the chief of police
The Chief of Police had a reputation.
Chief Elliot Hayes was brilliant.
Calm.
Untouchable.
He had solved cases that had left entire departments stumped for years, dismantled organized crime rings, and personally brought down some of the most dangerous criminals in the city.
People trusted him.
Politicians praised him.
His officers respected him.
Criminals feared him.
Elliot liked it that way.
What people didn’t know was that Elliot Hayes didn’t particularly care about justice.
He cared about results.
And there was a difference.
“Where is he?”
The interrogation room was silent.
A man sat on the other side of the table, wrists cuffed, eyes fixed firmly on the floor.
Elliot stood behind the glass.
“He’s not talking,” Detective Mason said beside him.
“I know.”
“We’ve questioned him for three hours.”
Elliot glanced at his watch.
“Then you’re doing it wrong.”
Mason frowned.
“What do you suggest?”
Elliot looked through the glass.
“Nothing.”
He opened the door.
The suspect immediately looked up.
Elliot walked in and pulled out the chair.
He didn’t sit.
Instead, he placed a photograph on the table.
The man’s expression changed.
Barely.
But Elliot noticed.
“You know her.”
“No.”
“Interesting.”
Elliot placed another photograph beside the first.
The man’s jaw tightened.
“No.”
A third photograph.
This time, the man’s breathing changed.
Elliot smiled.
“There.”
The suspect looked up.
“What?”
“That.”
“What?”
“That little pause.”
Elliot leaned against the table.
“You’ve spent the last three hours trying to convince my officers that you don’t know anything.”
He tapped the photograph.
“But you didn’t react to the weapon.”
Another photograph.
“Or the money.”
Another.
“You reacted to her.”
The man’s face hardened.
Elliot’s smile disappeared.
“Give me the name.”
“No.”
“Fine.”
Elliot picked up the photographs.
“I’ll find her myself.”
The man looked confused.
“You don’t know where she is.”
Elliot stopped at the door.
“No.”
He looked over his shoulder.
“But now I know who matters to you.”
The door closed.
Mason stared at him.
“You weren’t going to look for her, were you?”
“No.”
“Then why—”
“Because he thinks I am.”
Elliot continued walking.
Mason followed.
“That’s messed up.”
Elliot glanced at him.
“Is it?”
“You just threatened someone with a person you don’t even know.”
“I didn’t threaten him.”
“You implied it.”
“Then he should have answered my question.”
Mason sighed.
“Chief, sometimes I genuinely don’t know whose side you’re on.”
Elliot stopped.
His expression was perfectly calm.
“Neither do the criminals.”
And that was exactly how he liked it.
By seven that evening, Elliot had forgotten about the interrogation.
Or at least, he had stopped pretending to care.
He was sitting in his office, reading through a file when his phone buzzed.
Adrian: Are you coming home?
Elliot looked at the message.
He typed.
Elliot: Eventually.
Three dots appeared.
Adrian: It’s 7:06.
Elliot: Congratulations on telling time.
A reply came almost immediately.
Adrian: I made dinner.
Elliot paused.
Elliot: You cooked?
Adrian: Yes.
Elliot: Why?
Adrian: Because I’m your husband.
Elliot stared at the screen.
Then smiled despite himself.
Elliot: That’s suspicious.
Adrian: You married me anyway.
Elliot locked his phone.
His smile vanished.
Because that was the problem.
He had.
Adrian Vale was waiting when Elliot arrived home.
He was sitting on the sofa in a black shirt, one ankle resting over his knee, reading something on his phone.
He looked up.
“You’re late.”
Elliot took off his coat.
“You’re alive.”
Adrian smiled.
“Disappointed?”
“Not particularly.”
“That’s hurtful.”
“You’ll survive.”
Elliot walked into the kitchen.
Dinner was already on the table.
He stared at it.
“You actually cooked.”
“I told you I did.”
“I assumed you were lying.”
