Chapter 182
Elena： POV
We made it through security in tense silence, Lila dozing against my shoulder while Julian handled the logistics with an efficiency that spoke of too much practice. He upgraded our seats without asking, his black card appearing like magic, speaking in low tones to the gate agent who nodded deferentially.
The first-class cabin felt like a cocoon, all cream leather and hushed voices. I settled into the window seat, grateful for the extra space as I adjusted Lila's small body against mine. She'd been a trooper through the chaos at the airport, but exhaustion had finally claimed her.
It wasn't until we were settled—Lila buckled between us, already asleep—that Julian spoke again.
"Thank you," he said quietly, his voice barely audible over the ambient noise of passengers boarding behind us. "For letting me come."
I didn't look at him, instead focusing on the tarmac outside where ground crews moved with practiced precision. "Don't thank me yet. This doesn't mean anything."
"I know."
But the way he said it made me think he hoped it might. There was something fragile in those two words, like he was afraid speaking too loudly might shatter whatever tentative truce we'd established.
The plane began to taxi, and I felt Julian's presence beside me like a physical weight. The fluorescent cabin lights cast harsh shadows across his face, making the exhaustion in his eyes more pronounced. His usually perfect hair was disheveled, and I noticed his shirt was wrinkled, as if he'd slept in it. Or hadn't slept at all.
A flight attendant approached with warm towels and champagne, but Julian waved her away with a polite shake of his head. His attention was entirely focused on the small form between us.
"Tell me about her," Julian said suddenly, nodding toward Lila. "Our daughter."
Our daughter. The words sent a shiver down my spine, foreign yet somehow right in a way that terrified me.
"She's four," I said, my voice catching slightly. "She likes strawberry cake and picture books about dragons. She's scared of needles but pretends she's not. Always insists she's brave when the doctor comes around."
Julian's lips quirked in what might have been a smile. "Like her mother."
I turned to look at him, ready to ask what the hell that meant, but the words died when I saw his expression. He was looking at Lila with such naked longing it made my throat tight. His hand hovered near her curls, as if he wanted to touch but didn't dare.
"I missed everything," he said quietly, his voice thick with regret. "Her first words. Her first steps. Four years of her life." His jaw clenched, the muscle jumping. "Four years of yours."
Something in his tone made me soften despite myself. The raw pain there was impossible to fake. "It wasn't your fault. You thought I was dead."
"I should have looked harder." His hands fisted on his thighs, knuckles white with tension. "I should have turned over every stone, checked every hospital, every—" He cut himself off, shaking his head. "I gave up too easily."
The plane lurched as we hit a pocket of turbulence, and the captain's voice crackled over the intercom with apologies. Lila stirred but didn't wake, her small hand instinctively reaching out. I found myself reaching across her to grip the armrest, my knuckles matching Julian's in their whiteness.
Julian's hand covered mine before I could pull back, warm and steady despite the plane's movement.
"I've got you," he said, and something about the way he said it made me think he wasn't just talking about the turbulence. His thumb traced across my knuckles, a gesture so familiar it made my breath catch.
I should have pulled away. Every rational part of my brain was screaming at me to maintain distance, to protect myself. But instead, I let his hand stay where it was, warm and solid and strangely comforting in a way that Alexander's touch had never been.
"Alexander told me you had an untouchable love," I said suddenly, pulling my hand back as if burned. "That you always left me for her. That you always chose her over me."
Julian's expression darkened, his features hardening into something cold and bitter. "Victoria." Just the way he said her name—flat, cold, like it tasted of ash—told me more than words could. "She wasn't—I was an idiot. I thought she'd saved my life when we were kids. Turned out she'd lied about that too." His eyes found mine, and I saw years of regret swimming in their depths. "There was only ever you, Elena. Even when I was too stupid to see it."
I wanted to believe him. God, some traitorous part of me wanted so badly to believe him that it physically hurt. But four years of Alexander's careful explanations, four years of being told I was the victim of Julian's cruelty, couldn't be erased by pretty words on an airplane.
"I jumped," I heard myself whisper, the words torn from somewhere deep inside.
Julian went very still beside me, his entire body tensing. "What?"
"Into the river. Four years ago." The words came faster now, like a dam breaking after years of pressure. "I don't remember it, but sometimes I dream about it. About standing on that bridge and just—" I swallowed hard, my throat closing around the words. "Alexander said you drove me to it. That you broke me so badly I wanted to die."
"Elena—"
"Is it true?" I turned to face him fully, ignoring the tears that had started streaming down my face. "Did you break me, Julian? Did you hurt me so badly that I couldn't see any other way out?"
The devastation on his face was answer enough. I watched him crumble, watched years of carefully maintained composure shatter like glass. But when he spoke, his voice was steady, unflinching in its honesty.
"Yes," he said, the word barely audible. "I broke you. I was cruel and selfish and so fucking blind I couldn't see what I had until it was gone." His hand reached for mine again, trembling slightly. "But I didn't make you jump, Elena. I would never—" His voice cracked, and I saw tears gathering in his eyes. "When I got there, you had already fallen from the bridge."