Chapter 46

Chapter 46
ELENA'S POV

I SLAPPED HIM!

The air around me grew heavy, almost suffocating, as I stood frozen, glaring at Conner through the open car door. He sat motionless in the driver’s seat, his eyes wide, his lips parted slightly, his entire face etched with a mixture of disbelief and unfiltered shock. He looked like someone who had just been punched in the gut by someone they trusted.

I hadn't meant for it to go this way. God, no.

Oh my God…

What had I done?

I didn’t mean to hurt him like this. I didn’t mean for the situation to escalate. I didn’t mean to snap like that. I hadn’t planned to confront him—I just wanted answers. But my emotions had spiraled beyond my control before I even knew it. I was crumbling under the weight of everything I'd bottled up, and he happened to be right in the line of fire.

What is wrong with me?

Damn it. I need to breathe. I need to take some time—pull back, check myself. I've been too impulsive lately. Way too reactive. It’s like the grief, the rage, the pressure… they're all tangled up in my chest, strangling my ability to think straight. I've been acting out of line—totally out of character.

"I'm... I'm..." I stammered, the words catching in my throat as I tried to collect myself.

My voice cracked with guilt. "Please, Conner... I'm sorry..."

My heart pounded. I waited—hoped—for a response, some indication that he could see my regret, my confusion. Anything.

But instead, he just stared at me. His gaze lingered on mine for a single, painful second. Silent. Cold. Then, without warning, he let out a dry, almost hollow chuckle. It wasn’t humor. No, it was pain—pain laced with something far darker. A maniacal glint flickered in his eyes, a broken smile twisting his lips. It was gone just as fast as it came, replaced by a hardened, deadly expression. His jaw tightened. His entire posture changed.

He didn’t have to say a word—I already knew.

"Leave... and shut my door," Conner muttered, his voice so low and guttural it barely passed as a whisper.

I blinked, stunned. “Huh…?” I asked, my voice faltering, uncertain if I’d heard him right.

He shook his head slowly, deliberately, like he was issuing a silent warning—like he was trying to keep himself from exploding.

"Lena..." he said, lifting his head to meet my gaze directly.

That one word—my name—carried more weight than an entire sentence could. It was sharp. Final.

“Go home,” he said firmly, then leaned forward and pulled the door shut with a thud.

I stood there. Just… stood there, frozen on the sidewalk, staring at the now-tinted glass of his car window. I couldn’t see him inside anymore, but I couldn't look away. My legs refused to move, even when my brain screamed at them to walk away, to let it go.

The engine roared to life. My heart jumped with it.

Then came the screech of tires against the pavement.

Just like that… he was gone.

Gone.

“Lena…” I whispered into the quiet street, almost as if I was calling out to myself, like a plea. My eyes dropped to the ground.

Was I supposed to feel this way?

I should feel proud, right?

Accomplished?

This was supposed to bring me peace, some tiny sense of closure. I was one step closer to my goal. I had confronted someone associated with Marco’s death. I had taken back what was his. I had delivered my own brand of justice.

I should feel victorious.

But all I feel is... empty.

Like a giant hole had opened up inside me and was now slowly swallowing everything else.

Did I just make a huge mistake?

I sniffed, forcing myself to keep my chin high. “Put yourself together, girl…” I muttered under my breath and turned slowly, dragging my feet down the sidewalk toward home.

The streets were quiet, shadows stretching long beneath the streetlamps. My arms crossed tightly over my chest as I tried to find some kind of warmth in the cold air.

“Hey, Marco…” I mumbled, my voice barely audible. “I… uh… guess what happened today…”

I was talking to myself now—no, not just to myself. I was talking to him like he could somehow hear me through the veil separating us.

“I was able to trace one of them… one of the bastards who was involved in your death. He was the last one, I’m sure of it.”

I swallowed hard, my throat tightening.

“And… and you know what? He disrespected you, Marco. He wore your necklace. Your necklace. Can you believe that? Like it belonged to him. Like he had the right.”

I could feel the venom lacing my words, the fury bubbling up again, choking me.

“How dare he…” I hissed, and a twisted grin curled on my lips—part madness, part grief. My hands were shaking.

“Guess what I did to him…” I said, my voice rising with a deranged chuckle. “I ended him. Just like that.”

A single tear slipped down my cheek.

“I got the necklace back, Marco. I’ve got it. I’ll keep it safe now… I’ll treasure it. Just like I treasure every memory of you.”

By the time the words finished falling from my lips, tears were silently rolling down my face. I didn’t stop them. I didn’t wipe them away. I just let them fall, let them sting.

But I didn’t sob. Not out here.

I kept walking, composed on the outside, but shattered on the inside. I scanned my surroundings every few steps. You never know who’s watching. I needed to stay sharp. Stay aware. I couldn’t let grief make me sloppy.

I checked behind me more than once. Quick glances over my shoulder. I listened to every sound—the wind, the rustle of leaves, distant voices, even my own footsteps.

I didn’t let my guard down until I was home.

Even then… I waited. I stood inside the apartment, hidden in the shadows, observing the outside world through a narrow slit in the blinds. Watching. Waiting. Making sure I hadn’t been followed. Making sure no one was out there.

Finally, I let myself breathe.

“No one’s after you, Lena…” I whispered, sliding down to the floor in the corner, my back pressed against the wall.

I sat there for a long minute, lost in silence. In thoughts. In the numbness.

Eventually, I forced myself to get up.

“I need a shower,” I muttered, barely recognizing the sound of my own voice.

Dragging my feet, I stepped into the bathroom and flicked on the light. As the harsh glow spilled over me, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror and immediately froze.

My breath hitched.

There it was—blood. On my clothes. On my gloves. On my hands.

Dried and dark. Stark against my skin.

“Shit…” I gasped, yanking off my clothes in a panic. The fabric clung to me, and the sight made my stomach churn.

I rushed to the sink, scrubbing my hands under the water. Desperate to get it off. All of it. Like if I scrubbed hard enough, maybe I could wash away what I’d done. Maybe I could wash away how I felt.

But as the water ran red and swirled down the drain, something else crept into my mind—his face.

Conner.

The way he looked at me.

The pain in his eyes.

The silence in his voice.

The last thing he said.

And then the question came. Quiet and accusing.

“Are you selfish, Lena…?”

I stared at myself in the mirror, my damp, trembling hands gripping the edges of the sink. My reflection looked haunted—like a stranger I didn’t quite recognize anymore.

Am I selfish?