Chapter 35 Betrayal
The words tore out of Elena before she could stop them.
“What the hell is the meaning of this?”
Her voice echoed across the rooftop pool area, sharp and incredulous, slicing through the warm afternoon air. For a brief second, everything froze.
Water dripped from the edge of the pool in slow, lazy ripples. The wind brushed past the open glass doors, lifting the hem of Elena’s blue flowered gown slightly, as though the penthouse itself had taken a breath.
Jaxon turned.
The woman beside him shrieked softly, scrambling for the white robe that lay carelessly on a lounge chair. She wrapped it around herself hastily, her cheeks flushed, her hair disheveled, eyes wide with embarrassment and shock. Her hands trembled as she clutched the robe closed, as though it were the only thing anchoring her to dignity.
Jaxon, on the other hand, didn’t move immediately.
He straightened slowly, water glistening on his bare shoulders, his jaw tightening as his eyes met Elena’s. For a fleeting moment, something unreadable flickered across his face—surprise, irritation, maybe even guilt—but it vanished almost as quickly as it appeared.
Elena stood rooted to the spot.
Her Birkin bag lay on the marble floor where it had slipped from her fingers, its soft thud still ringing in her ears. Her chest rose and fell evenly, betraying none of the storm raging inside her. If she was hurt, furious, or humiliated, she refused to let it show.
Calm, Elena told herself. Be calm.
She bent down slowly, picking up her bag with deliberate grace. The simple act felt grounding. When she straightened again, she lifted her chin and looked Jaxon directly in the eye—no tears, no shaking, no pleading.
Just quiet fire.
Jaxon scoffed softly, running a hand through his wet hair.
“What does it look like?” he said coolly. “We were having fun.”
The words landed like a slap.
Elena’s fingers tightened around the handle of her bag, but her expression remained composed.
If anything, her calmness made the moment more dangerous.
“Fun,” she repeated softly, tasting the word. “Interesting choice.”
She took a step forward, heels clicking lightly against the marble floor. The woman beside Jaxon shrank back instinctively, her eyes darting between them, sensing that she had stepped into something far bigger than she’d anticipated.
“I didn’t know,” Elena continued evenly, “that you were so quick to forget what happened the last time you decided to ‘have fun’ with Maya.”
That got his attention.
Jaxon’s eyes darkened slightly.
“This isn’t Maya,” he replied, his tone clipped. “This one here is… trustworthy.”
The woman flinched at being referred to like an object, but she stayed silent.
Elena let out a soft, humorless laugh.
“Trustworthy,” she echoed. “You say that like it’s some kind of qualification.”
She glanced briefly at the woman, then back at Jaxon.
“And you say it with such confidence,” she added. “Almost admirable.”
Jaxon crossed his arms, clearly irritated now.
“Besides,” he continued, his voice hardening, “the rules state that no one should meddle in each other’s personal business.”
There it was.
The rules.
Elena’s lips curved—not into a smile, but into something sharper, more calculated. She took another step forward, her posture relaxed, her movements unhurried.
“You’re absolutely right,” she said calmly. “The rules.”
She reached them now, standing close enough that she could smell the faint scent of chlorine and expensive cologne clinging to Jaxon’s skin.
Yet she didn’t look at him immediately.
Instead, she turned her attention to the woman struggling in the robe.
Elena smiled politely—too politely.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said, her tone smooth and deceptively warm. “I live here now.”
The words hung in the air like a challenge.
Jaxon stiffened.
The woman’s eyes widened.
Elena tilted her head slightly, studying her with mild curiosity, as though she were assessing an unexpected piece of furniture.
Then she turned back to Jaxon, her smile never wavering.
“Shall I show her out,” Elena asked softly, “or would you like to?”
The silence that followed was deafening.
For the first time, Jaxon seemed caught off guard.
“Elena—” he began.
But she didn’t let him finish.
Without waiting for an answer, Elena turned on her heel and walked away.
Her steps were steady. Controlled. Each one carried her further from the pool, further from the scene she refused to let define her. She passed through the glass doors, the soft whoosh of them sliding shut behind her, cutting off the tense tableau she left behind.
Jaxon stared after her, his jaw clenched, something unreadable tightening in his chest.
The woman shifted awkwardly beside him.
“Jaxon… I didn’t know,” she said quietly. “You didn’t tell me—”
He held up a hand, silencing her.
“Get dressed,” he said flatly. “I’ll have someone take you home."
Her lips parted as if to argue, but one look at his expression made her think better of it. She nodded and hurried away, disappearing into one of the guest rooms.
Jaxon remained by the pool, fists clenched at his sides.
Inside the penthouse, Elena walked down the hallway, her heart pounding now that she was out of sight. The paintings on the walls blurred as she passed them, her reflection flashing briefly in the glass—composed, elegant, unbroken.
