Chapter 17 The Breaking Point
Elena: POV
I stared at the man sitting beside my hospital bed, trying to process what he'd just said.
This pregnancy? Our little secret.
Alexander Sterling looked so much like Julian—same sharp cheekbones, same aristocratic bearing. But where Julian's gray eyes were cold steel that could cut through glass, Alexander's held warmth. Almost gentleness.
"Why would you do that?" My voice came out hoarse.
He leaned back, and something flickered across his face. Pain. Regret.
"Because everyone has secrets they need to keep," he said quietly, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. "Things they're not ready to share. Things that could destroy them if the wrong person found out at the wrong time."
There was a story there—something heavy he was carrying. I could see it in the way his jaw tightened.
"Besides," Alexander continued, "the doctor said you and the baby need rest. Stress isn't good for either of you. You don't need Julian's drama right now."
My hand moved instinctively to my stomach. "The baby's really okay?"
"According to Dr. Jones, yes. You were lucky." He paused. "Well, not lucky. But you're safe now."
"Thank you," I whispered. "For everything."
His expression shifted, like he was remembering someone else. "Don't thank me yet. Because in a few minutes, Julian's going to storm through that door."
---
He was right.
The door flew open. Julian stood there, suit rumpled, tie loose, hair disheveled. His eyes found me immediately, and I saw something flash across his face—raw fear that quickly transformed into relief.
"Elena." He crossed the room, but stopped short when he saw Alexander. "Uncle Alexander."
Alexander stood. "Julian."
"Thank you." Julian's voice was tight, controlled. "Thank you for being there. For bringing her here."
"I happened to be nearby." Alexander's tone was neutral. "She's safe now. That's what matters."
Julian nodded, his jaw clenching. "I appreciate everything you've done. Really."
"She called you first," Alexander said quietly. "Remember that."
Something flickered in Julian's eyes—guilt, maybe. Or shame.
"Can I speak with you outside for a moment?" Julian gestured toward the door.
Alexander glanced at me, a silent question in his eyes. I nodded weakly, and the two men stepped into the hallway.
I couldn't hear their conversation, but I could see them through the small window in the door. Julian's posture was stiff, formal. Grateful. Alexander said something that made Julian's shoulders tense, then nodded and walked away.
Julian stood in the hallway for a long moment, his back to the door, his hand pressed against the wall.
Then he turned around, and when he walked back into the room, his face had changed.
---
"How long?" His voice was quiet. Dangerous.
I blinked. "What?"
"How long have you been seeing my uncle?" Julian closed the door behind him with a soft click.
My mouth fell open. "What are you talking about?"
"Don't play dumb with me, Elena." He moved closer to the bed, his gray eyes cold. "Alexander just happened to be at The Whitmore Club? He just happened to know exactly where you were? He just happened to carry you out like some fucking knight in shining armor?"
"Are you serious right now?"
"Answer the question." His hands gripped the bed rail. "How did you two meet? Was it at the estate? Did you plan this behind my back?"
Fury exploded in my chest, hot and immediate.
"You're unbelievable." My voice shook. "I'm lying here in a hospital bed because I was drugged and nearly assaulted, and you're accusing me of—of what, exactly? Having an affair with your uncle?"
"I want to know the truth."
"The truth?" I let out a bitter laugh. "The truth is that I called you first, Julian. I called you when Morrison drugged me. When he was dragging me out of that room. When I could barely stand. I begged you for help."
Julian's jaw clenched.
"And you know what you did?" Tears burned down my cheeks. "You told me to stop being dramatic. You said you didn't have time for my games. You hung up on me so you could run to Victoria."
"Elena—"
"So yes, your uncle saved me. He was there when you weren't. He believed me when you didn't. He carried me to his car and brought me here and made sure I was safe. And the first thing you do when you walk in is accuse me of fucking him?"
"I didn't say that—"
"You didn't have to!" My voice cracked. "It's written all over your face. You don't trust me. You never have. Three years of marriage, and you still think I'm some scheming gold-digger who drugged you and trapped you."
Julian stepped back like I'd slapped him. "That's not—"
"It is." I wiped at my face roughly. "Every single day, you look at me like I'm something you need to tolerate. Something you're stuck with. And the second another man shows me the slightest kindness, you assume I'm spreading my legs for him."
"Elena, stop."
"Why?" I demanded. "Does the truth hurt? Does it bother you to hear how little you think of me?"
"That's not fair."
"Fair?" A hollow laugh escaped. "You want to talk about fair? Is it fair that I've spent three years hiding my wedding ring? Is it fair that I have to watch you fly to Paris every few weeks to comfort your real love? Is it fair that you told me I'm not worthy of carrying your child?"
Julian's face went pale. "I was angry when I said that—"
"You meant it." My voice was flat. "Every word. And we both know it."
He opened his mouth, then closed it. Because what could he say? We both knew it was true.
"I'm done, Julian."
"Done with what?"
"With this." I gestured weakly between us. "With us. With pretending this marriage is anything more than a business arrangement you were forced into."
"Elena—"
"I want a divorce."
The words hung in the air like a death sentence.
Julian's hands gripped the bed rail so tight his knuckles went white. "You don't mean that."