Chapter 150 The Departure
Alexander's POV
I studied her face—the slight shadows under her eyes that hadn't quite faded, the way she shifted uncomfortably against the pillows, the pale cast to her skin. She wasn't fine. Not yet.
"Your head injury was severe, Elena," I said gently, moving closer to the side of her bed. "The trauma to your brain—the doctors said the swelling is going down, but it's still there. And with the pregnancy..." I let my voice trail off, watching her hand move instinctively to her stomach again.
"I know," she said quietly. "But I can't stay in this room forever."
"No one's asking you to stay forever. Just until we're certain there won't be any complications. A few more days. Maybe a week."
Celeste cleared her throat. "With all due respect, Mr. Holt, Elena can receive excellent medical care in London. Our family has access to the best physicians in Europe—"
"Who aren't familiar with her case," I interrupted. "Who haven't been monitoring her condition since the accident. Transferring her care to someone new right now could be dangerous."
"Dangerous how?" Elena asked, her voice small.
I moved closer, taking her hand in mine. Her fingers were cold, trembling slightly. "The brain is still healing. Any sudden stress—travel, unfamiliar environments—could cause the swelling to increase. In the worst case, seizures. Or worse."
"Seizures?" she whispered.
"It's unlikely," I said quickly. "But it's a risk we can't ignore. Especially with the baby. The first trimester is critical. Any complications with your health could affect the pregnancy."
Elena's face had gone pale. "I don't want to hurt the baby."
"That's why we need to be careful. That's why I'm asking you to wait just a little longer."
"How long?"
"A week. Maybe two."
"Two weeks?" Celeste stood abruptly. "You expect her to stay isolated here for two more weeks?"
"I expect her to prioritize her health. And the health of her child."
"She has a family who's been searching for her for over twenty years."
The room fell into tense silence. Elena's eyes were wide, darting between us.
"Stop." Elena's voice cut through our argument, quiet but firm. "Both of you, just... stop."
We both fell silent.
"I'm not a prize to be fought over," she said, her voice shaking slightly. "I'm a person. And I'm scared, and confused, and I don't know what the right choice is. But I need to make it myself."
Elena was quiet for a long moment. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper.
"What if..." She hesitated, then looked up at me. "What if you came with me? To London."
The suggestion caught me completely off guard.
"Elena, that's not necessary," Celeste said quickly, alarm in her voice. "You'll be perfectly safe with our family—"
"But I don't remember them," Elena interrupted. "I don't remember you, Celeste. The only person I know right now, the only person who feels even remotely familiar, is Alexander." She turned to me, her amber eyes pleading. "You said you cared about me. If that's true, you'd want to make sure I'm safe, right?"
Every instinct told me this was a trap. That bringing her to London would make it harder to maintain control. Harder to keep the truth buried.
But the desperation in her voice...
"All right," I heard myself say. "I'll come with you."
The relief that washed over her face was immediate. "Really?"
"Really. But we do this carefully. We wait until you're well enough to travel. We take my private plane, with medical staff on board. And if at any point you start feeling unwell—any headaches, dizziness, anything—we turn around immediately. Agreed?"
Elena nodded quickly. "Agreed. Thank you, Alexander."
Celeste's expression softened as she took Elena's hand, but when her eyes met mine, they were full of suspicion and barely concealed hostility.
---
That evening, I found Elena in her room, standing by the window and staring out at the darkened grounds. She'd changed into one of the dresses Celeste had brought—pale blue, simple, modest.
She looked like she was already slipping away from me.
"Couldn't sleep?" I asked from the doorway.
She turned, offering me a small, tired smile. "Too much on my mind."
I stepped into the room, closing the door behind me. "Second thoughts?"
"No. Yes. Maybe." She laughed softly, without humor. "I don't know what I'm supposed to feel. Excited? Terrified? Both?"
"Both is normal. You're about to walk into a completely unknown situation."
"But it's not unknown, is it? It's my life. My real life. I just... can't remember it."
"And if you never remember?"
She was quiet for a moment. "Then I'll learn. I'll learn who I was, and maybe that will help me figure out who I want to be now."
The quiet determination in her voice reminded me so painfully of her mother that I had to look away.
"I'm scared," she admitted. "But I'm more scared of staying in the dark forever. Of never knowing who I am."
I wanted to tell her that sometimes, the dark was safer. That some truths were better left buried.
Instead, I said, "I'll be with you. Every step of the way."
She turned to look at me, her eyes searching my face. "Actually, you don't have to go to London. You don't have to do this for me."
I reached up to cup her face, but she pulled away stiffly. "It's not entirely for you," I said. "The company has major operations there. I can make a living there and take good care of you at the same time."
"And I love you," I lied smoothly. "And that doesn't change just because you can't remember."
Her eyes filled with tears. "I wish I could remember. I wish I could feel what I'm supposed to feel."
"You will," I said, pulling her into my arms. She came willingly, her head resting against my chest. "Give it time."
---
The next morning dawned gray and cold. Elena was quiet as we prepared to leave. Celeste arrived early, her expression professionally pleasant but her eyes sharp and watchful.
The helicopter was waiting on the pad behind the house. I helped Elena aboard, buckling her seatbelt myself while Celeste climbed in on the other side.
As we lifted off, I watched Elena's face. She stared out the window at the island falling away beneath us, her hand pressed against the glass like she was saying goodbye.
We were halfway to the mainland when I noticed Celeste pull out her phone. Her face went pale, and I saw her grip tighten on the device.
"What is it?" I asked over the headset.
She looked up at me, her eyes wide with shock. Then she glanced at Elena, who was still absorbed in the view outside.
Celeste held up her phone so only I could see the screen.
BREAKING: Elena Vance Presumed Dead After Brooklyn Bridge Fall. Ex-Husband Julian Sterling Devastated.
Below the headline was a photo of Julian, disheveled and hollow-eyed, standing on the bridge where Elena had fallen.
My jaw tightened. So he'd gone public. Even after their divorce, he was still playing the grieving lover.
Celeste's eyes met mine, full of questions and accusations. I saw her mouth begin to form words—probably something about calling the police, about this being a kidnapping.
I unbuckled my seatbelt and moved across the cabin, crouching in front of her so our faces were level. Close enough that Elena, still absorbed in the view outside, wouldn't hear over the rotor noise.
"I hope," I said quietly, my voice calm but edged with unmistakable steel, "that you can keep certain things to yourself in front of Elena. Otherwise, I don't know what I might do."