"Are you okay?" Andrian asked, but Fidelia stayed silent, her eyes fixed blankly on Elijah.
Without a word, Elijah stood from the table and walked away toward his study, his footsteps echoing through the suddenly quiet dining room.
The entire room's attention shifted to Fidelia, everyone wondering what had just transpired in those final seconds. But only she knew.
A name only her parents ever called her—had just come from Elijah's lips.
He must know something. Something about her father that no one else did.
"I need to go see him," she whispered, more to herself than to anyone else.
Fidelia rose from her chair, reaching for her bag. Her steps were steady, controlled, but her mind was racing as she followed the path Elijah had taken. When she reached his study door, she paused.
She took out her phone and her hands tapped around the screen and the hand trembled slightly so she tossed the phone in her bag and she gripped the handle.
'Whatever he knows, I need to hear it.'
She took a deep breath and opened the door.
The study had the smell of book all around and by the two sides were bookshelves filled with books all around.
She took a step and saw Elijah sat calmly on a leather couch near the fireplace, pouring himself another glass of wine in a relaxing manner.
He didn't look up when she entered.
"You knew about my father, didn't you?" Fidelia asked, her voice sharp, breaking the silence.
"Yes," Elijah replied easily, finally meeting her gaze. "We were good friends when he was alive. You resemble your mother—she was beautiful, intelligent, fierce. But your spirit..." He tilted his head, studying her. "That's all Gregory."
Fidelia's expression hardened. She was tired—so tired—of hearing people she barely knew talk about her father as if they'd truly cared about him. As if their words meant anything.
"What do you want to talk about?" she asked, keeping her voice level.
Elijah's eyes suddenly went cold and serious. "Let's talk about your father's death."
Fidelia heard her heart pumping blood faster.
'What… What did he just say?'
Her voice came out smaller than she intended, shaking despite her efforts to control it. "What… what do you mean?"
Elijah didn't answer immediately. Instead, he gestured toward the chair opposite him with his wine glass. "Sit. If you want to hear the truth, that is."
A voice in her mind screamed at her to turn around and walk out. To go back to Andrian, to leave this place, to never look back.
But she couldn't.
She needed to know.
Reluctantly, Fidelia sat on the edge of the chair, her posture rigid, her hands folded tightly in her lap to hide their trembling.
The silence that followed was thick and suffocating. Elijah seemed to savor it, taking slow, deliberate sips of his wine, making her wait, the more she waited the more desperate she would become.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke.
"Your father, Gregory Crawford, was a brilliant man," he began, his voice measured and calm. "He saw opportunities where others saw nothing. Built an empire from scratch—no inheritance, no family money, just raw intelligence and a very strong determination." He paused, swirling the wine in his glass. "And now, that empire rests in the hands of Derek. What a tragedy."
Fidelia glared at him. "You and Derek keep talking about my father like you care so much about him. 'Your friend,' you say. Such liars, both of you." Her voice rose slightly, emotion bleeding through despite her attempts to stay controlled. "I can see how much you 'care' about him—with those eyes you throw at his own daughter. With the way you've treated me since I walked through your door."
Hearing this, Elijah laughed a cold, mocking sound that sent chills down her spine.
"You really are your father's daughter," he said, genuine amusement in his voice. "You see that fire in your eyes…You didn't disappoint me, Fidelia."
"Stop talking about my father like that," she snapped.
"Why not?" Elijah's smile slowly faded as he set down his glass and leaned forward, closer to her. His presence became suddenly oppressive, frightening. "I knew him better than you ever did, after all."
He paused, letting the words settle like poison.
"I was there the night he died."
Fidelia immediately fixed her eyes at him.
Her eyes widened. Her heart began to race, pounding so hard she could hear it in her ears.
"What?" She said in a way he barely heard her.
Elijah's expression remained calm, almost gentle which somehow made it worse.
He had all them in his palms and he just needed to play them right. One of them was Fidelia and he was playing her well because she had let her curiosity get the better of her.
"Oh, Derek didn't tell you?" He leaned back slightly, watching her reaction with cold interest. "No one ever told you the real story, did they? About what happened that night?"
Fidelia couldn't speak. Couldn't move. She could only stare at him, her breath coming faster, panic rising in her chest.
She knew he was right. No one had told her the truth. She had bought Derek's lie but the CCTV video made her doubt his words.
"Let me tell you the truth, Fidelia," Elijah said quietly, each word deliberate and devastating. "Your parents' death wasn't an accident."
He let the words hang in the air for a moment.
"It was murder."
Fidelia gripped the arms of the chair, her knuckles turning white.
She almost crumbled. All her strong, independent personality she had developed was breaking and letting her weak, fragile self crawl out.
"You're lying," she managed to say, though her voice was shaking.
"Am I?" Elijah tilted his head.
"You can search it online, 2005 the death of the Crawford Family wiped out by a fatal accident of collision of a truck. The driver was no where to be found and was never caught. The truck he used was a stolen truck and the police wrapped it up as an accident within a week"
"If you think it's an accident then you a fool as much as others who believe it too"
"No," she whispered. "Derek said—"
"Derek lied," Elijah interrupted. "Derek has been lying to you for fifteen years. About everything."
Fidelia felt tears burning behind her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.
She couldn't cry here. Not in front of him.
"Why?" she demanded, her voice breaking. "Why are you telling me this?"
Elijah did it again. He didn't answer immediately, not after he poured himself a drink and gulped. He went further to light a cigarette in his mouth and then he puffed.
"Because I know who killed your parents"
The tears she had been trying with all the strength in her to hold finally slipped down her cheek and she couldn't stop it.
Her body felt weak. So weak she almost collapsed
"Elijah…" she whispered, voice raw, trembling. "What did you just say?"
And Elijah didn't say anything he only smiled dangerously.