Chapter 185
Julian: POV
We sat in the departure lounge waiting for our connecting flight to Richmond, the tension so thick I could practically taste it. Ethan's parting words at baggage claim still rang in my ears, each syllable designed to cut deep.
"Won't Daddy be angry?"
The casual mockery in his tone had made my jaw clench, but I'd forced myself to stay calm with Lila sleeping in Elena's arms. Now, watching other passengers board ahead of us, I couldn't shake the memory his words had dragged up—a confrontation I'd spent four years trying to forget.
Elena sat beside me in rigid silence, staring out the terminal windows at the gray November sky. Lila was curled against her chest, small fingers clutching at Elena's jacket even in sleep. Every few minutes, Elena would shift slightly, adjusting our daughter's position, but she hadn't spoken a word since we'd left Ethan behind.
The gate agent announced boarding for our group, and we gathered our things in continued silence. Elena stood first, cradling Lila carefully, and I followed with our carry-on bags.
As we made our way down the jet bridge, I found myself watching Elena's profile—the set of her jaw, the careful way she held herself, like she might shatter if she moved too quickly.
We settled into our seats—Elena by the window with Lila still sleeping against her, me in the aisle seat. As the plane taxied down the runway and lifted into the air, I stared out at the clouds below and let my mind drift back to that night four years ago.
---
Four years ago, my father's study...
I'd been three drinks past coherent when my father walked in with him—this stranger who wore an expensive suit like armor and looked at me with eyes that held too much knowledge, too much calculation.
"Julian, this is Ethan Blackwell," my father had said, his voice carrying that clipped, businesslike tone he used when he expected obedience. "My son. Your half-brother."
The scotch in my hand had suddenly felt like poison.
I'd stared at this man—this intruder—and felt something vicious and raw claw its way up my throat. Elena had been gone for six months. Six months of searching, of hiring investigators, of drinking myself into oblivion every night because I couldn't stand the silence in our apartment.
And my father thought this was the appropriate time to introduce his bastard son?
"Get out," I'd said, my voice deadly quiet.
Ethan had raised an eyebrow, utterly unruffled. "I understand you're upset—"
"You understand nothing," I'd snarled, standing so fast my chair toppled backward. "Security!"
My father's face had gone red. "Julian, don't be childish—"
But I'd already crossed to the door, yanking it open. "Marcus! Get this man out of my house. Now."
Ethan hadn't moved, hadn't even flinched when Marcus appeared in the doorway.
"I'm not going anywhere," Ethan had said calmly. "I have just as much right to be here as you do. More, actually, since I didn't spend the last six months drowning in self-pity while Elena—"
I'd lunged at him before he could finish, my fist connecting with his jaw hard enough to send him stumbling backward into my father's desk.
"Don't you dare talk about her," I'd said, my voice shaking with rage. "You don't get to say her name."
Ethan had straightened, wiping blood from his split lip, and smiled like I'd just proven some point he'd been trying to make.
"There it is," he'd said softly. "The famous Sterling temper. Tell me, Julian—is that what drove her away?"
---
"Daddy?" Lila's small voice pulled me back to the present. She was awake now, looking up at me with those dark eyes that were so much like Elena's. "Are we almost there?"
"Almost, sweetheart," I said quietly, smoothing her hair. "We'll be in Richmond soon."
Elena hadn't spoken since we'd boarded. She sat rigid in her seat, staring out the small window at the clouds below, her hands folded tightly in her lap. I could see the tension in her shoulders, the way she held herself like she might shatter if she moved too quickly.
I wanted to say something—anything—to break the terrible quiet, but every word that came to mind felt inadequate, useless.
I'm sorry.
I never meant for any of this to happen.
I love you.
None of it would change what I'd done. None of it would bring back the years she'd lost, the mother she'd buried thinking her daughter was dead.
The plane began its descent into Richmond, and I felt Elena tense beside me. Through the window, I could see the familiar landscape of Virginia spreading out below us—rolling hills and autumn trees, the James River winding through the city like a silver ribbon.
"We're here," I said quietly as the wheels touched down.
Elena nodded, not looking at me, and when the plane stopped at the gate, she was unbuckling her seatbelt before the flight attendants had even announced it was safe to move around.
I lifted Lila from her seat, cradling her against my chest as we made our way off the plane. She made a small sound of protest, then settled, her small hand fisting in my shirt.
My daughter.
The thought still felt surreal, impossible, like something that would shatter if I examined it too closely.
---
The drive to the cemetery was silent except for Lila's soft breathing and the low hum of the rental car's engine. Elena sat as far from me as possible, her body angled toward the window, her reflection ghostly in the tinted glass.
The city gave way to quieter streets, then to the tree-lined roads that led to the cemetery where Josephine Vance was buried. Elena had asked to go there first, before anything else, and I'd agreed without hesitation. It was the least I could do—give her this moment to say goodbye to the woman who'd raised her, who'd loved her when no one else would.
The cemetery gates appeared ahead, wrought iron and old stone, and I felt Elena tense beside me.
"We're here," I said quietly.
She nodded, not looking at me, and when the car stopped, she was out the door before I could even unbuckle my seatbelt.
I followed more slowly, lifting a still-sleeping Lila from her car seat and cradling her against my chest. She made a small sound of protest, then settled, her small hand fisting in my shirt.
Elena was already walking toward the rows of headstones, her shoulders rigid, her steps measured and deliberate. I trailed behind, giving her space but staying close enough to catch her if she stumbled.
The afternoon sun filtered through the trees, casting long shadows across the grass, and somewhere in the distance, a crow called out, harsh and lonely.
Elena stopped in front of a simple granite headstone, her hand rising to cover her mouth.
I couldn't see the inscription from where I stood, but I didn't need to. I'd been here before, months ago, standing in the rain and staring at Josephine's name carved into stone, wondering if Elena would ever forgive me for failing to save her mother.
I was about to step closer when movement caught my eye—a figure walking between the headstones several rows over, heading in our direction.
A woman, dressed entirely in black, a surgical mask covering the lower half of her face and a wide-brimmed hat pulled low over her eyes.