Chapter 139
Elena's POV
I was drying the last plate when Caleb appeared in the kitchen doorway.
"I should go," he said.
My hands froze. "Already?"
"It's late. You should rest."
I wanted to say something—anything—but my throat tightened.
"Elena, put on your coat and see Caleb out," Mother said.
I nodded, grabbed my coat, and went downstairs with him.
We entered the parking lot.
"Caleb."
I took a deep breath. Forced the words out.
"I didn't mean to push you away. About earlier. I just—I'm scared you'll think I'm using you, or that I chose you only because I needed help, and I didn't want you to feel like—"
"Elena." His voice was low, rough. "I don't think that."
"But you're angry."
"I'm not angry."
"You've barely looked at me all day."
He closed his eyes briefly, like he was in pain. When he opened them again, they were molten gold.
"I'm not angry," he repeated. "I'm just... trying to figure out if you're going to run again."
I sucked in a breath.
"Because every time you refuse my help," he continued, "every time you insist on treating everything like a transaction—it feels like you're telling me you won't stay. That you're just... waiting for a reason to leave."
"I'm not—"
No. God, no. I didn't want to leave. I wanted to stay. I wanted him.
But I'd been so focused on not being a burden that I'd pushed him away instead.
His eyes burned into mine.
"No one wants to be someone's backup plan."
Caleb's words hit me like a physical blow
"I never saw you as a backup," I said, my voice coming out more desperate than I intended. "I... someone like me doesn't even get to have choices."
The admission felt like stripping myself bare. I wrapped my arms around myself, not just from the cold but from the vulnerability of it all.
Caleb's jaw tightened, his breath forming small clouds in the frigid air. When he spoke, his voice was low, controlled, but I could hear the current of pain underneath.
"I told you I could give you money. To help your mother leave him. You forgot that, didn't you?"
My chest constricted. "That was tens of millions, Caleb. Even if you really have that kind of money, what gives me the right to drain everything you've worked for?"
The words came out small, barely audible. Because that's what I was, wasn't it? Small. Insignificant. Someone who took and took without having anything to give back.
His eyes flashed with something that looked almost like gold in the streetlight. For a moment, I caught that familiar scent, and something darker, more dangerous underneath.
"You never thought about it, did you?" His voice dropped even lower. "About staying with me. About us having a future together."
I froze. The question hit me like a physical blow, stealing what little warmth I had left.
Had I?
My mind raced back through everything—twenty years of building my life around the idea of marrying Damon. Twenty years of shaping myself into what I thought he wanted, what everyone expected. When had I stopped feeling anything real for Damon?
And Caleb. God, when had it started with him? The guilt had come first—that crushing weight of knowing I'd been part of hurting him. Then sympathy. But somewhere along the way, it had become something else entirely. Something that made my breath catch when he walked into a room. Something that made me crave his touch, his protection, his rare smiles.
"I..." My fingers twisted together, nails biting into my palms.
Caleb let out a bitter laugh that had no warmth in it whatsoever. "Is it ridiculous to throw your life away for someone," he said, and his voice carried a self-mocking edge that made me flinch. "All I wanted was a home. Someone who'd choose me first, not because everyone else was unavailable."
His words cut through me like silver. I could see it now—the little boy locked in that tower, the teenager everyone whispered about, the man who'd built everything just to prove he was worth something.
"But I can't accept being your consolation prize," he continued, and now his voice was shaking with barely controlled emotion. "I won't be the one you settle for because your first choice didn't work out."
"That's not—" I started, but he held up a hand.
"Isn't it? Because from where I'm standing, it looks exactly like that." His eyes met mine. "If Damon hadn't run off with Scarlett, if he hadn't left you standing there in that dress, would you have chosen me?"
The question hit me like ice water. I opened my mouth to answer, but nothing came out. Because the truth was, I didn't know. I probably would have gone through with it. Would have married Damon and spent the rest of my life wondering what if.
Caleb saw my hesitation and nodded grimly. "That's what I thought."
"You don't understand—"
"I understand perfectly." His voice turned clinical, distant. "You feel guilty about me. Sorry for the bastard son everyone treats like shit. So when someone asks you to choose, you hesitate."
I wanted to deny it, to scream that he was wrong, but the accusations felt too close to the truth.
"Maybe that's why you can walk away from me so easily," he mused, almost to himself. "Cut contact with a text message, agree to marry someone else without a second thought. Because it was never real for you."
"It was real," I whispered.
His expression softened just a fraction, but the hurt in his eyes remained. "You know what the worst part of that ceremony was? When the officiant asked for the kiss, I waited. Waiting for you to make the first move. Waiting for some sign that you actually wanted to be there with me."
My breath caught as I remembered that moment—the way he'd stood so still, while I'd had to reach up and pull him down to me.
"And when you did kiss me," he continued, his voice barely audible now, "I kissed you back like I was drowning. Like I could make the whole world see that you belonged to me, that you'd chosen me." His laugh was bitter. "But even then, I wondered if you were just going through the motions. Playing your part in the performance."
The pain in his voice was unbearable. I took a step toward him, my hand reaching out instinctively, but he stepped back.
"I need to know something," he said, and his voice was steady now, controlled. "Was any of it real for you? Or am I just the safe option now that your first choice is off the table?"
I stared at him, this man who'd given me everything and asked for so little in return. Who'd faced down my father, defied his own family, turned his entire life upside down for me. And all I'd given him in return was doubt and hesitation.
"It's cold out here," he said finally, when I couldn't find the words. "You should go inside."
He turned toward his car, and I watched him walk away, his shoulders rigid with suppressed emotion. I wanted to call after him, to run to him, to tell him that yes, it was real, that he wasn't a consolation prize. But my feet felt frozen to the asphalt, and the words stuck in my throat like shards of glass.
The distance between us felt like an ocean.