Chapter 107
Elena's POV
When I stepped into the living room, silence pressed in from all sides. Caleb wasn't back yet. I stood there with my hand still on the door handle, suddenly unable to move forward.
My mother's voice kept replaying in my mind. Do you really believe he would simply forgive everyone who hurt him?
I dragged myself to the guest bedroom and collapsed onto the bed, still wearing my coat. My ankle throbbed—a dull, persistent reminder of jumping out a window to escape Damon, to run to Caleb, to choose a path that hadn't been laid out for me.
Had that been a mistake?
The question opened like a sinkhole in my chest. I pressed my palms against my eyes, but the thoughts kept coming, relentless and cruel.
I'd grown dependent on him. On Caleb. On his scent that settled me, on the warmth of his body that chased away the cold I'd lived with my entire life. I craved his presence the way other people craved air. When had that happened? When had I started measuring time by whether he was near or far?
And what was he measuring?
My mind dragged up memories I'd buried.
Every single time, I'd chosen Damon.
Now I was choosing Caleb. But was Caleb choosing me?
My phone buzzed on the nightstand. I didn't want to look at it. Didn't want to see his name and feel this sick twist of hope and fear.
I looked anyway.
Caleb: Meeting's running late. Do you need me to have dinner sent to the room?
Caleb: Or would you rather come down to the restaurant?
Simple. Considerate. The kind of text that shouldn't make my throat tight.
I forced my fingers to type back.
Me: I'll come down later. When will you be back?
Caleb: Around five. I can have Lila come keep you company if you want.
Me: It's okay. I think I'll just rest.
Caleb: Alright. Lock the door. And walk carefully on that ankle—don't go far.
I stared at that last sentence until my vision blurred. He always noticed things like that. Small things.
Was that real? Or was it just—what? Research? The kind of detailed observation you'd make about someone you were planning to destroy?
Stop it, I told myself. Stop.
But the poison was already spreading. My mother's voice twined with my own doubts, and I couldn't untangle them anymore.
I lay there as the light faded, as the room grew colder.
---
The sound of the door opening jolted me upright. My heart hammered against my ribs as I heard footsteps in the main room, Hector's voice carrying clearly.
"Elena's still not back?"
I froze. The guest bedroom door was only half-closed. If I moved, they'd hear me.
Caleb's response was quieter, harder to make out. I held my breath and heard him move—toward the guest room, maybe. But he didn't push the door open. After a moment, his footsteps retreated.
Their footsteps seemed to move upstairs to the study.
I carefully poked my head out, and after seeing no one, I breathed a sigh of relief.
I looked toward the upstairs study. The tightly closed door meant they still had things to discuss.
The seed of doubt sprouted again. I crept carefully up the stairs and approached the study, pressing my ear against the door.
"You want a drink?" Hector asked. "You look like you need one."
"I need to finish reviewing the quarterly reports Marcus dumped on us this morning."
"Of course you do." Hector's voice turned sarcastic. "Because it's not like Damon's supposed to be handling that. Oh wait—he's too busy racing cars and screwing his girlfriend to actually do his job."
"Hector."
"I'm just saying." The sound of a cabinet opening, glass clinking. "We're busting our asses to make Vance's empire run smoothly while the golden boy gets to play. For what? So Marcus can keep pretending his legitimate heir is worth something?"
Silence. Then Caleb's voice, so controlled it made my skin prickle: "We're doing it because the work matters. The AI division is ours, regardless of whose name is on the building."
"Is it, though? Or are we just convenient labor Marcus can exploit without giving you any real power?" Hector paused. "Why are we even working for the Vance family? You could've stayed in Aetheria. Built something completely separate. Instead you came back here, to the people who—"
"I know what they did." Caleb's voice cut like a blade. "I don't need you to remind me."
"Then why?"
I pressed my hand over my mouth, terrified they'd hear my breathing.
"Because," Caleb said quietly, "I'm not done here yet."
The words hung in the air. I heard movement—Hector walking, probably pacing the way he did when he was agitated.
"Look." Hector's voice dropped. "I get it. You're angry. You have every right to be angry. What they did to you was—fuck, Caleb, it was torture. But working inside the system that tortured you, taking scraps from Marcus while Damon gets everything—that's not going to fix it."
"I'm not trying to fix anything."
"Then what are you doing?"
Another pause. Longer this time. When Caleb spoke again, his voice was so quiet I had to strain to hear it.
"Waiting for the right moment."
My blood turned to ice.
"You could ask for more," Hector pressed. "Push for the inheritance. Make Marcus acknowledge everything you are instead of—"
"I don't want his acknowledgment." The flatness in Caleb's voice was worse than anger. "I don't want anything from him."
"But he's still your father."
"Having a blood relation doesn't make someone a father." Each word was deliberate, final. "Marcus is no different to me than Isabella or any of the rest of them."
The ice in my veins spread, creeping through my chest, my limbs.
"Jesus," Hector muttered. "Okay. I just—I don't want to spend my life making Damon look good, you know? Your strength could snap his neck completely."
"The accounts will be settled, Hector. I'm patient. I can wait."
"Settled how?" A pause. Then, carefully: "Can Isabella and Damon be on that list too?"
The question seemed to echo in the silence that followed. I couldn't breathe. Couldn't move.
When Caleb finally answered, his voice was so calm it made my skin crawl. Like he was discussing the weather. Like he was commenting on stock prices.
"Don't worry," he said. "I won't forget a single one of them. Every person who participated. Every person who thought it was acceptable." Another pause. "I remember them all very clearly."
The world tilted.
I was still standing in the hallway, one hand pressed flat against the wall to keep myself upright. My legs had gone numb. My chest was so tight I couldn't pull in enough air.
He hates everyone, my mother had said. Every person who was there.
And I had been there. I'd watched Isabella drag him to the bell tower and said nothing. I had chosen Damon, over and over and over again.
Was I on that list? Had I always been on that list?