Chapter 82
Elena's POV
The warmth of the manor hit me the second we stepped through the door. The fireplace in the living room was already burning, orange light flickering across the dark wood floors.
I realized, belatedly, that I was still leaning against him. That his arm was still around my waist.
I straightened, pulling back.
His hand caught my wrist.
"Weren't you the one who showed up at my door?" His voice was low, almost teasing. "Threw yourself into my arms?"
Heat flooded my face. "I didn't—"
"Now you're running."
I opened my mouth to argue, but he was already moving. His other hand came up to my hip, turning me gently until my back was against the door.
He stepped closer.
Not touching. Just... close.
Close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off him. Close enough to see the amber flicker in his eyes.
"You came to me," he said softly. His forehead dipped, resting against mine. "So now it's my turn."
My breath hitched.
I pulled back enough to look at him. My hands were shaking as I reached for the canvas bag I'd dropped by the door.
"I—" My voice cracked. I cleared my throat. "I came to return this."
I pulled out the sweater. The one he'd lent me weeks ago.
Caleb took it without looking at it. Just tossed it onto the coffee table.
His eyes never left mine.
"Elena."
He reached up, fingers curling under my chin, tilting my face toward his.
And then he kissed me.
Not gentle. Not asking.
Just... taking.
My back hit the door. My hands flew up, fisting in his shirt, and I kissed him back with everything I had left—all the fear and frustration and desperate, aching need I'd been shoving down for weeks.
When he finally pulled back, we were both breathing hard.
"Wanted to do that," he said roughly. His thumb brushed the corner of my mouth. "You have a problem with it?"
I shook my head. Couldn't find words.
"Good." He stepped back, putting space between us. His jaw was tight. "Because I'm done pretending I don't."
---
We ended up on the couch. Me curled into the corner, him sitting close.
"The engagement," he said. "What are you going to do?"
The question landed like a stone in my chest.
I pulled my knees up, wrapping my arms around them. "My father's company is hemorrhaging money. It's been failing for years, but now..." I swallowed. "Now it's over. Unless he can secure a partnership with Vance Industries."
Caleb's expression didn't change. "And the investors won't move unless they see progress. Between you and Damon."
"Right." My voice was hollow. "They need proof the alliance is real. That it's happening."
"So your father wants you to what? Seduce Damon? Get him to agree?"
The bluntness made me flinch. "Something like that."
"And if you don't?"
"Then my family loses everything." I looked down at my hands. "My father loses his position in the pack."
Silence.
Then: "Are you going to do it?"
My head snapped up. "What?"
"Are you going to go back to Damon? Play the perfect fiancée?"
Anger flared. "If I was going to do that, I wouldn't be here."
I stared at him.
"I need to know, Elena." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "I need to know if you're here because I'm a way out. Or if you're here because—"
"I don't know!" The words burst out of me. "I just know I can't do this anymore. I can't keep sacrificing myself for people who don't even see me."
His expression softened. Barely.
"I want to choose myself for once," I whispered. "But I can't watch my parents lose everything because of me. I can't—"
"What if I could fix it?"
I blinked. "What?"
"The business problem. What if I could solve it? Without you having to marry Damon."
"Caleb, this isn't something you can just—"
"I looked into it last night." He sat back. "Your father's problem isn't money. It's strategy. He's stuck in the old ways—territory-based industries, physical holdings. But the market's moved on. Investors want tech. Digital infrastructure. AI-driven predictive systems."
I stared at him.
"I can help him pivot," Caleb said. "Restructure the business model. Build credibility outside the Vance name."
"Why would you do that?"
His jaw tightened. "Because I don't want to sit here watching you get crushed by people who should be protecting you."
---
The plan made sense. Terrifyingly good sense.
But there was one problem.
"My father doesn't like you," I said quietly.
Caleb's expression went carefully blank. "I'm aware."
"If you show up at our house, he'll..." I trailed off. "He'll say things. Cruel things."
"I've heard worse."
"I don't want you to have to hear them."
Something flickered in his eyes.
"So what do you suggest?" he asked.
"Teach me first." I sat up straighter. "Walk me through the business plan. I'll take it to my father. See if he's willing to listen."
Caleb studied me for a long moment. Then he nodded.
"Alright. Come on."
---
We ended up in his study. He pulled up files on his computer—spreadsheets, projections, market analyses I barely understood.
But he explained it all. Patiently. Thoroughly.
IoT applications for pack territory monitoring. AI-driven conflict prediction models. Biometric security systems tailored to shifter physiology.
It was the most I'd ever heard him talk.
Halfway through a lecture on VR training simulations, I yawned.
He stopped mid-sentence. Looked at me.
I froze. "Sorry. It's the cold medicine. Makes me drowsy."
His mouth twitched. Almost a smile.
"You should rest."
"No, I'm fine. Keep going."
But he was already saving the files. "I'll send you the summary. You can review it later."
"Caleb—"
"You're exhausted, Elena." His voice was gentle. "Go home. Get some sleep."
---
The car ride was quiet.
I kept glancing at him, trying to read his expression. He'd barely said a word since we left the study.
Was he angry? Disappointed that I'd asked him to stay away from my father?
At a red light, I reached out. Grabbed his sleeve.
"Tomorrow," I said quickly. "I'll come back tomorrow. I'll bring coffee. And a notebook. I'll pay attention this time, I promise—"
"Elena."
I stopped.
He reached over. His hand settled on top of my head, fingers tangling gently in my hair.
"You don't have to apologize to me."
My throat tightened.
"You don't have to be careful around me," he said quietly. "You don't have to tiptoe or second-guess every word."
The light turned green. He pulled his hand back, eyes returning to the road.
"Everyone else gets the version of you that never says no. That swallows everything down and smiles through it."
He glanced at me.
"But with me? You fight. You push back. You tell me when I'm wrong."
His mouth curved. Just slightly.
"I think I'm starting to get used to that version of you. The real one."
I stared at him. Heart pounding.
"So stop apologizing," he said. "And stop acting like I'm going to leave the second you're not perfect."
The words hit me harder than any kiss.