chapter 160
Elena's POV:
My mother and I exchanged alarmed glances before rushing toward the sound of the commotion.
My hands trembled as I stood frozen in the doorway, staring at the chaos unfolding before me.
The pristine boxing ring had transformed into a battlefield. Sebastian and John circled each other like predators, both stripped to the waist, their bodies glistening with sweat and blood.
Sebastian's lip was split, a dark bruise already blooming across his ribs. John favored his left side, his movements calculated despite the fury burning in his eyes.
"Stop this," I heard myself say, but my voice came out as barely a whisper, lost in the thunder of flesh meeting flesh.
Sebastian ducked smoothly under John's wild swing, his movements fluid and controlled despite the intensity of the match. His counter landed squarely on John's jaw with a decisive crack, sending the older man stumbling backward into the ropes.
"Know your limitations," Sebastian said coolly, his voice carrying a weight that suggested he meant more than just boxing prowess. "Some battles were lost before they even began."
He picked up a towel from the corner, wiping the sweat from his face with unhurried precision as he walked toward me, his grey eyes never leaving mine.
Scarlett rushed past us, her composed facade finally cracking as she hurried to check on John, who was struggling to regain his footing.
Sebastian's arm came around my waist, gentle but possessive, as he guided me toward the door. "We're leaving," he said quietly, but with a finality that brooked no argument.
I didn't argue, letting Sebastian guide me away from the chaos.
As we reached the doorway, I glanced back one last time. Scarlett was cradling John's face, but her eyes found mine across the room—cold, resentful.
The look sent a chill through me as we made our way to the car.
Once settled in the backseat, I found myself playing with Sebastian's shirt buttons, a nervous habit I'd developed over the months.
The repetitive motion helped organize my scattered thoughts as a cold clarity settled over me.
"She's not my mother anymore," I said quietly, the words tasting strange but true on my tongue.
Sebastian remained silent, letting me work through it.
"And this sudden reappearance?" I continued, my fingers still working the button. "There's something else going on here. "
Sebastian's hand covered mine, stilling my fidgeting. "Marcus is already looking into it."
"I'm worried," I admitted, finally meeting his eyes. "John Smith isn't just some businessman. What if they try to hurt you?"
Sebastian's lips curved into that dangerous smile that still made my heart skip. "Worried about me, Mrs. Vane? I'm touched."
"I'm serious."
"So am I." He lifted my hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to my palm. "Though I must say, having my wife concerned for my well-being is rather novel. Should I get into more fights? Would you nurse me back to health? Feed me soup? Perhaps give me a sponge bath?"
Despite everything, I felt my lips twitch. "You're impossible."
"Impossibly charming," he corrected, pulling me closer. "Impossibly handsome. Impossibly, madly, desperately in love with you."
A surprised laugh bubbled out of me. "That's not something to be proud of."
The rest of the drive passed in this lighter vein, such a stark contrast to the tense silence of our arrival.
By the time Marcus pulled up to our building, I was actually smiling, the weight on my chest somehow lighter despite everything that had happened.
When we arrived home, I was surprised to find Margaret in the living room, her silver hair gleaming in the afternoon light as she set down her teacup.
"There you are," she said warmly, then paused, her sharp eyes taking in Sebastian's bruised knuckles and my pale face. "What's happened?"
I sank onto the sofa beside her. "My mother... she's alive."
I told her the whole thing. About the woman at the cemetery, the meeting at the hotel, John Smith's fight with Sebastian. Through it all, Margaret listened without interrupting, her thumb stroking soothing circles on my hand.
"Did she say why?" Margaret asked gently. "Why did she let you believe she was dead all these years?"
I shook my head, fresh tears threatening.
Margaret made a soft sound of disapproval. Sebastian silently handed her the photos Marcus had compiled, and she studied them with sharp eyes.
"Ah," she said after a moment. "Look at this—John's first wife. The resemblance is uncanny."
She set the photos on the coffee table. "I'd wager Scarlett was chosen precisely because she could step into a dead woman's shoes. And it seems she was more than willing to live that wealthy dream."
My throat felt tight. "What would you do? If you were me?"
Margaret's expression softened, but her voice remained firm. "I would treat her as what she chose to be—a stranger."
She squeezed my hand. "You can't save someone who doesn't want to be saved, Elena. And you certainly don't owe anything to someone who abandoned you."
I nodded slowly, her words settling into my heart like stones finding their place in a wall—solid, protective, necessary.
That night, as I lay curled against Sebastian's side, my mind still churning with the day's revelations, he pulled out an old leather-bound book from the nightstand.
"What's that?" I murmured, already feeling drowsy from the emotional exhaustion.
"Something to help you sleep," he said softly, his voice taking on that gentle rumble I'd grown to love. "Once upon a time, in a kingdom by the sea..."
His voice washed over me, warm and soothing, weaving tales of brave princesses and distant lands.
My eyes grew heavy as his free hand traced lazy patterns on my back, the familiar rhythm of his breathing and the cadence of his words pulling me under.
The last thing I remembered was his lips pressing against my forehead and his whispered, "Sleep, my love. I'll take care of everything."