Chapter 133
Elena's POV
I stared at my phone, watching the screen glow in the darkness of the guest bedroom. The message I'd sent—Are you asleep?—just sat there, unanswered, mocking me with its desperate simplicity.
Five minutes crawled past. Then ten.
The reply finally came at 00:15.
No.
That was it. One word. Cold. Distant.
My chest tightened. I typed quickly, deleted, typed again, fingers clumsy with urgency.
But my thumb hovered over the send button, unable to press down.
What was the point? Every word felt inadequate, every explanation too trivial for what had happened tonight.
I set the phone face-down on the nightstand and pressed my palms against my eyes. The exhaustion of the day crashed over me like a wave. My body felt heavy as lead, and I slipped into sleep quickly.
---
Morning light woke me. I reached for my phone instinctively.
Two messages waited.
Both sent at 02:17.
I'm sorry.
I sat up so fast my head spun. I read the words again, parsing each one, trying to understand what he meant.
I'm sorry. For what? For being cold last night?
"Elena, are you awake?" My mother's voice interrupted my thoughts.
"Yes." I locked my phone and set it aside, even though every part of me wanted to keep dissecting Caleb's meaning.
Vivian pushed the door open. Her face still bore bruises, but they looked better than before.
"Mom, how are you feeling?"
"Like I was hit by a truck." She attempted a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Donald's assistant keeps calling. Wants me to come home."
My stomach dropped. "You're not going back."
"I know." She sat beside me, her voice weary. "But we can't stay here forever either. We need a plan."
"We need to leave him," I said, the words coming out stronger than I expected. "Officially. Divorce. Separation. Whatever it takes."
Mom's expression flickered—somewhere between hope and fear. "Elena, the debt alone is several million. If we separate, the creditors will come after both of us. And the house is already mortgaged."
"Then we start over." I heard the desperation in my own voice. "I'll find work. You can—"
"Work." She laughed, but there was no humor in it. "With what qualifications? I haven't worked in over a decade. And you're still in school."
"Then I'll drop out—"
"Absolutely not." Her tone sharpened. "You will not throw away your education because of this mess."
"We'll figure it out." I reached across the table and squeezed her hand. "Both of us. Together."
She stared at our joined hands for a long moment.
"If we can't pay," she said quietly, "bankruptcy might be the only option."
The word hung there, heavy and shameful.
"Then we separate first," I insisted. "File for divorce, split the assets, both find work. Something. Anything but going back to him."
Mom's eyes glistened, but she nodded.
Small victories.
"How long can we stay here?" she asked, glancing around Caleb's immaculate apartment.
I swallowed hard. "I don't know. My savings might cover a few months' rent somewhere cheaper, but—"
"He said this was the wedding house."
Heat flooded my face. "He just..."
Mom gave me a look that was almost teasing despite everything. "Maybe you should try keeping him around. Be a little shameless about it."
"Mom!"
"I'm serious." A ghost of a smile touched her lips. "That boy didn't buy a place like this on a whim. And the way he looks at you..."
I clenched my hands.
Memories of the manor. Caleb's warm hands on my waist, his mouth against mine like he was memorizing my shape.
Before I'd said those terrible words.
I want that back.
But wanting wasn't enough. He was pulling away now, putting distance between us, and I didn't know how to close the gap without making things worse.
But I knew what I had to do.
My phone buzzed. Unknown number.
I almost didn't answer. Then I saw the callback name: Isabella Vance.
"We need to talk." Her voice was ice over gravel. "About yesterday. About you and Caleb leaving together."
My stomach sank. "Mrs. Vance—"
"Two o'clock. Rosewood Café near Blackwood District. Don't be late."
The line went dead.
I stared at the phone, pulse hammering in my ears.
This wasn't a request. This was a reckoning.
---
Mom insisted on coming. "You're not facing that woman alone."
The café was all dark wood and leather booths, the kind of place where deals were made and reputations destroyed. We were shown to a private room in the back.
I pushed open the door.
Isabella sat ramrod-straight in her chair, expression glacial. And beside her—
Marcus Vance.
The air pressure changed.
I forced myself to step inside. Mom's hand found my elbow, steadying me.
"Sit," Isabella said. Not a request.
We sat.
"Let's be direct." Isabella's eyes were chips of flint. "Yesterday's little performance at the manor. Switching Damon out for Caleb. Whose idea was that?"
I met her gaze, forced my voice steady. "Mine. I asked Caleb to help."
"Liar." The word cracked like a whip. "You've always been so obedient, Elena. You don't make rebellious decisions."
"I did this time."
"Why?" Marcus leaned forward, and I fought not to flinch.
"Damon ran," I said, louder than intended. "He left me standing there in front of everyone. What was I supposed to do?"
"Postpone," Isabella snapped. "Apologize. Anything but replace the groom like he's interchangeable!"
The argument escalated. Isabella insisted I was covering for Caleb, that he'd manipulated me into this.
"Do you understand what you've done?" Marcus's voice could strip paint. "You made the Vance family look like fools. Like we can't control our own sons!"
Mom stepped in then, voice shaking but fierce. "And what about your son running away? If she had canceled, people would say Damon rejected her. That she wasn't good enough. They'd call her—"
"Enough." Isabella's jaw was tight. "I'll be blunt, Elena. I was never particularly fond of you. This was a vow between Randy and your grandfather. We had no choice."
The words landed like slaps.
"But this?" She gestured vaguely at me. "Parading Caleb around like he's an acceptable substitute? You've humiliated us."
I felt Mom's hand tighten on my arm. Felt my own hands ball into fists.
"Damon humiliated me first!" The shout tore out of me before I could stop it. "He ran! He chose her over me, and you're blaming me for not standing there like an idiot?"
Silence.
Isabella and Marcus stared at me like I'd grown a second head.
I'd never raised my voice to them. Never pushed back.
The rush of it was terrifying. And intoxicating.