Chapter 75
Elena's POV
He insisted on walking me to the pickup point. We walked in silence.
I didn't want to leave. The realization hit me like a physical blow—I didn't want to walk out, get in a cab, and go back to a house that felt like a prison. I wanted to stay here. With him.
The cab arrived quickly. Caleb opened the door, his hand gentlemanly blocking the doorframe.
I slid inside.
"Here." He handed me a small paper bag. "Cold medicine. Morning, afternoon, and night."
I took it. "Thank you."
My chest felt tight, like something was squeezing my lungs.
Then he closed the door.
"Elena."
I looked at him through the window. His eyes locked on mine.
"If things don't go well," he said, his voice low and steady, "don't run off alone again. My door's always open. For you."
The words hit me like a physical blow. My heart lurched, slamming against my ribs so hard I thought it might crack.
The car started moving. I opened my mouth to say something—anything—but no sound came out. Then he was gone, and I was sitting in the back seat, clutching the bag tightly.
---
The cold air hit my face, but I barely felt it. My mind was spinning, my chest so tight I could barely breathe.
"My door's always open. For you."
God. I was such a mess.
I kept choosing other people over him. Every single time. Damon. My father. The stupid blood pact. Even my own fear. And he just... kept waiting. Kept holding the door open.
The truth was, I was terrified. Terrified of how much I wanted him. Terrified of how safe I felt when he was near. Terrified that if I let myself fall, I'd never be able to climb back out.
But more than that? I was terrified of hurting him again.
I'd spent so many years being the "good girl." The obedient daughter. I'd bent myself into a thousand shapes trying to please people who would never be satisfied.
And Caleb? He'd never asked me to be anything but myself.
For one wild, reckless second, I wanted to turn around. Run back. Throw myself into his arms and never let go.
---
The cab pulled up to the familiar iron gates of Cross Manor. I paid the driver, then turned to face the entrance.
My hand hovered over the intercom button.
Just press it. Go inside. Deal with whatever comes next.
But my palm was slick with sweat. My heart hammered against my ribs like it was trying to escape. Every instinct screamed at me to turn around, to run back to—
No. I couldn't keep running to him. I couldn't keep choosing the easy way out.
I pressed the button.
Footsteps approached from inside. The gate unlocked with a heavy click. When the door swung open, I found myself face-to-face with both my parents.
My mother's eyes went wide. Red-rimmed and glassy. For a second, she looked like she might cry. She took a step forward, mouth opening—
Then she stopped. Froze mid-motion.
Because Donald stood beside her, radiating cold fury like a living storm cloud.
"You still know how to come home," he said. His voice was ice. "I wasn't sure you would."
"Donald—" Mother started.
"Where have you been these two days?" He cut her off without looking away from me.
I forced my voice to stay steady. "I stayed with a friend."
His jaw tightened. But before he could speak, Mother stepped between us.
"Come inside," she said quickly. "It's freezing out here."
---
I sat on the sofa. Mother shifted restlessly beside me. Father stood by the fireplace, arms crossed, watching me with cold disappointment.
"Randy's in the hospital," he said suddenly. "We're going to visit him tonight."
I fell silent. I knew about this, but instinctively resisted seeing them.
"Randy might recover faster if he sees you," Mother said, reading my hesitation.
"The Vances will all be there." Father's eyes locked on mine. "You'd better think carefully about what you say. And what you don't say."
The unspoken threat hung in the air.
I swallowed hard. "When are we leaving?"
"Now," he said flatly.
---
The hospital's VIP wing was all polished marble and soft lighting. We stopped in the lobby to buy the obligatory fruit basket and supplements.
He made a phone call to confirm the room number. Mother smoothed down a stray strand of my hair.
"When you see Randy," she murmured, "don't say unnecessary things. He's... not doing well."
I nodded numbly.
The elevator ride felt endless. The numbers climbed. My stomach sank.
When the doors opened, I followed my parents down a hushed corridor. Everything smelled like antiseptic.
Donald knocked once, then pushed open the door.
Randy lay propped up in the hospital bed, his face the color of old parchment. Monitors beeped softly. An IV drip fed into his arm. He looked... diminished. Like something vital had been scooped out, leaving only a fragile shell behind.
Isabella sat beside the bed, spine straight, hands folded. She looked up as we entered, her expression carefully neutral.
"Elena," she said. Not warm. Not cold. Just... assessing. "You came."
Damon sat on the sofa across the room, hunched over his phone. At the sound of my name, he glanced up.
Our eyes met.
His gaze flickered—then he looked away.
Randy's eyes opened. Cloudy. Unfocused. They drifted over my parents, then landed on me.
"Elena," he rasped.
"Grandpa Randy." I forced a smile. "How are you feeling?"
"How is he?" Donald interrupted, moving to the bedside. "What are the doctors saying?"
Marcus looked tired but composed. "The condition is under control," he said smoothly. "The doctors are monitoring him. He should be released in a few days."
Liar.
I could hear it in the carefully measured tone. See it in Isabella's too-tight grip on the armrest. Randy's condition must be worse than they were saying.
The adults started talking. I stayed near the door, wanting to leave. Wanting to disappear.
---
"Elena."
I flinched. Father's hand pressed against my shoulder—gentle but firm.
"Go sit with Damon," he said. His smile didn't reach his eyes. "Don't stand there like a stranger."
Every muscle in my body locked up.
But Isabella was nodding. Marcus was watching. Randy's eyes tracked my movement.
I forced my feet to move.
The sofa was too small. I perched on the edge, keeping distance between us. Damon shifted slightly, making room, but said nothing.
We sat side by side. The air was cold.
His phone buzzed. He picked it up, thumbs moving across the screen.
I caught a glimpse of the name. Scarlett.