Chapter 65 The Tie Between Us
Elena's POV
If humiliation had a shape, mine would've looked exactly like a chrome coffee cup frozen halfway to Lucas's mouth.
That was the moment everything went downhill.
But today?
Today was somehow worse.
Rachael was back.
Not back as in "visiting."
Not back as in "dropping something off."
Back as in fully reinstated, standing beside Damian with a shiny new badge and a smile that made me want to throw her into the nearest elevator shaft.
I watched them from down the hall because apparently I was a glutton for punishment. Rachael stood close to him-too close-holding her tablet while Damian reviewed something on it. They weren't touching, but the air between them was soft, familiar.
Comfortable.
The kind of comfortable people only have when they've shared more than spreadsheets.
I swallowed a sour taste.
Two days ago, she'd been transferred across the city. Two days ago, she'd packed her things and left this office quietly. Two days ago, Damian hadn't said a word about missing her.
And now?
Now he looked... relieved. Like her being back clicked something in place.
When Rachael caught my eye through the glass wall, she gave that irritatingly warm smile-the type women give when they believe they've already won.
I forced one back.
Barely.
She turned back to Damian, said something, and he laughed.
Laughed.
With teeth showing.
I hadn't seen him laugh like that in months.
My stomach twisted so hard I had to grip the folder in my hand to stay grounded.
No.
No, I wasn't doing this passive jealousy thing. Not again. Not quietly.
I turned on my heel, headed straight to my desk, and pretended to work.
But every few minutes, a laugh from Damian's office would drift out.
A soft reply from Rachael.
A low, amused murmur from Damian.
Another laugh.
Another whisper.
By noon, I had read the same email seventeen times and still couldn't tell you what it said.
By one, my pencil snapped in half from how hard I pressed it.
By two, the only thing holding me together was pure rage.
At two-thirty, I cracked.
I saw Damian walking toward the elevators, alone, hands in his pockets, head slightly bowed like he was thinking about something important.
Maybe her.
Maybe them.
Nope. Absolutely not.
I stood, marched down the hallway with a speed that probably alarmed the interns, and caught his wrist before he could press the elevator button.
He turned slowly.
"Elena?"
"Come with me."
He raised a brow. "I have a meeting-"
I didn't let him finish.
I grabbed his tie.
And dragged him-literally dragged him-down the hall.
He didn't resist. He didn't even speak. He just followed with that unreadable expression he always wore when he knew I was half a second from either crying or killing someone.
I shoved open the storage room door, pushed him inside, stepped in, and slammed the door behind us.
The room was dim. Dusty. Shelves filled with old documents and office junk.
Perfect.
I turned to him, chest tight, breathing too fast.
"Start talking," I snapped.
He blinked, steady. "About what?"
"Why is she back?"
He took a slow breath. "She was transferred unfairly. I corrected it."
"No," I said sharply. "Why did you bring her back?"
He didn't even flinch. "Because she deserved to be here."
"And why is she living with you?"
His jaw tightened-barely, but I caught it. "She was traumatized after the bomb incident."
"You could've gotten her a hotel."
"She asked to stay. I agreed."
"Why?"
He didn't respond.
I stepped closer, fists clenched. "Because you care about her?"
He stared. Silent.
"Say something," I whispered.
He held my gaze. "Yes."
My throat closed.
He didn't rush to explain. Didn't soften it. Didn't pretend.
He cared about her.
"Fine," I breathed. "Fine. So you... still have feelings for her?"
"Yes."
The word slid into my chest like a blade.
I looked away before he saw my jaw tremble.
"So it wasn't just a fling," I said. "Or some stupid office tension. You actually-"
"Elena."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
His voice was calm, almost too calm. "Because you didn't ask."
That hurt more than anything.
I swallowed hard. "Then tell me this." My voice wavered. "Do we-do we still have a chance?"
The silence answered me before he did.
But the words still landed like a punch.
"No," he said softly. "We don't."
I let out a breath that wasn't really a breath.
"Why?" I whispered.
"Because I don't want this," he said. "This chaos. This triangle. This tension."
"It's not a triangle if I'm the only one hurting," I snapped.
"Elena..." He stepped forward, voice gentle but firm. "Lucas is unstable. He planted a bomb. He tried to kill me. I won't be dragged into something that could destroy all of us."
"And Rachael?" I asked bitterly. "What is she-a safe option?"
"Yes."
He meant it.
He wasn't being cruel.
He was being honest.
Brutally honest.
He continued, "I'm taking things with her seriously."
Something shattered in me-not loudly, not dramatically.
Quietly. Like glass breaking under a pillow.
I nodded slowly. "I hope she makes you happy."
"Elena, it's not-"
"Don't."
I reached for the doorknob, needing air, space, distance-anything-
But the moment I opened it:
There she was.
Rachael.
Holding a stack of files. Staring at the two of us in a cramped storage room, Damian right behind me, his tie slightly loosened from where I'd pulled him.
Her eyes widened.
"Oh," she breathed. "I... didn't realize anyone was in there."
I smiled tightly. "Just work."
"Right." She stepped aside. "Of course."
Damian walked past her.
I followed.
But my heart stayed inside that storage room, crushed under the weight of everything he didn't deny.