Chapter 140
Elena's POV
Back in my room, I sat on the edge of my bed, wearing a thick sweater, still cold despite the heated apartment. The shower had done nothing to wash away the conversation, and now I lay there staring at the ceiling, Caleb's words playing on repeat.
If Damon hadn't run off with Scarlett, would you have chosen me?
My phone buzzed. A text from Lila: Are you okay?
I stared at the message for a long moment, then typed back: Are you and Ethan making any progress?
Her response came quickly: Some. Why? Need dating advice?
I almost laughed. Dating advice. As if this was something as simple as dating.
Caleb is really upset with me, I typed. I don't know how to fix it.
What did you do this time?
I sank back against my pillows. Told her what just happened.
Her response came quickly.
Elena, if I were Caleb, I would never take you back. You know that, right? You literally agreed to marry someone else. In his mind, you've already shown him exactly where he ranks.
I closed my eyes, her words hitting like physical blows.
Everyone thinks I don't care about him, I typed back.
Do you? Care about him?
I think I'm in love with him, I admitted. But I don't know how to show him that. I don't know how to make him believe it.
First, came her reply, you need to stop keeping score with him. Stop treating everything like a transaction. If you want to be with him, actually BE with him. Move in. Let him take care of you. Stop holding back like you're ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble.
I stared at the message, remembering all the times I'd pulled away, insisted on maintaining distance, refused his help.
And second, another message appeared, you need to show him you're serious. That this isn't just gratitude or guilt or whatever. Actions, Elena. Not words.
Before I could respond, another message appeared, and I could practically hear the mischief in Lila's voice even through text.
I have this red slip dress. Barely there. You could borrow it, show up at his place wearing nothing else, and let biology do the rest.
Heat flooded my cheeks even as I typed back: Lila!
I'm serious, she replied. Physical intimacy creates emotional intimacy. And more importantly, it shows him you're willing to be vulnerable with him. To give him something you haven't given anyone else. That you're not holding back, not keeping one foot out the door.
I buried my face in my hands. The thought of showing up at Caleb's door in nothing but a slip dress made my entire body flush with heat and terror in equal measure.
I can't just... seduce him, I typed.
Why not? You're engaged to the man. And Elena, listen to me—the way you've been acting, keeping him at arm's length, refusing his help, insisting on paying him back for everything... it sends a message. It says you don't trust him, don't need him, and could walk away tomorrow without looking back.
My chest tightened as I read her words, because they felt too close to the truth of what Caleb had said tonight.
You want him to believe you're serious about this relationship? Then show him. Stop being so careful, so controlled. Take the leap.
I stared at my phone long after she'd stopped texting, my heart hammering against my ribs.
But what if I tried and he rejected me? What if I'd already pushed him too far away?
---
A soft knock interrupted my thoughts.
"Elena?" Mom's voice came from outside the door. "Can I come in?"
"Yes."
She walked in carrying two mugs of hot cocoa, sighing wearily as she sat beside me. For a moment we just sat there, the silence surprisingly comfortable in a way it hadn't been in years.
"That boy has good taste in furniture," she said quietly, running her hand over the comforter. "Everything's ready. Like he knew we'd need it."
"We're lucky we don't have to stay in a hotel." I pulled my knees to my chest. "That would've been expensive."
"Elena." Her voice softened. "How did you and Caleb even get to this point? "
My stomach dropped. I'd known this conversation would come eventually.
"When did it start?" she pressed gently.
I stared at my hands. The silence stretched until I couldn't bear it anymore.
"Mom, I did something terrible when I was little." The words came out barely above a whisper. "Something I've never told anyone."
She waited, her expression unreadable.
"Caleb transferred to my school. He was older, in a higher grade, but... things weren't good for him there." I forced myself to continue. "Damon and the others used to pick on him. And I—I went along with it."
The shame burned through me like acid.
"I tore up his homework once," I said, my voice cracking. "I've been carrying that around for years, Mom. Every time I see him, I remember what I did."
"Elena." Mom's tone sharpened. "Why would you—"
"Because I was a coward!" The words burst out. "I was scared if I didn't go along with it, they'd turn on me next. So I laughed when they laughed. I stayed silent when I should've spoken up." My throat closed.
Mom's hand found mine. "What did he go through?"
"Isabella used to lock him up. Marcus barely looked at him." I wiped my eyes roughly. "Everyone treated him like he was nothing. Like he was—something that shouldn't exist."
"So you felt guilty."
"I helped him a few times after that," I said quickly. "But always in secret. I never let Damon or Isabella know. I was too much of a coward to let anyone see me being kind to him."
The bitterness in my voice surprised even me.
"And Caleb once asked me—if Damon hadn't run off with Scarlett, would I have noticed him? Would I have chosen him? The truth is, I don't know. I probably would've gone ahead and married Damon. I might have ignored Caleb forever."
Mom was quiet for a long time. When she spoke, her voice carried an edge I rarely heard. "What you did was wrong. But what Damon and the others did was worse."
"Isabella Vance is a monster too," she continued. "And Marcus is a coward for allowing it. That boy grew up in hell, Elena. Actual hell."
"I know." My voice broke completely. "And I was part of it. Every time I stood there and did nothing, I was part of it."
"You were a child—"
"Old enough to know better." I cut her off. "Old enough to choose. And I chose wrong, over and over again."
Mom pulled me against her shoulder. I didn't cry—I was too empty for that.