From Mob Princess to Mugshot Photographer novel Chapter 63

**Chapter 7**

Leah’s moment of happiness was fleeting, like a delicate bubble that burst at the slightest touch.

As she had feared, Ella’s departure drained all vitality from Stellan, leaving behind a shadow of the man she once knew.

Instead of transferring his grief to Leah, he descended into a dark spiral of despair.

Stellan took to drinking heavily, a habit that quickly became his refuge.

His punctuality at work vanished; when he did manage to drag himself into the office, the stench of alcohol clung to him like a second skin.

After hours, he would either vanish into the dimly lit bars that dotted the city or return home, arms laden with bottles, drowning his sorrows in a sea of liquor until he could no longer find the surface.

The sharp, polished CEO that everyone respected and admired was a distant memory.

In his place stood a disheveled figure, his stubble unkempt, his eyes sunken and hollow, and his body moving as if it were a mere shell, barely holding itself together.

Leah had taken the opportunity to move into Stellan’s apartment, claiming she “needed someone to take care of her.”

Every day, she adorned herself in her finest clothes, prepared elaborate meals, and showered him with affection, hoping to rekindle the spark between them.

But Stellan seemed oblivious to her efforts.

Upon returning home, he wouldn’t even bother to remove his shoes.

He would stride past the lovingly prepared dinner and her radiant smile, heading straight for the bedroom where he would collapse onto the bed, a heavy sigh escaping his lips.

Half-conscious and heavily intoxicated, he would mumble the same name over and over—the name of the woman he had lost.

“Ella… Ella… I’m so sorry…”

“Come back… please come back…”

With each utterance of that name, Leah felt her smile freeze, a chill creeping into her heart. The resentment within her deepened, twisting like a knife.

She had sacrificed everything for him.

In a desperate bid for his sympathy, she had even pretended to relapse into her depression.

And for what?

Ella was gone, yet her presence lingered like an unwelcome ghost, haunting every corner of Stellan’s heart.

Leah found it impossible to reach him when he was inebriated.

Every time she attempted to bridge the gap, thinking that perhaps she could create an “irreversible situation,” Stellan would either slip into a deep slumber or push her away in a daze, muttering, “Don’t touch me.”

Or worse: “You’re not her.”

Once it was done, once they had shared that intimate moment, Stellan’s sense of responsibility, coupled with her manipulation, would ensnare him.

He would be unable to walk away.

Leah poured the powder into the water, swirling it gently until it dissolved completely, colorless and tasteless.

Taking a deep breath to steady her racing heart, she carried the glass back to the bedroom.

“Stellan, drink some water. You’ll feel better,” she said softly, her voice almost a whisper as she propped him up.

Stellan, groggy and parched, drank the entire glass without a second thought, oblivious to the storm brewing within Leah.

She watched him finish, a flicker of triumph mingling with anxiety dancing in her eyes.

Setting the empty glass down, she waited, her heart pounding as she anticipated the drug’s effect.

Minutes stretched into eternity. Stellan’s breathing deepened, and his brow furrowed slightly, a sign that it was time.

Her hands trembled as she reached for the buttons on his shirt, her heart racing in her chest.

*This time, she would have him.*

After tonight, Stellan would be hers. Forever.