The Billionaire Who Forgot How to Love
Chapter 4: All the Things That Never Mattered Until Now
Mornings felt different now.
The sun still rose in that quiet, indifferent way—pulling gold over rooftops, throwing light onto his half-finished plans and late-night scribbles. But something had shifted. It wasn't the world. It was Elias.
He woke before his alarm, brewed coffee he barely tasted, and sat at the edge of his desk—eyes scanning news feeds, market shifts, global headlines.
He wasn't just playing the game anymore.
He was building the board.
And yet, when he glanced across the room and saw Liv curled up in his chair, sketchbook in her lap, asleep beneath the window—he felt something that didn't have a name.
Not love. Not yet.
But maybe the part of a man that could still learn how to feel it again.
The hacker hadn't resurfaced. Not directly.
But Elias felt their shadow.
In a line of suspicious pingbacks from a dummy email address. In a blocked access attempt to one of his shell databases. In the sudden silence of Jordan, the lab tech, who no longer made eye contact.
Someone was waiting.
And he didn't know if it was for a moment of weakness—or proof.
But he didn't have time to wait around for either.
He bought a warehouse.
Quietly.
Used a decoy buyer through a tech startup he'd seeded months ago. No names. No paperwork in his own identity.
Inside, he installed rows of secure servers. Cooled. Encrypted. Untouchable.
This would be the headquarters for something bigger.
Not just hiding anymore.
Control.
If the world was going to find him—it would find him prepared.
Liv started speaking more.
Little things. Soft things.
"I used to think grief was loud," she said once, tracing her pencil over a half-finished portrait. "But it's not. It's just... everywhere."
He nodded.
"Grief is love that has nowhere left to go."
She smiled. Sad, but real. "You keep saying things like that."
"Like what?"
"Like you've already lived this life."
He didn't answer.
She didn't press.
They sat in the quiet, and it felt more like a heartbeat than a pause.
The next threat came in the form of silence.
His secondary bank in Zurich froze one of his flagged accounts.
Too many transfers.
Too clean.
That kind of perfection always draws attention.
The message was subtle: We see you.
And suddenly, the walls began to close again.
Elias booked a flight.
One-way. Berlin.
He didn't plan to go. Not yet. But he needed the out.
He copied everything. Triple-encrypted. Moved digital assets. Purged his dorm.
He gave Liv a key to the new apartment.
A loft, downtown. Hidden behind an old bookstore. Quiet. Isolated.
She blinked when she saw it.
"I don't deserve this."
He looked at her, jaw tight.
"No one deserves pain. That doesn't stop it from showing up."
She walked in like it might disappear.
She didn't know how many escape plans he had hidden inside the walls.
And he didn't tell her.
Because trust wasn't built on full disclosure.
It was built on choosing to stay.
And every day, she stayed.
She asked him one night.
They were sitting on the floor of the loft, an old movie flickering on mute in the background. Her fingers idly traced circles on the rim of her teacup.
"Elias, do you think you're capable of love?"
He didn't look up.
Didn't breathe for a second.
"Why are you asking?"
"Because you give everything... but nothing real."
He finally turned to her. "I don't know what real is anymore."
She nodded slowly. "I think... that's the saddest thing I've ever heard."
"I don't mean to be cruel."
"I know. That's what makes it worse."
After she went to bed, he sat alone in the dark.
Those words rattled him more than any hacker, more than any threat.
Because she was right.
He built empires. Silently.
He controlled futures. Anonymously.
But he couldn't offer his heart without calculating the risk.
And somewhere along the way, that risk had become a cost he wasn't willing to pay again.
Even for her.
Jordan messaged him the next day.
Not from a dummy account.
But his real name. His school email.
"I need to talk. Please. You're not the only one being watched."
Elias deleted it immediately.
But then another came.
"There are people asking about your 'other accounts.' I didn't say anything. But I think I'm being followed."
Paranoia? Maybe.
Or maybe the shadow behind Elias was finally stepping into the light.
He followed Jordan that night.
From the dorms to the parking garage. Silent. Careful.
Jordan wasn't alone.
Two men. Suits. Sunglasses at night. Government or worse.
One grabbed Jordan by the collar. The other whispered something into his ear.
