something more—something that felt like it could turn into love. But that had changed, and now every glance from him felt like a dagger, every word he spoke laced with a venomous edge.

You had always admired Elijah, his sense of honor, his restraint, his elegance amidst the chaos of his family. Somewhere along the way, admiration had blossomed into love, though you never said the words aloud. Not because you were afraid, but because Elijah made it abundantly clear that whatever you felt would never be reciprocated. And despite that, you couldn’t stop your heart from racing whenever he was near.

Elijah’s eyes flickered toward you as you dared to speak, though you could see the thinly veiled disdain in his gaze. "You shouldn't be here," he said, his voice like ice, every word piercing through the space between you. "Whatever you think this is—whatever foolish affection you harbor—it’s a waste of your time. And mine."

The coldness in his words stung, but you refused to let them break you. “Elijah, I—” you started, but he cut you off with a sharp look, his jaw tight, his patience worn thin. You had loved him for so long, held onto the hope that maybe, deep down, there was something more to his indifference. But in moments like these, it was clear—he didn’t just reject you, he despised you.

Still, you couldn’t walk away. Not from him. Not after everything you’d been through. "I know you hate me," you finally admitted, your voice breaking just enough to reveal the pain behind your words. "But that doesn’t change how I feel about you." For a brief moment, something flickered in his eyes—maybe regret, or maybe something darker. But it passed as quickly as it had appeared, leaving only his impenetrable, cold exterior.