Chapter 108

Chapter 108
Eloise – First Person POV

The first thing I hear is the faint, clipped chime of my phone. It’s early enough that the light spilling through my window is soft, almost hesitant, like the morning is still deciding if it wants to commit to the day. My coffee is half-made, dark roast, French press, timer set to four minutes, but that sound pulls my attention to the phone on the counter.

I dry my hands on a kitchen towel and check the screen.

Jadeline. 

Of all the people who could call me, she was the last one I wanted to hear from. My thumb hovers above the accept button. I don’t answer right away. I imagine her on the other end, perfectly dressed even at this hour, sitting somewhere expensive, her tone already rehearsed.

I consider ignoring it. But curiosity is a stubborn thing.

I swipe to answer.

“Eloise,” her voice comes smooth, as if she’d been expecting me to pick up without question. “We need to talk.”

Not I’d like to talk, not Do you have a moment? No softness, no courtesy. Just a declaration, laced with the faintest urgency.

I take my time responding. “About?”

“In person. It’s important.”

The urge to refuse blooms in my chest, but it’s tangled with another impulse, knowing what she wants before she thinks I do. And maybe, some small spiteful part of me wants to see her face when she realizes I won’t bend.

“Fine,” I say, even though the word tastes bitter. “Where?”

She names a café uptown. Neutral ground, though I suspect she picked it because it’s one of those places with marble tabletops and too much natural light, where everyone pretends overhearing isn’t their favorite sport.

“I’ll be there in an hour,” I tell her.

.

The café smells like roasted beans and fresh pastries, though the scent is almost drowned out by the sharp tang of polished brass from the coffee machines. The windows throw long rectangles of sunlight across the floor, catching in the golden foam of cappuccinos and the glint of silver cutlery.

Jadeline is already there. Of course she is.

She sits at a corner table by the window, framed like a portrait, hair swept up in a sleek knot, cream silk blouse that probably costs more than my monthly rent, diamond studs in her ears. Her expression is an artful blank, but the tilt of her chin makes it clear: she’s not here to grovel.

I approach without hurrying, every step deliberate.

“Eloise,” she says, standing briefly to greet me before settling back into her chair. Her eyes flick over me, assessing.

I slide into the seat across from her, setting my bag on the floor. “You said it was important.”

A waiter appears, all polite efficiency. Jadeline orders a matcha latte, her tone brisk, and gestures for me to order as if she’s footing the bill. I don’t bother correcting her—if she wants to pay for my coffee, she can. I ask for a black Americano, no sugar.

When the waiter leaves, she leans forward slightly. “I want you to drop all charges against Jennifer.”

The directness is almost laughable. “Is that so?”

“She’s your sister,” Jadeline says, as though the word sister is supposed to erase years of humiliation, betrayal, and cruelty. “And she’s been through enough. You know she’s a sickle cell survivor.”

Her voice drops on those last words, turning them into a carefully chosen weapon—soft enough to pass as compassion, sharp enough to guilt someone into obedience.

I let the silence stretch between us, long enough for the noise of the café to fill it. Somewhere behind me, spoons clink against porcelain. Outside, a bus hisses to a stop.

“So this is what you called me for,” I say finally, my voice flat. “Not to apologize. Not to acknowledge what she’s done. Just to tell me to make it all disappear.”

“It’s not that simple,” she says, clasping her hands on the table. “Jennifer… she acts out. She makes mistakes. But prison won’t help her. She needs us, her family and you, her sister.”

The word family tastes like poison here.

“Funny,” I say, tilting my head, “how you’re suddenly so concerned for her. Where was this concern when she—” I stop myself. She doesn’t deserve my anger; she wants it so she can call me irrational. “Never mind.”

“She’s your sister, Eloise,” Jadeline says, tone coaxing. “And… you know her condition.”

I let the words sit there, heavy and deliberate, as if they could be softened by pity. “She’s also a liar. A thief. And a manipulator. Surviving an illness doesn’t erase what she’s done.”

Jadeline’s gaze sharpens. “I’m just asking you to consider the bigger picture.”

I lean back in my chair. “The bigger picture being… your reputation?”

Something flickers in her eyes. It’s quick, but it’s there—the tiniest shift that tells me I’ve hit something raw.

“My reputation is fine,” she says smoothly, but there’s something in her voice now. “I’m thinking about the family. Your father doesn’t need more scandal—”

“Your husband,” I correct.

Her lips press together for a moment, a fraction too long.

The waiter returns with our drinks, the clink of cups on saucers slicing into the tension. Jadeline thanks him with a tight smile, waiting until he’s gone before continuing.

“She’s ill,” she says again, softer now. “You don’t know what it’s like to grow up wondering if your own body will betray you.”

“That’s true,” I say evenly. “But I do know what it’s like to have your own sister betray you. Multiple times.”

Her fingers tightened on the cup just slightly, enough to make the porcelain creak. “I’m not here to argue about the past. I’m here to prevent more damage. Jennifer is fragile—”

“Fragile people don’t pull the stunts she did,” I cut in, my voice sharp enough to slice the air between us.

Something in the corner of Jadeline’s mouth twitches, but she recovers quickly. “You always did have a flair for dramatics, but sometimes strength means knowing when to stop.”

Her tone was really fueling my anger, and I hated the way she tried to make it sound like advice rather than a warning.

I set my cup down slowly, the porcelain clicking against the saucer. “And sometimes stopping means letting the wrong people win. I don’t do that.”

I sipped my coffee, letting the bitterness ground me before continuing. “And you always did underestimate me.”

That makes her smile—thin, humorless. “Careful, Eloise. Pride can make you reckless.”

It’s not the warning that catches my attention; it’s the way she says it. Like someone who knows the kind of damage recklessness can do.

Her eyes flick briefly toward the window, watching the street, then back to me. “You should think about what battles are worth fighting. Some fights… you don’t walk away from unscathed.”

There it is again—that glint beneath her words, like a shard of glass just under the surface.

I lean forward now, mirroring her earlier posture. “Is that advice… or a threat?”

She doesn’t blink. “It’s perspective.”

We hold each other’s gaze for a long, unbroken moment.

Finally, she sits back, smoothing an invisible wrinkle from her blouse. “I’ll give you time to think about it. But don’t take too long.”

When I stand to leave, she doesn’t try to stop me. But as I walk away, I catch a faint reflection in the glass, her eyes following me, lips curved in something that isn’t quite a smile.

And for the first time since she called, I feel certain of something: this wasn’t just about Jennifer.

Not by a long shot.