Elias pulled back into the shadows, heart a steady drumbeat.
This wasn't about hacking anymore.
This was leverage.
They wanted him.
And they were using Jordan to get close.
Back at the loft, Liv was waiting.
She looked at him the moment he walked in.
"What are you hiding from?"
He didn't answer.
She stood. Crossed the room. Took his face in her hands.
"I don't want the part of you the world already owns. I want the part no one sees."
He closed his eyes.
"You don't want that part."
"Yes, I do."
He whispered, "It's broken."
She kissed his forehead.
"Then let me see where it cracks."
The next day, Elias waited for Jordan outside the engineering building.
Jordan didn't see him at first—not until Elias stepped out of the shadows.
"You brought them to me," Elias said quietly.
Jordan flinched, eyes wide, guilt bleeding from his expression.
"I didn't... I didn't say anything. I swear. They came to me. I thought I could handle it—just bluff, keep them guessing—"
"You thought wrong."
Jordan swallowed hard. "They know you're connected to something big. They don't know everything yet, but they're close. They think you're some kind of tech ghost or asset."
"I'm not anyone's asset," Elias said.
Jordan's voice dropped. "They offered me money."
Elias stared.
"And?"
"I didn't take it," Jordan said. "But I'm scared. They're not just asking questions. They're threatening people. Liv—"
Elias moved faster than thought, grabbing Jordan's shirt and slamming him into the side of the building.
"You said her name?"
"No—no! I didn't. I swear. But they asked if I knew who you were close to. They're watching you. Watching her."
Elias stepped back, breathing hard. The old life—the cold, careful one—was snapping back into place.
"You're done," he said. "Disappear. Transfer. If you say a single word to anyone else, I'll erase you."
"I didn't mean—"
"Disappear, Jordan."
And just like that, Jordan did.
That night, Elias didn't go home.
He watched the loft from a rooftop across the street.
Hours passed.
Liv turned off the lights around midnight.
He waited until 3:00 a.m. before heading back in.
She wasn't asleep.
She sat on the windowsill, wrapped in a blanket, eyes on the sky.
"You're doing it again," she said softly.
"Doing what?"
"Running from the things that want to stay."
He sighed, closing the door behind him.
"I'm trying to protect you."
"From what?"
He didn't answer.
So she did it for him.
"From the truth?"
"No. From the consequences."
She stood. Walked to him.
"If loving you means I have to be afraid every time you disappear, then maybe this isn't love."
He felt it—like glass cracking under too much weight.
"Then what is it?" he asked.
"I don't know," she whispered. "But I think it's killing me."
She left.
Just for the night.
But to Elias, it felt like she left the whole world behind.
Elias didn't sleep.
Instead, he ran names.
Agents. Contractors. Ex-military consultants who moonlighted in gray areas. He matched the faces of the two men he'd seen with Jordan against facial recognition databases—quiet, invisible ones.
One came up.
Derek Vale.
Former CIA, now freelance "surveillance consultant." Known for black-bag jobs and recoveries of compromised assets. Quietly banned from three countries. Dangerous.
He was here.
That meant someone serious had taken an interest in Elias's past—or what they thought was his future.
And Liv was now collateral.
He made a choice.
The next day, he met Derek.
Alone. Neutral ground. A train station café no one cared about.
Elias sat before Derek even arrived. Back to the wall. Nothing in his pockets but silence and fire.
Derek walked in like a ghost wearing a suit.
"You're not what I expected," he said, sitting down.
"That's the point."
Derek smirked. "They think you've built something. Something worth taking."
"They?"
"Let's just say... people who don't like not knowing who's winning."
"What do they want?" Elias asked.
"You. And anyone you care about. Leverage."
Elias didn't blink. "You can tell them I'm dead. But if they touch her, I'll burn the game board."
Derek leaned back. "You think this is chess. But it's not. It's poker. Bluff wrong, and you don't just lose. You get buried."
"I've died once," Elias said calmly. "This time, I brought matches."
Later that night, he found Liv's sketchbook.
Not to invade.
But because he was drowning.
Page after page of her heart poured out in charcoal. Images of the loft. His silhouette. Her sitting alone.
