Chapter 191
Elena: POV
A few days had passed since that night in the hospital, Julian hadn't left.
True to his word, he'd stayed. Not just in New York, not just in the hospital, but practically glued to the hallway outside my room.
I'd see him through the door's window at all hours—slumped in the visitor's chair at 3 AM, pacing the corridor at dawn, or sometimes just standing there, staring at nothing, like a ghost haunting the scene of his crimes.
He brought Lila her favorite snacks. Read her stories. Told her about "brave princesses" and "sorry princes" in that low, careful voice that made my chest ache if I listened too long.
I didn't listen.
I couldn't afford to.
Because every time I did, every time I caught him smoothing Lila's hair or heard him murmur "Daddy's here" when she had a nightmare, something inside me cracked. Softened. And I couldn't let that happen.
Not again.
Not when I'd already lost so much to Julian Sterling.
Dr. Morris came by on the fourth morning, his usual brisk efficiency tempered by what looked like genuine relief.
"The wound is healing beautifully," he said, peeling back the bandage on my temple with careful fingers. "No signs of infection, no complications. Honestly, Mrs. Sterling, you're cleared for discharge."
My heart leapt. "Discharge? As in... I can leave?"
"Yes, I'd recommend that you go home now." He smiled gently. "You don't need to stay in the hospital anymore. You can rest and recover much better at home. I'd suggest following up with your primary care physician in two weeks."
The word tasted like hope and terror in equal measure.
Julian, who'd been standing by the window pretending to check his phone, straightened immediately. "I'll arrange for a car. We can go to the apartment in Tribeca, or if you'd prefer the estate in Connecticut—"
"No need," I interrupted, forcing brightness into my voice. "I can manage."
His jaw tightened. "Elena—"
"I said I can manage."
Dr. Morris glanced between us, clearly sensing the tension, and beat a hasty retreat. "Well. I'll leave you two to... discuss logistics. Nurse will be by with discharge papers."
The moment the door closed, Julian turned to me. His eyes were shadowed, exhausted, but there was steel underneath. "Where exactly do you think you're going?"
"Somewhere you're not."
"Elena." He took a step closer. I forced myself not to flinch. "Please. Just let me help. Let me—"
"Let you what?" The words came out sharper than I'd intended. "Control where I live? Monitor my every move? Keep me in another gilded cage?"
"That's not—" He stopped. Exhaled. "I just want you safe."
"Safe from what? You're the most dangerous thing in my life, Julian."
He flinched like I'd struck him. Good.
"I know you don't trust me," he said quietly. "I know I've given you every reason not to. But Victoria is still out there. She's still—"
"I don't want to hear about Victoria." I grabbed my jacket from the chair, my hands shaking. "I don't want to hear about anything. I just want to take my daughter and leave."
"Our daughter."
I froze.
"She's our daughter, Elena. The DNA test proved it. You can't just—"
"Watch me."
I moved toward the door. He blocked my path.
"Get out of my way."
"No."
We stood there, inches apart, and I hated how my body remembered him. How my traitorous heart still skipped when he looked at me like that—desperate and fierce and broken.
"I'm not letting you walk out of here without protection," he said. "I don't care if you hate me. I don't care if you never forgive me. But I will not let anyone hurt you."
"Then call the police. Hire bodyguards. Do whatever you want. Just stay away from me."
I pushed past him. This time, he let me go.
But I could feel his eyes on my back as I gathered Lila from the playroom down the hall, could sense him following at a distance as I signed the discharge papers, could practically hear him making phone calls in that low, commanding voice.
Arranging surveillance. Posting guards.
I'd been Julian Sterling's prisoner before. I knew the playbook.
Which is why, two days ago, I'd bought the laxative.
---
It had been almost too easy. Julian had finally agreed to let me "take a walk" around the hospital with Lila—probably because Dr. Morris had mentioned something about "mental health" and "not keeping patients confined." Of course, one of his security team had trailed us the entire time, discrete but present, always within twenty feet.
But he hadn't followed me into the pharmacy on the ground floor.
"For my husband," I'd told the pharmacist, smooth as silk, holding up the bottle of extra-strength laxative. "He's been constipated for days. Poor thing."
I 'd bought it without question. Why wouldn't I? I looked like a concerned wife, not a woman plotting escape.
Now, the bottle sat in my purse, waiting.
I just needed the right moment.
---
Julian arrived at six o'clock, like clockwork.
He'd developed this routine over the past few days—showing up every evening with dinner from restaurants he claimed we used to love.
Tonight, he carried bags from an Italian place on Mulberry Street, and the smell of garlic and tomato sauce filled the hospital room the moment he walked in.
"Dinner," he announced, setting the bags on the rolling table. His voice was carefully neutral, like he was afraid of spooking me. "Chicken parm for Lila. Carbonara for you."
Lila, who'd been coloring at the foot of my bed, perked up immediately. "With the twisty pasta?"
"With the twisty pasta." He ruffled her hair, and she giggled.
I watched them, my chest tight. He was so natural with her. So patient and gentle and everything a father should be.
He's her father, I reminded myself. Of course he's good with her.
But that didn't mean I had to let him keep us.
"Let me help," I said, standing up.
Julian blinked, clearly surprised. I'd been keeping my distance for days—physically and emotionally. This was the first time I'd voluntarily entered his space.
"Of course." He stepped back, giving me room at the table.
I moved to his side, unpacking containers with steady hands. "You didn't have to do this, you know. The hospital has food."
"Food the hospital calls food." He grimaced. "Lila deserves better than mystery meat and Jell-O."
"Right." I reached for the plastic utensils, my heart hammering. "And you're just... what? Playing devoted dad now?"
His jaw tightened. "I'm not playing."
"Could've fooled me."
"Elena—"
"I'll get drinks," I interrupted.
I grabbed the plastic cups from the cabinet, filled two with water from the sink. Then—with my back to him, my hands completely steady—I pulled out the laxative bottle.
One tablespoon, the label said. Effects within 30-60 minutes.
I poured four.
For a moment, my finger hovered over the cup. This was cruel. Humiliating. The kind of thing that would've horrified the girl who'd loved Julian Sterling for sixteen years.
But that girl was gone.
And the woman I was now? She'd do whatever it took to protect her daughter.
I stirred the laxative with my finger, watched it dissolve into nothing, then carried both cups back to the table.
"Here." I handed him the doctored one.
"Thanks." He took a long drink, then frowned slightly. "Tastes... off."