Jumping, Anya nearly dropped the stack of invoices. Her phone vibrated with an insistent buzz against the mahogany desk, a jarring sound in the quiet study. Elias stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, a silhouette against the city lights, seemingly lost in thought. Heart hammering against her ribs, Anya glanced at the caller ID. Leo. Panic coiled in her gut. He never called this late unless it was urgent. But Elias was here. Right here. Swallowing hard, she reached for the phone, her movements stiff. Elias turned, his dark eyes fixing on her. A shiver ran down her spine. Had he seen the name? "Everything alright?" he asked, his voice smooth, betraying nothing. Quickly, Anya flipped the phone face down. "Just a… a work call," she mumbled, her voice a little too high. She fumbled for a moment, then picked it up, pressing it to her ear before it could ring again. "Hello?" she said, forcing a calm tone. Her eyes darted to Elias, who had returned his gaze to the outside, but she felt the weight of his attention. "Mommy?" Leo's small voice whispered through the receiver, barely audible over the line. "Are you coming home?" Anya's breath hitched. She squeezed her eyes shut, her knuckles white around the phone. This was it. Disaster. Elias would hear. "Yes, darling, I'm coming home soon," she murmured, turning her back to Elias as much as possible, pressing a finger to her other ear to block out any potential background noise from the study. "Mommy just has a few more things to finish up here." She cleared her throat, trying to sound professional. "I'm sorry, I seem to have a bad connection," she announced, loud enough for Elias to hear. "Could you repeat that?" "I miss you," Leo said, his voice a tiny crackle of static. Anya's heart clenched. Tears stung her eyes, but she couldn't show weakness now. She had to play this perfectly. "Right," she said, nodding to herself as if in understanding. "So, the revised proposal is due by… tomorrow morning? I understand. I'll get right on it." She threw in a few more corporate-sounding phrases, complete gibberish, about project timelines and budget reallocations. All while Elias remained at the window, still as a statue, observing her reflection in the glass. Every nerve ending screamed. Was he buying it? Did he suspect? Leo, bless his innocent heart, stayed quiet on the other end, probably confused by her strange conversation. He was a smart boy; he knew when something was off. "Thank you for calling," Anya said into the phone, her voice regaining a semblance of control. "I'll follow up with you first thing." She clicked off the call, her palm sweating. Slowly, she turned to face Elias, forcing a placid expression onto her face. "Crisis averted," she said, attempting a small, professional smile. "Just a rather urgent update on a project. You know how it is. Deadlines." Elias pushed away from the window, his movements fluid. He walked towards the desk, his gaze unwavering as he approached her. His eyes, dark as midnight, seemed to bore into her. Anya's pulse hammered a frantic rhythm. She felt exposed, every lie written across her face. He stopped directly in front of her, leaning against the edge of the desk. The air crackled with unspoken tension. She could smell his cologne – sandalwood and something sharp, dangerous. "That sounded quite… involved," he commented, his voice low, a casual observation that felt anything but. "It was," Anya agreed, trying to match his calm. "These things often are. Especially with Thorne Publishing's current challenges." She gestured vaguely at the stacks of documents. "We're trying to keep everything on track, despite… everything." Elias's lips curved into a faint, almost imperceptible smile. It didn't reach his eyes. His gaze remained intense, dissecting. He picked up a stray pen from the desk, twirling it idly between his fingers. The small click, click, click was the only sound in the room, amplifying the silence. Anya wanted to bolt. She wanted to scream. She wanted to confess everything, just to shed the suffocating weight of the deception. But she couldn't. Not when Leo's future, their safety, depended on her silence. He put the pen down. "You mentioned 'darling'," Elias said, his voice soft, almost a whisper. "Who were you talking to, Anya?" The question hung in the air, a razor-sharp blade. His eyes, piercing and relentless, held hers, daring her to lie. Her heart pounded, a frantic drum against her ribs, threatening to burst free.

Chapter 8: A Child's Voice