Chapter 174 The Price of Truth
Elena: POV
I woke up to pain—a dull, throbbing ache between my legs that told me exactly what had happened before my mind could catch up.
For a moment, I kept my eyes closed, hoping that if I didn't look, it wouldn't be real. That I wouldn't be in Julian Sterling's car, my body still humming with the aftershocks of what we'd done.
But I could feel the leather seat beneath me, smell his cologne mixed with sweat and sex, feel the wrinkled fabric of my dress twisted around my waist. And worst of all, I could feel the evidence of him still inside me, warm and wet and impossible to deny.
My eyes snapped open, and I found myself staring at the roof of an expensive car. Through the windshield, I could see the familiar outline of my design studio building. He'd parked nearby, in the shadow of the place where this nightmare had started just hours ago.
Julian was in the driver's seat, his shirt still half-unbuttoned, his hair a mess from my fingers running through it. He was awake. Watching me with an expression I couldn't read.
The memory hit me like a freight train—my hands pulling at his clothes, my mouth on his throat, my voice begging him not to stop. The way I'd wrapped my legs around him, the way I'd cried out his name, the way my body had responded to his like it had been waiting four years for exactly this.
Before I could think, before I could process any of it, my hand flew up and connected with his face. The crack of my palm against his cheek echoed in the confined space, sharp and brutal.
He didn't flinch. Didn't even look surprised. He just turned his face back to me slowly, a red handprint already blooming across his skin, and said in a voice rough with self-loathing: "I know. I'm sorry. It was wrong of me to take advantage of you when you were vulnerable."
His immediate surrender caught me off guard. I'd expected him to defend himself, to make excuses, but instead he was taking full responsibility. It should have made me feel vindicated, but somehow it only made me angrier.
"You're damn right it was wrong," I spat, sitting up despite the soreness between my legs. "I was drugged, Julian. Someone put something in my coffee, and then that client—" My throat closed up as the memory crashed over me. The alley. The hands dragging me toward the van. The terror of knowing what was about to happen and being too weak to stop it.
"I saw him," Julian said quietly. "I stopped him before he could—"
"And then you appeared like some kind of savior," I continued bitterly, "and I threw myself at you like a desperate fool."
The words hung in the air between us. Because that was the truth I didn't want to face—that whatever drug had been in my system, whatever vulnerability I'd been in, I had been the one clinging to him. I had been the one pulling him closer, begging him not to stop.
Julian's expression softened slightly. "Elena, you were drugged and traumatized. What happened wasn't—"
I laughed harshly. "And you—I may have been out of it, but you were completely conscious. Why didn't you stop me?"
Julian stammered, "I... it's my fault. I couldn't resist."
"There's something you need to see," he said carefully, holding it out to me.
My hands trembled as I took it, unfolding it with fingers that didn't want to cooperate. The official letterhead stared back at me: DNA Paternity Test Results. Patient A: Julian Alexander Sterling. Patient B: Lila Marie Hunt. Probability of Paternity: 99.97%.
The world tilted sideways.
I stared at the paper, my mind racing through the implications. If this was true—if Lila was really Julian's daughter—then everything Alexander had told me was a lie. The story about us being together, about one night leading to pregnancy, about building a life as a family—all of it, fabricated.
My face must have gone through a dozen different expressions as I processed this information, because Julian was watching me with growing concern.
"I understand this is a shock," he said gently. "Alexander lied to you about—"
"I'm clear on what this means," I cut him off, my voice surprisingly steady. I folded the paper carefully and handed it back to him. "Alexander deceived me. But that doesn't change the fundamental fact that Lila is my daughter."
Julian blinked, clearly taken aback by my composure. He'd probably expected tears, hysteria, a complete breakdown. Instead, I was sitting here calmly discussing the situation like we were negotiating a business contract.
"Elena," he said, leaning forward slightly, "Lila is our daughter. She's my child too. I want you both to come back to me. I want us to be a family."
I studied his face—the hope flickering in his dark eyes, the way his hands clenched slightly on the steering wheel. He was nervous, I realized. Afraid of my answer.
"So what if she's your child?" I said finally. "In the four years of Lila's life, you've been nothing to her. A nobody. I have absolute confidence that she would choose to stay with me."
His face fell, but I wasn't finished.
"I suppose I must have been one of those pathetic women who revolved her entire world around some man, right? Always chasing after you, making you the center of my universe?" I shook my head. "Well, I'm not that woman anymore. If you want to fight me for custody, Julian, be my guest. Try it."
The words came out cold and sharp, and I saw him flinch as if I'd slapped him again.
"I won't pursue what happened today," I continued, reaching for the door handle. "I'll consider it like being bitten by a dog—unpleasant, but not worth dwelling on."
"Elena, wait—"
But I was already pushing the door open, ready to walk away from him and this entire mess. Ready to go collect my daughter and figure out how to rebuild our lives away from both Sterling men.
"You don't want to have anything to do with me, I understand that," Julian said quickly, his voice desperate now. "But there's something else you should know. You had a foster mother who cared about you very much. She passed away four years ago, and you never got the chance to attend her funeral. Don't you care about that at all?"
I froze with one foot out of the car, his words hitting me like a physical blow.
The door handle felt cold under my grip as I sat there, suspended between leaving and staying, between the life I thought I knew and the truth I was afraid to face.