Chapter 138
Elena's POV
I stared at my phone, Lila's words burning into my retinas like acid.
Lila: When you were with Caleb, I saw your eyes light up. But now, everything you're doing makes me feel like you're keeping your distance from him.
Me: I just... I've been depending on him too much. I don't want to trouble him anymore.
Lila: A man who genuinely cares about you would want you to depend on him more. The way you're keeping score like this, he probably thinks you're ready to leave at any moment.
My thumb hovered over the reply box. I wanted to ask her the question stuck in my throat: Does he still care about me?
But I couldn't type it out. Couldn't face what the answer might be.
So I wrote: "I know. I'll try to figure something out..."
The message just hung there, pathetic and vague. I locked my screen.
"Elena."
I looked up. Mom stood there, arms crossed, wearing that expression—half worried, half irritated.
"Stop staring at that thing," she said. "Whatever's eating you, sitting there won't solve it. Come help me with dinner."
I blinked. "Dinner?"
"Yes, dinner. If you want to keep a man's attention, you need to learn how to cook."
Heat flooded my face. "Mom, I don't—"
"Don't argue. Get up."
I stood, reluctantly following her to the fridge. She opened it, surveying the contents like a general reviewing troops.
"Pick something. Just make it edible."
I stared at the shelves. Chicken breast. Broccoli. My brain went blank.
"I've never really cooked before," I admitted.
"Then it's time to learn." Her tone softened slightly. "Trust me. Men appreciate effort."
I grabbed the chicken and broccoli, then pulled out my phone to search easy chicken recipes. "Lemon Pan-Seared Chicken Breast" looked simple enough. How hard could it be?
Turns out: very hard.
I cut the chicken unevenly—some pieces thick, others thin as paper. The marinade called for salt. I poured too much, tried to rinse it off, only succeeding in making the meat taste like nothing. By the time I finally got it into the pan, the heat was too high. The outside charred black while the inside stayed pink, rubbery.
The smell hit first—acrid, burning. My nose wrinkled instinctively. I jerked the pan off the burner, cursing under my breath.
When I plated it next to the sad, boiled broccoli, the whole thing looked like a culinary crime scene.
Mom appeared at my elbow, surveying the disaster with a sigh.
"Well," she said diplomatically. "It's... rustic."
"It's a disaster."
"It's your first attempt." She patted my shoulder. "Put it on the table. See what Caleb thinks."
My stomach dropped. "Mom, no. I'll just eat it myself—"
"Do as I say."
She swept out of the kitchen, leaving me holding the plate like a ticking bomb.
---
At the dining table, I set the plate down as quietly as possible, hoping it wouldn't be noticed. No such luck.
"Elena made dinner tonight," Mom announced cheerfully. "Her first attempt."
I wanted to sink through the floor.
Caleb glanced at the plate. His expression didn't change.
Mom speared a piece of chicken, chewing thoughtfully. Her face did something complicated.
"It's a bit... charred," she said carefully.
"I know. Sorry, I just—"
"It's fine." Caleb's voice cut through my babbling. He picked up his fork, speared a piece of the blackened meat, and put it in his mouth.
I watched in horror as he chewed. His face stayed neutral.
"Actually," he said after a long pause, "it's not bad."
I stared at him. He was lying.
He swallowed, took another bite. "First time cooking is always rough. You'll get better."
It was obvious—the chicken tasted like burnt rubber—but he was trying. For me.
I blinked hard against the sudden sting.
Why is he so good? Even when he's angry, he's still—
I couldn't finish the thought.
Mom cleared her throat. "Well. I think it's sweet that you tried, dear."
I nodded silently, staring at my plate, unable to look at Caleb's face.
Because if I did, I might actually cry.
---
Vivian's POV
After dinner, Elena retreated to the kitchen to wash dishes. I sat on the couch, scrolling through my phone. Caleb stood, and I thought he'd go help her, but instead he walked toward me.
"So," he settled into the armchair across from me. "You and Elena—what are your plans? Going forward?"
"I'm going to find work," I said honestly. "Elena's graduating soon. She'll be working too."
He nodded slowly, seeming to file this information away.
The silence stretched. I could hear water running in the kitchen.
"Will you go back?" Caleb asked quietly. "To your husband."
The question was careful. Measured.
"No," I said firmly. "That's over."
Something flickered across his face—relief, maybe. His shoulders relaxed slightly, that rigid tension easing a fraction.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped. When he spoke again, his voice was low and serious. "If you're sure you want to leave him—if Elena's sure too—I'll do everything I can to support you both." He paused. "What happened before, her going back because she was worried about you... I can't let that happen again."
The impact of those words hit harder than I expected. I stared at him, seeing not the illegitimate son everyone whispered about, but a man who'd watched someone he cared about sacrifice herself and was determined never to let it happen again.
"She was with you, wasn't she?" I asked. "After she escaped the manor?"
"Yes."
I was slowly piecing together the truth.
"And she left," I continued, my throat tight. "She gave all that up. Gave up you. To protect me."
"Yes."
I covered my mouth with my hand, feeling the weight of it. My daughter had abandoned her first real choice, the first person who truly saw her, because of my weakness.
"I didn't realize," I whispered. "What she sacrificed."
Caleb's gaze was steady, unflinching. "She loves you. If she thinks you need it, she'll do it again."
"I know." My voice cracked. "I know she would."
He was quiet for a moment, then said, almost carefully, "You should care about her the way she cares about you."
There was no accusation in it. Just a simple statement.
"I will," I said, meeting his eyes. "I promise you, I will."
He nodded once, accepting my vow.