Chapter 53

Chapter 53
Elise's POV

The room had been silent for too long.

Liam was still waiting. Waiting for an answer. Waiting for Victor to say "yes, I'm going to marry her" or "no, I was just talking." But Victor said nothing. He only looked at me.

That look—I'd seen it before at the villa. In the car. On that bed. It was an examining, assessing gaze, like someone weighing whether an item was worth bidding on. Except this time, what lay on the scales wasn't just my body. It was my choice.

Liam finally couldn't hold back.

"Elise." His voice was terribly hoarse. "Tell him—tell him about us—tell him it's not like that—"

He was begging me.

The heir of the Sterling family, in front of his uncle, using a tone bordering on pleading, asking me to help him. But I couldn't say anything. Because he was right.

The relationship between Victor and me—whatever it was—did exist. And the fact that I was sitting here today listening to these two men argue over who was more qualified to possess me already said everything: from beginning to end, I had never been seen as someone who could make her own decisions.

"Elise." Liam called out again. This time with a tremor in his voice. "Come with me. We'll leave now. Leave here, leave him—we can start over, I'll handle things with Isabella, I'll—"

"Liam." I spoke up.

My voice was steadier than I expected. Perhaps because I'd rehearsed this scene in my head too many times.

"We're already over."

Each word clear and distinct.

Liam's face changed from red to white. Then from white to a kind of ashen color—like a statue weathering away.

"You don't understand," his voice became urgent, the words coming faster and faster. "You don't know what kind of person he is—he's one of the Sterlings, he's just like those people—"

"I know." I said.

"What do you know? How long have you even known him? Days? Weeks? Do you know why he's helping you? Do you know what he wants?"

I didn't know.

I didn't have answers to any of these questions.

But I also knew something else—

"I know that when I was with you," I said, "I never had any choices."

Liam's mouth hung open.

"When you came to pick me up, I went with you. When you bought me clothes, I wore them. When you told me not to go to the tattoo shop, I closed it. When you said 'please,' I got on my knees."

With each sentence, Liam's face grew grayer.

"I'm not blaming you." I said. "At least not entirely. I had my own problems too. I wasn't firm enough, brave enough, wasn't—"

I paused.

"Enough." I said.

When those two words came out, I felt something lift from my shoulders. Something light. So light I almost didn't notice it. But it was definitely there.

Then I turned to Victor.

He stood by the doorway, leaning against the frame, hands in his pockets. Throughout the entire confrontation, he hadn't moved a single step. Like watching a chess game whose outcome he already knew.

I walked toward him.

Only three steps. But from the moment I took the first step, I heard the voice behind me—Liam's voice. Calling my name. Once, twice, three times. From anger to shock to something bordering on desperation.

I didn't look back.

When I reached Victor, I looked up at him.

He didn't smile. Didn't say anything like "you chose right." He simply took his hand from his pocket, placed it on my shoulder, and drew me toward him.

The gesture was simple. Natural. As if he'd done it many times before.

"Let's go." He said.

Just one word.

---

The back seat of the Maybach was a bit more cramped than I'd expected.

Or perhaps it was because Victor took up too much space.

He sat beside me—not across from me, but beside me. The distance between us was probably only two fists wide. The moment the car door closed, the air in the cabin changed. The lights from the street outside, Liam's figure that might chase after us, the tattoo shop's sign—all these things were isolated beyond a layer of dark glass.

Only he and I remained in the car.

The driver drove silently ahead. The partition had risen. The back seat became a completely enclosed space.

Victor's hand naturally slid from my shoulder to my waist, causing a slight tingle.

"Well done." He said.

I turned to look at him.

The flowing city lights outside the window reflected on his profile, alternating between light and shadow. His eyes looked deeper than usual in the darkness—like two bottomless wells.

"What?" I asked.

"Your choice." He said. "Just now. You didn't hesitate."

I didn't answer this question. Because honestly—I had hesitated. In that instant of turning around, there was one second when I really did wonder: what if I chose Liam? What if I started over from the beginning?

But that second passed. And I chose this side.

Victor seemed to see through what I hadn't said aloud. But he didn't press.

He brought his other hand to my face, his fingers threading through my hair, gently cupping the back of my head.

Then he kissed me.

Not the kind of commanding kiss from the villa. Not the kind from that night in bed that seemed intent on devouring. This one was much slower. Much more leisurely. Like tasting a dish already ordered—unhurried, because he knew this dish wouldn't run away.

His other hand wrapped around my waist, drawing me toward him.

I was forced to straddle him, our upper bodies pressed tightly together, so close I could smell the scent on him—a mixture of tobacco and some woody note. Could feel the temperature of his lips and the rhythm of his breathing.