Chapter 724 Elliot, I Miss You Very Much 2
An hour later, the black Cullinan rolled quietly into the Windsor Mansion.
Elliot stepped out, his six-foot-two frame cutting a sharp silhouette as he crossed the threshold into the grand hall.
It was well past midnight, yet the mansion still glowed with light. Oliver, his father, was waiting. The chessboard in front of him lay abandoned as he looked up with a knowing smirk. "Out stalking someone in the middle of the night? Did you catch anything worth the trouble?"
Elliot shrugged off his coat and tossed it onto the sofa. "Danielle, make me some pasta," he called to the housekeeper.
Danielle, who had always doted on him, wiped her hands on her apron and disappeared into the kitchen. Minutes later, the smell of garlic and olive oil filled the air as she set a steaming plate in front of him.
Oliver drifted over without a word, watching his son eat. His gaze pressed for answers.
"I wasn't waiting for her," Elliot said flatly.
Oliver didn't believe him. He knew his son too well. He had asked around about what happened years ago — yes, Molly had gone too far.
Back then, basketball had been Elliot's dream, and she had made a cruel joke of it.
But if Elliot truly felt nothing for her, he wouldn't have been out there in the middle of the night. That kind of restlessness came from unfinished business.
"If you still care for her, it's like losing some of your edge but gaining love," Oliver said. "If you can't let go, then do yourself a favor — and her — and walk away."
He patted Elliot's shoulder. "Be bigger than this. Your mother's been waking up at night. She doesn't say it, but I know she's worried about you."
He added, "If you don't love her anymore, move on. Start something new. Hell, go on a blind date if you have to."
"I know," Elliot said.
Oliver smiled faintly. "I always thought you'd be immune to heartbreak. Turns out you're the loyal type."
Elliot didn't answer.
Later, after a shower, he lay in bed staring at the ceiling, sleep nowhere in sight. Molly's voice echoed in his head — trembling, raw.
Had he really felt nothing in that moment? Had there not been a split second when he wanted to get out of the car, to pull her shaking body into his arms?
He had. And he hated himself for it. It felt like reaching into a trash bin for something you'd already thrown away, forcing yourself to swallow it again, knowing you'd regret it the moment you did.
He rolled over, grabbed his phone from the nightstand, and unlocked it. The screen lit up with her face — Molly at eighteen, all soft light and unspoiled charm. He could still remember the way her skin felt, the rush of first love, the way their bodies had tangled for the first time. He had meant to take responsibility.
She had said she was a virgin.
Now, he wondered if that had been a lie too — a story only he had believed.
Even now, looking at her photo, his body reacted. Disgusted with himself, he flipped the phone face down, pushed the sheets aside, and padded to the bathroom to take care of the ache. He could have any woman he wanted. He just didn't want them.
When desire overtook him, it was still Molly he thought of.
They didn't see each other for nearly two months.
Once or twice, her agent, Celine, called. The offer was simple: Molly would accept any terms if M&E Technology would take her as their spokesperson.
Elliot didn't know if Molly was aware of these calls, but he assumed it was just part of her job — pleasing the men who held the money. Maybe her body had already been passed around.
The thought made him hate her more.
In mid-December, Elliot went to a meaningless social event — a time-killer. The place was full of the usual crowd of trust fund heirs, small-time celebrities, and models.
When he pushed open the private room door, he saw her.
Molly sat in a smoke-gray dress, looking untouched by the world, her presence almost jarring against the heavy makeup and loud laughter around her. She told someone softly that she didn't smoke.
One of the rich boys locked onto her almost immediately, calling her a rare gem in the business. He made no secret of wanting her in his bed, sweetening the offer with a few promised "opportunities." Celine was there too, making no move to refuse.
Elliot stood in the doorway and let out a short, humorless laugh. 'Molly doesn't smoke? What a joke,' he murmured.
He didn't call her out. Instead, he stepped inside. His height made him duck slightly at the doorframe, and the room greeted him with a chorus of "Elliot's here."
He walked straight to her and sat down, as if she were a stranger.
He watched the rich boy's hands linger where they shouldn't, watched Molly shrink back. Watched her play the game.
Their thighs touched. The room was warm, but her skin was cold. The smooth fabric of his tailored suit was all she felt now — not the heat of his body.
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