Chapter 79
Lila
For the seventh consecutive day, I'd been confined to the apartment, working remotely while my body healed. Today marked the end of my home confinement. Tomorrow I would return to Voss Corp's offices. But first, there was something far more important I needed to do.
On the nightstand beside me sat three carefully wrapped packages: premium joint supplements, deep-sea fish oil capsules, and a Wedgwood bone china tea set. I reached out to touch the delicate wrapping paper, my fingers trembling slightly.
I pulled my hand back and pressed it against my chest. In all the years since I'd left their household, I had never introduced them to anyone who mattered in my life. Not Leo, not any of my college friends, certainly not the powerful man I'd married. The thought of Elias seeing where I'd come from filled me with equal parts anxiety and desperate hope.
The bedroom door opened quietly, and Elias entered carrying two cups of coffee, already dressed in a charcoal gray cashmere sweater and dark jeans. He set one cup on my nightstand and settled beside me, his gray eyes studying my face.
"You've been staring at those gifts for the past twenty minutes," he observed, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. "Having second thoughts?"
I shook my head, then immediately contradicted myself. "No. Yes. Maybe." I laughed shakily. "I don't know what I'm feeling right now."
"We have time," he said gently. "If you need to postpone—"
"No." I cut him off, more firmly this time. "I want to do this. I need to do this." I looked at him directly. "I just... I've never brought anyone to meet them before. And you're going to see where I came from. The real version, not the sanitized story."
Elias took both of my hands in his. "Lila, I already told Noah to clear my entire schedule for today. I'm not coming with you out of obligation. I'm coming because I love you, and that means I want to understand every part of your story."
I felt tears prick at the corners of my eyes. For a moment I simply absorbed his words, let them settle into the anxious spaces in my chest. Then I leaned forward and pressed my forehead to his. "Thank you," I whispered.
He kissed me softly before pulling back with a small smile. "We should get ready to leave. It's a bit of a drive to Stamford."
---
The Mercedes glided smoothly onto I-95, leaving Manhattan's towers behind as we headed north into Connecticut. Elias drove with one hand on the wheel while the other rested on the center console, fingers occasionally brushing against mine.
I watched the landscape transform through the window. Urban density gradually gave way to suburban sprawl and then into Connecticut's more open spaces. I found myself pressing my palm against the cool glass as memories threatened to overwhelm me.
"What about you?" I asked quietly. "You know everything about where I came from now, but I know almost nothing about your past. I've never seen a single family photo in the apartment. I don't know anything about your parents, about what happened to Sofia's birth mother, about why there are so many bottles of expensive whiskey in your room."
Elias's entire body went rigid, his jaw clenching as his fingers tightened almost painfully around mine before he forced them to relax. When he spoke, his voice had taken on a carefully controlled quality. "Those are complicated stories. Not particularly interesting ones."
"No." I interrupted him and shifted slightly in my seat. "You just told me that loving someone means wanting to understand all of them. That works both ways, Elias. You can't ask me to let you into my past while keeping yours locked away."
I watched emotions flicker across his face—surprise, resistance, something that looked almost like fear. "Lila, you don't understand what you're asking."
"Then help me understand." I reached out to touch his arm. "I see you sometimes, late at night when you think I'm asleep. You stand in your study with a glass of whiskey, staring out at the city like you're trying to outrun something." My voice softened. "What are you running from? What are you so afraid I'll discover?"
The silence stretched taut. Elias's eyes remained fixed on the road.
Finally, he spoke, his voice so low I had to strain to hear it. "There are things in my past, Lila. Things that if you knew them, they might change how you see me." He swallowed hard. "I will tell you. Eventually. But not today. Some truths need the right moment, and this isn't it."
I wanted to push, wanted to demand answers, but something in his expression stopped me. Instead, I squeezed his arm gently. "I can wait," I said softly. "But Elias, whatever it is you're hiding, whatever you think might change things between us, it won't. I'm not going anywhere."
He reached over and pulled my hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to my knuckles. "Thank you," he whispered against my skin.
We drove in silence after that, but it was weighted with unspoken understanding. We'd both acknowledged the shadows we carried. The question was whether our promises would be enough when those shadows finally came to light.
---
We passed through Greenwich about twenty minutes later, the highway cutting through one of Connecticut's wealthiest enclaves. As the exit signs began appearing, I felt my chest tighten with familiar anxiety.
The highway rose slightly, offering glimpses of sprawling estates hidden behind stone walls and wrought-iron gates, their manicured lawns rolling out like green carpets. I tried to keep my eyes on my lap, on my phone, anywhere but out the window, but it was impossible not to look.
And then I saw it.
The entrance appeared suddenly on our right. Massive stone pillars flanking an ornate iron gate, the metalwork twisted into elaborate patterns that I remembered tracing with my fingers as a child. Above the gate, worked into the iron itself, were the words "Wentworth Estate 1889." Beyond the gate, a long driveway disappeared into a tunnel of trees, and in the distance, I could make out the gray stone facade of the main house.
My entire body went rigid. The phone in my hands became a lifeline as my breath caught and my vision narrowed. I couldn't seem to make myself relax. Couldn't breathe properly. Couldn't do anything but stare at those gates as we drove past.
Twelve years old, standing in the servants' entrance, my foster mother's hand tight on my shoulder. "You're here to help, Lila, not to be noticed."
Fourteen years old, carrying a tray through the grand hallway, trying not to stare at the oil paintings and crystal chandeliers.
Fifteen years old, in the library where I wasn't supposed to be, where Nathan had found me with a book, where he'd smiled instead of scolding, where everything had started to change.
"Lila?"
Elias's voice cut through the memories. I realized we'd slowed down, that his eyes were on me instead of the road. I tried to respond, but my throat had closed up entirely.