On the last page, a note:
I don't know if I'm waiting for you or if I'm already gone.
He closed the book, eyes burning.
And picked up the pen.
He picked up the pen.
Not for plans. Not for blueprints or fail-safes or backups.
But for her.
He wrote like someone trying to find his way back to something fragile.
Liv,
I don't know how to do this. Not with grace. Not with honesty that doesn't bleed.
In my first life, I gave everything to people who looked at me like a meal. I built walls with windows and asked people to stay while hiding behind the glass. And when they didn't stay, I blamed the world. Not them. Not me.
You are the first person I've ever wanted to break that pattern for.
But I've lived two lives worth of damage. And sometimes, I don't know if what I feel for you is love—or fear dressed as devotion.
Because I don't want to hurt you.
But I might.
You asked me if I could love. I think the answer is yes.
But I don't know if I'll survive it.
I hope you'll come back. But if you don't, I understand.
Just know—if you ever feel like no one sees you, I do.
I always did.
—E
He folded the letter. Tucked it inside the sketchbook.
Then, he picked up his burner phone.
And called Derek.
"Still interested in a trade?" Elias asked.
Derek chuckled on the other end. "Depends on what's on the table."
"A ghost. A shadow company. A full diversion. But you walk away from her. You and your people. Clean break."
Derek paused. "Sounds expensive."
"It'll make your name untraceable. Give your clients something to chew on for years."
"And what do you get?"
Elias's voice was ice. "Peace."
"Alright, Mr. Matches. Let's burn some bridges."
They met in an abandoned subway tunnel beneath the city—part of a decommissioned Cold War project. Silent. Forgotten. Perfect.
Elias handed him a drive. "Encrypted. Triple-deadman switched. One wrong move and it erases itself."
Derek nodded. "You're thorough."
"Paranoia's a form of love, in my case."
"Noted."
Elias didn't flinch. "Walk away. She disappears from your radar. You never mention her again."
"Consider it done."
When Elias emerged above ground, the night was calm. Unusually so.
It almost felt like silence had forgiven him.
But he knew better.
The cost of safety was always paid in advance.
He just didn't know yet what it would take from him next.
When Elias emerged above ground, the night was calm. Unusually so.
It almost felt like silence had forgiven him.
But he knew better.
The cost of safety was always paid in advance.
He just didn't know yet what it would take from him next.
Three days passed.
Liv didn't call.
Didn't text.
Didn't return to the loft.
Each morning, Elias sat in the kitchen, her untouched mug beside his. As if she might walk in, barefoot and tired, pretending the silence between them had never grown sharp.
He didn't reach out.
Not because he didn't want to.
But because he knew something had to come from her.
Not obligation. Not pity.
Choice.
On the fourth night, she came.
No knock.
Just the soft creak of the door and the quiet hush of her steps on hardwood.
He looked up from the floor, surrounded by blueprints, monitors, and maps of exits that no longer mattered.
She held the sketchbook in her hand.
No words.
Just that.
She crossed the room. Laid it in front of him.
He waited.
"I read it," she said.
He nodded.
She sat across from him. Eyes rimmed in red, but steady.
"You want me to understand you," she said. "But you don't even know who you are anymore."
"I'm trying," he whispered.
"I know. But trying isn't the same as choosing."
He clenched his fists. "I chose to keep you safe."
"You chose to disappear in front of me," she said, voice shaking. "You made decisions for both of us."
He looked down.
"You're right."
Silence stretched between them.
She broke it.
"I don't want perfection, Elias. I never did. I wanted honest. Even if it's ugly."
He met her eyes. "I'm afraid. If I give you all of me, you'll leave anyway."
"Maybe I will," she said. "But at least it would've been real."
Tears slipped down his face. He didn't wipe them.
She reached across the blueprint-littered floor.
Held his hand.
Soft.
Warm.
"I don't know what this is," she whispered. "But I know it's not over yet."
He exhaled like he'd been holding his breath for two lifetimes.
"Then stay," he said.
"I will. But only if you stop hiding from the parts of you that still want to be known."
He nodded.
Slowly.
For the first time, not just agreeing—but surrendering.
And in the stillness of the loft, between the ruins of his past and the ghosts of his future, Elias finally chose something real.
Her.