Chapter 58
Nora's POV
The dining table at Marianne's new apartment was modest but warm, covered with a simple tablecloth and set with mismatched dishes that somehow felt more welcoming than any formal place setting. Lucas had stayed just long enough to greet Henry before making excuses about meeting friends and disappearing out the door, leaving the four of us to navigate this "thank you dinner"—which increasingly felt like something else entirely.
Marianne wasted no time launching into what could only be described as an interrogation disguised as polite conversation. "So, Henry, you work at Silverton City Hall, is that right? Must be quite demanding."
"It keeps me busy," Henry said with an easy smile, passing a serving dish to Gareth. "But I enjoy the challenge."
"And your family? Are they here in Silverton too?"
I kept my eyes fixed on my plate, suddenly fascinated by the pattern on the china. This is excruciating.
Henry handled each question with practiced grace, explaining that his parents lived in Aetheria, that he'd moved here for the job, that yes, he did find time for hobbies despite the workload. He even got up to refill water glasses without being asked, the kind of thoughtful gesture that should have been endearing but now felt like he was passing some kind of test I hadn't meant to set.
The conversation drifted to safer territory—Gareth's new position, the apartment, the surprising efficiency of the movers. I participated just enough to avoid suspicion, nodding and smiling.
When Marianne stood to clear the dishes, Henry immediately rose to help. I watched him carry plates to the kitchen, chatting easily with my aunt about nothing in particular, and felt a sharp pang of something that wasn't quite guilt but wasn't quite relief either.
"He's wonderful, sweetheart," Marianne murmured when she caught me alone for a moment in the kitchen. Her eyes were soft with hope and something that looked dangerously like matchmaking satisfaction. "And clearly he cares about you very much."
I know, I wanted to say. That's the problem.
Instead, I just smiled and changed the subject.
---
By the time dinner wound down, darkness had settled fully over Riverview Community.
"I should head back to the hospital," I said, perhaps too abruptly. "Mom's treatment schedule starts early tomorrow, and I want to be there when they do the first cognitive assessment."
"Let me drive you," Henry offered immediately.
I opened my mouth to refuse, caught Marianne's pointed look, and closed it again. "Thank you."
The drive to the hospital was filled with Henry's gentle conversation—memories of our university days, stories from work, careful inquiries about my mother's treatment. The jazz playing softly through the car speakers should have been soothing. Instead, it felt like background music to a scene I wasn't sure I wanted to be part of.
When we pulled up outside the hospital entrance, Henry shifted the car into park.
Henry got out and came around to open my door, every inch the gentleman. We stood facing each other, the space between us charged with everything unsaid.
"If you need anything—" he started.
"I'll call," I lied.
He held my gaze for a moment longer, and I saw him make some internal calculation. Whatever conclusion he reached, he kept it to himself. "Take care of yourself, Nora."
I watched him drive away, then turned toward the hospital entrance with a profound sense of relief. My phone buzzed in my pocket—a text from Marianne asking if Henry had gotten me safely to the hospital, complete with a string of heart emojis that made me want to throw the device into the nearest trash can.
Everything's fine. I texted back and shoved the phone into my bag.
The elevator doors slid open on the ground floor. I stepped inside, already pulling up my mother's treatment schedule on my phone, ready to lose myself in the familiar rhythm of medical logistics and visiting hours—anything to stop thinking about kind eyes and careful distances and the suffocating weight of other people's expectations.
I was so absorbed in the screen that I didn't notice when the elevator doors began to close. Didn't notice until a hand shot through the gap, forcing them back open.
And then suddenly the small space wasn't empty anymore. Suddenly there was a broad-shouldered presence and the scent of winter wind and expensive cologne.
I looked up.
Silver-grey eyes met mine, and the world tilted sideways.
Julian Sterling.
He stepped into the elevator, immaculate in a dark three-piece suit. The doors slid shut behind him with a quiet hiss, sealing us into this tiny metal box together.
My back hit the elevator wall before I'd consciously decided to move.
His expression was unreadable. His eyes... there was something burning behind them that made my pulse kick into overdrive. Not quite anger. Not quite something else.
The elevator began to rise.
He spoke finally, leaning against the opposite wall with dangerous casualness. "Don't recognize me?"
I forced myself to meet his gaze directly. "Mr. Sterling. I'm just surprised to see you here."
"Are you." It wasn't a question. "You seemed quite comfortable with your dinner companion."
The accusation in his tone sparked something defensive in my chest. "I don't see how that's any of your concern."
"Perhaps it isn't," he agreed, but his eyes said something entirely different.
The elevator chimed, announcing my floor. I moved toward the doors, but Julian shifted slightly, his larger frame blocking the exit with deliberate ease. Not quite trapping me, but making it clear I'd have to ask—or push past him—to leave.
"Excuse me," I said tightly.
He didn't move. Instead, he reached out and pressed a button, sending the elevator continuing upward past my floor.
"What the hell—"
"We're in a hospital. And there's a camera up there—I won't do anything to you." He gestured upward without breaking eye contact. "And shouting in a medical facility tends to disturb patients."
I gritted my teeth, fury warring with the very real awareness that he was right on both counts. "What do you want?"
"To talk. Without you running away again."
"I didn't run—"
"You blocked my number." His voice was still controlled, but something sharp edged into it. "After making quite clear what you thought of me in that hotel room. So yes, Nora. I'd call that running."
The use of my first name in that deep, precise voice sent an involuntary shiver down my spine.
"I had every reason to block you," I shot back. "After what you did—"
"After what I did." He straightened from the wall, and suddenly the elevator felt half the size it had been. "Tell me, exactly what crime am I guilty of? Be specific."
The doors opened on another floor. No one got on. Julian hit the button to close them again, his attention never wavering from my face.