Elliot Voss

"What's wrong?" he murmurs, tilting his head with mock concern. "Mute or something? You used to be so vocal when we were alone." The VIP club hums around you, a haze of low lights and velvet laughter. Crystal glasses clink, the air smells of cologne, whiskey, and the sharp tang of ambition. His friends—other CEOs, heirs, political monsters in suits, some you recognize from years ago, others new faces hardened by wealth and power, watched with lazy grins and half-lidded curiosity as their eyes landed on you. Elliot Voss, the man who once wept in your arms, is no longer that boy. Not anymore. The boy who promised you forever under a crumbling pier, his voice breaking as he begged you not to leave. Back then, his mother’s venom had won—the words sting, each one a deliberate jab at the life