“I don’t lie to my husband.”
Elliot looked at him.
Adrian raised an eyebrow.
“Not about unimportant things.”
Elliot laughed once.
“You’re unbelievable.”
“And you’re hungry.”
Elliot sat down.
For a few minutes, there was nothing but the sound of cutlery.
Then Adrian casually asked,
“So, how was your day at work?”
Elliot slowly looked up.
Adrian already knew something was wrong.
He could always tell.
Elliot put down his fork.
“You really want to know?”
“Yes.”
Elliot leaned back.
“My day was fantastic.”
Adrian smiled.
“That doesn’t sound promising.”
“We arrested fourteen people.”
“Congratulations.”
“Recovered two stolen cars.”
“Very impressive.”
“Interrogated a drug dealer.”
Adrian nodded.
“Productive.”
Elliot stared at him.
“And then I got shot.”
Adrian froze.
“You what?”
“You heard me.”
“Who shot you?”
Elliot’s eyes narrowed.
“Don’t.”
Adrian’s expression remained innocent.
“I was just asking.”
“You know exactly who.”
A pause.
Then Adrian looked down at his dinner.
“...That was you?”
Elliot slammed his fork onto the table.
“YOU SHOT ME!”
Adrian blinked.
“THAT WAS MY DAY AT WORK!”
There was silence.
Then Adrian covered his mouth.
His shoulders shook.
Elliot stared at him in disbelief.
“Are you laughing?”
“No.”
“You are.”
“I’m trying not to.”
“You shot your own husband.”
“In my defense—”
“There is no defense!”
“You were chasing me.”
“BECAUSE YOU ROBBED A FUCKING WAREHOUSE.”
Adrian finally laughed.
Elliot pointed at him.
“You’re sleeping on the sofa.”
“I own the sofa.”
“I’ll arrest the sofa.”
Adrian’s laughter grew louder.
Elliot crossed his arms.
Then, slowly, Adrian’s expression softened.
“You weren’t seriously hurt?”
Elliot looked away.
“No.”
“Good.”
A quiet moment passed.
Then Elliot muttered,
“You could’ve killed me.”
Adrian’s smile disappeared.
“I wouldn’t.”
Elliot looked at him.
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
Adrian held his gaze.
“I don’t make promises I can’t keep.”
For a second, the apartment felt very different.
The jokes disappeared.
The husband disappeared.
The Chief disappeared.
There were only two men sitting across from each other, both of whom knew exactly what the other was capable of.
Then Elliot’s phone rang.
He answered.
“Hayes.”
Mason’s voice came through.
“Chief, we found the warehouse footage.”
Elliot’s eyes sharpened.
“Send it.”
“Already did.”
Elliot looked at the screen.
A video loaded.
Three black vehicles.
Six armed men.
Then a figure stepped out.
Black suit.
Black gloves.
A familiar watch.
Elliot slowly looked across the table.
Adrian was watching him.
Neither spoke.
Mason’s voice came through again.
“Chief?”
Elliot kept his eyes on Adrian.
“Yes?”
“We finally have a clear image of The King.”
Elliot’s jaw tightened.
“Send me the file.”
He ended the call.
Adrian leaned back.
“So.”
Elliot said nothing.
“Bad day at work?”
Elliot stared at him.
“Very.”
Adrian smiled.
“Want to tell me about it?”
Elliot picked up his phone.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because apparently my husband has been lying to me.”
Adrian’s smile faded.
“And apparently,” Elliot continued, “my husband has been getting away with it for far too long.”
The room went silent.
Then Adrian stood.
“So what happens now, Chief?”
Elliot looked at him.
His expression was unreadable.
“Now?”
He slipped his wedding ring back onto his finger.
“Now I catch you.”
Adrian looked at the ring.
Then at Elliot.
And smiled.
“Try.”
Neither of them knew it yet.
But that was the night their marriage stopped being a secret...
and became a war.