She refused to let him see her crack.
When she reached the room that was meant to be hers, she paused, resting her palm against the door.
This was supposed to be temporary, she reminded herself. Strategic. Controlled.
So why did it feel like betrayal?
Elena inhaled slowly, straightened her shoulders, and stepped inside, closing the door behind her with a soft but decisive click.
Outside, somewhere in the penthouse, Jaxon stood very still—realizing, perhaps for the first time, that lines had been crossed that rules could not undo.
Across the city, in an office that overlooked steel and glass instead of warmth and comfort, Caleb leaned back in his chair as the news settled in.
Elena Montclair had moved into Jaxon Wentworth’s penthouse.
The information came to him casually, almost lazily, delivered by a voice on the other end of the line that didn’t know how dangerous the words truly were.
Caleb smiled.
Not the kind that reached his eyes, but the kind that meant calculations were already being made.
“So,” he murmured to himself, fingers tapping slowly against the armrest. “They’re moving faster than expected.”
He stood, walking toward the window, watching the city lights flicker on as dusk approached. Elena’s move complicated things—but complications were merely invitations to adapt.
And Caleb was very good at adapting.
“Let’s see,” he said quietly, “how well you survive living in the lion’s den.”
Back at the penthouse, the dining room glowed softly under warm chandeliers. The long table was dressed elegantly—crisp white linens, polished silverware, crystal glasses catching the light. The aroma of rich spices, roasted vegetables, and carefully prepared meats filled the space, lingering invitingly in the air.
Elena walked in slowly, pausing for a brief moment as she took it all in.
It was excessive. Thoughtful. Almost ceremonial.
She approached the table, her gaze landing on the spread—seared salmon glazed with citrus, herb-roasted potatoes, stir-fried vegetables delicately arranged, bowls of soup steaming gently, and freshly baked rolls placed neatly in a basket at the center.
She turned to Ms. Julie the lady she met earlier, who stood nearby with a proud smile on her face.
“Did you prepare all of this?” Elena asked, genuinely impressed.
Ms. Julie laughed softly, waving a hand dismissively. “Of course. I know you must be very hungry, Miss Montclair.”
Elena smiled, shaking her head gently.
“Please,” she said kindly, “call me Elena.”
Ms. Julie paused, then nodded. “Elena,” she repeated, testing the name. Their smiles met, easy and warm.
Elena took her seat, smoothing her dress as she settled in. Her eyes flicked briefly to the empty chair across from her.
“Is Jaxon not joining us?” she asked.
Ms. Julie glanced toward the hallway leading to the private quarters. “He’ll be down soon,” she said confidently.
Elena nodded. “Okay.”
She picked up her cutlery and began to eat, savoring the flavors despite the tension humming beneath the surface. The food was excellent—comforting even—but the chair across from her remained empty.
Minutes passed.
She checked the time subtly.
Still nothing.
Elena exhaled slowly, placing her napkin on the table before pushing her chair back.
Ms. Julie looked up immediately. “Is anything wrong, Elena?”
Elena offered a polite smile. “I’m going to call Jaxon. He’s taking quite some time.”
Ms. Julie hesitated. “But—”
“Don’t worry,” Elena cut in gently. “I’ll be quick.”
She left the dining room, her footsteps quiet as she navigated the familiar halls. When she reached Jaxon’s room, she knocked firmly.
“Who is it?” his voice came from inside, cool and guarded
.
“It’s me,” Elena replied.
There was a pause.
“Which of the rules did you not understand?” Jaxon asked.
Elena didn’t respond.
She opened the door and stepped inside calmly.
“I did not ask you to come in,” Jaxon said sharply.
“Well,” Elena replied evenly, “I didn’t need an invitation.”
Jaxon turned to face her fully. “What if I was naked?”
She lifted an eyebrow. “I believe I’ve seen enough for one day already.”
That shut him up.
Silence stretched between them, thick and charged.
“You need to come down for dinner,” Elena said finally. “Ms. Julie put a lot of effort into preparing the meal. It would be rude not to eat.”
“And if I don’t feel like it?” he asked.
“Then,” she said calmly, “I won’t eat either.”
Another pause.
Then, without waiting for a response, Elena turned and walked out, closing the door behind her with quiet finality.
Back in the dining room, she resumed her seat.
Ms. Julie approached her with a knowing smile. “I told you,” she said softly. “He will come down when he is ready.”
Elena didn’t reply.
Just as the thought crossed their minds that Jaxon might not appear at all, footsteps echoed from the hallway.
He walked in.
Ms. Julie’s eyes widened slightly. “You came down?”
Jaxon glanced at her. “Good evening, Ms. Julie.”
She smiled, pleased.
He didn’t say anything else. He simply took his seat and began to eat.
Across the table, Elena kept her eyes on her plate.
But every now and then—
A glance.
Stolen.