Chapter 84
Elena's POV
I pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The warmth of the house wrapped around me, but it didn't reach the cold knot in my chest. I kicked off my shoes and started toward the stairs, my mind still spinning.
Then I saw him.
Donald was sitting in the garden, just visible through the glass doors that led to the backyard. He was perched on the edge of one of the wrought-iron chairs beneath the trellis, his hands clasped together, his gaze fixed on the door.
On me.
My blood went cold.
How long had he been there? Had he heard the conversation just now?
Damon and I had been standing right outside the gate. Our voices had been raised. If Donald had been listening—
His eyes met mine through the glass, and I saw it. The tight set of his jaw. The rigid line of his shoulders. The way his hands were clenched so hard his knuckles had gone white.
He'd heard.
I quickened my steps toward the stairs, every instinct screaming at me to run.
"Stop."
The word cut through the silence like a blade. Low. Controlled. But I heard the tremor underneath.
I stopped. My fingers curled into fists at my sides.
"Come down, Elena."
I turned slowly and found him standing in the doorway from the garden to the hall. His face was carved from stone, but his eyes—his eyes were burning.
"You went out today," he said. His voice was too calm. "You went to see Caleb Vance."
My throat closed. I opened my mouth, scrambling for an explanation that wouldn't make this worse. "I was just—I had to return something he lent me, so I—"
"Don't." He stepped closer. His pheromones, faint but unmistakable, rolling off him in waves. He was trying to suppress it, but the anger was leaking through. "Don't you dare lie to me. I heard Damon outside. He said Caleb's name. He accused you of choosing him."
My stomach dropped. I took an instinctive step back. "Dad, I—"
"Do you have feelings for him?" Donald's voice cracked on the last word. He closed the distance between us in two strides, and suddenly I was backed against the banister, his presence looming over me. "Answer me, Elena. Do you like that bastard?"
The word hit me like a slap. Bastard. The same word Damon had used. The same word everyone in this godforsaken city used to strip Caleb of his name, his worth, his humanity.
"No," I said quickly, the denial automatic. "We're just—we're not—"
"You're what?" His hands clenched at his sides. "Because from where I'm standing, you're sneaking around with the one person who could destroy everything we've worked for. Do you understand what you're doing?"
For a moment, I thought he might actually hit me. Instead, he turned away, pacing toward the window, his hand dragging through his hair. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter. Deadlier.
"Marcus is coming here tomorrow. He and Isabella want to finalize the engagement. They want a date, Elena. A ceremony. And you—" He spun back to face me. "—you've been running around with him. With Caleb. Damon's half-brother. Marcus's dirty little secret."
"That's not—" I started, but he cut me off.
"Don't defend him." His voice rose, sharp and vicious. "You're tangled up with both of them now, aren't you? The legitimate son and the bastard. Do you know what that makes you look like? Do you know what people will say?"
Heat flooded my face. Shame, yes, but also something hotter. Angrier.
"Caleb didn't choose to be born," I said quietly. My voice shook, but I forced the words out. "He didn't ask for any of this. And compared to Damon, he's worked a hundred times harder for everything he has."
The silence that followed was deafening.
Donald stared at me like I'd just spoken in a foreign language. Then his expression twisted into something ugly.
"You're defending him," he said slowly. "You're actually defending that thing to my face."
"He's not a thing!" The words exploded out of me. "He's a person, and he's never done anything to hurt me, which is more than I can say for Damon!"
"Enough!" Donald's hand slammed down on the side table, and I flinched. A vase toppled over, water spilling across the wood. "Tomorrow, you will sit in that chair. You will agree to whatever terms they set. And if he asks you about Caleb, you will tell him there is nothing between you. Do you understand me?"
My hands were shaking. I pressed them against my sides, nails biting into my palms.
"Do you understand me, Elena?"
I couldn't answer. I couldn't force the words out.
His eyes narrowed. "Fine. Then let me make this very clear. The blood pact was made by your grandfather. If you break it, if you dishonor it, this family will lose everything. And it will be your fault."
The weight of it crushed down on me. I felt my knees start to buckle.
"Caleb is nothing," Donald continued, his voice cold now. Detached. "What do you think he can offer you? Protection? Stability? He's got nothing, Elena. Nothing."
I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek to keep from screaming.
"Go to your room," he said finally, turning away from me. "And think very carefully about what you're going to say tomorrow."
I didn't wait for him to change his mind. I turned and ran up the stairs, my vision blurring, my chest so tight I thought my ribs might crack. Behind me, I heard the sharp crash of glass shattering against the floor.
---
I didn't sleep.
I lay curled on my side, my mind a chaos.
God, what was I supposed to do?
If I choose Caleb, they'll lose everything.
But the alternative was Damon.
I pulled the blanket tighter around myself and closed my eyes, but sleep didn't come. Just the endless, suffocating loop of what ifs and I can't.
By the time pale gray light started seeping through the curtains, I still didn't have an answer.