Chapter 28 The Password
Elena: POV
I watched his silhouette disappear through the bedroom door, the soft click echoing like a final judgment in the silence.
For a moment, I just lay there. Staring at the ceiling. Listening to his footsteps fade down the hallway, then the distant sound of the front door opening and closing.
Gone. Again.
Always fucking gone when Victoria called.
My hand moved to my stomach, fingers splaying protectively over the still-flat surface. Seven weeks. A tiny life growing inside me that its father would never want. Never know about.
I'm sorry, baby, I thought, tears burning behind my eyes. I'm so sorry your father is such a fucking coward.
The bed felt too big. Too empty. Too cold.
Don't think about it, I told myself. Don't think about where he is right now. Who he's with. What he's doing.
But I couldn't stop the images. Julian holding Victoria. Stroking her hair. Whispering those gentle words he never said to me.
The hours crawled past. One AM became two. Two became three.
He's never coming back, a bitter voice whispered in my head. Not tonight. Maybe not ever.
---
Dawn broke through the floor-to-ceiling windows, painting the bedroom in shades of gray and rose.
I dragged myself out of bed, my body heavy with exhaustion. The mirror showed the damage—dark circles under my eyes, skin pale as paper, hair a tangled mess.
I looked like a ghost.
The concealer did its job covering the worst of the shadows, and a bit of blush brought some color back to my cheeks. But I couldn't hide the hollow look in my eyes.
Get it together, I told my reflection. You can't fall apart. Not yet.
I pulled on jeans and a cream cashmere sweater, grabbed my coat and bag. Time to get out of this place that had never really been mine.
I was halfway to the bedroom door when I heard it.
The mechanical beep of the keypad. The soft click of the front door opening.
My heart stopped.
Julian?
But no—Julian had keys. He wouldn't need the keypad.
I moved quietly to the bedroom door, cracking it open just enough to peer down the hallway toward the foyer.
The woman standing there wasn't my husband.
Victoria Astor stood in my entryway, her blonde hair perfectly styled despite the early hour, wearing a pale pink Chanel coat. She looked fresh. Rested. Like she'd had the best night's sleep of her life.
While I'd lain awake, alone, wondering if my marriage was finally over.
Victoria turned, and our eyes met across the distance.
Her smile was slow. Predatory.
I stepped out into the hallway, my bare feet silent on the hardwood. "What are you doing here?"
"Elena." Her voice was syrup-sweet, dripping with false concern. "You look terrible. Those dark circles... did you not sleep?"
I didn't answer. Just stood there, my arms crossed over my chest, trying to look stronger than I felt.
"Of course you didn't sleep," Victoria continued, her smile widening. "You were up all night wondering where Julian was. Wondering who he was with." She paused, letting the words sink in like poison. "Julian stayed with me until dawn. Held me while I cried. Such a caring man."
The words hit me like physical blows. My stomach twisted, bile rising in my throat.
All night. He stayed with her all night.
"He was so sweet," she went on, examining her perfectly manicured nails. "Stroking my hair. Telling me everything would be okay. Making me tea. All those little gestures that show someone really cares." Her eyes flicked to mine. "You know what I mean, right? Oh wait—I forgot. He doesn't do those things for you, does he?"
My hands clenched into fists at my sides. "Why are you here, Victoria?"
"Why?" She laughed, light and musical. "Because this is where I belong. Julian and I—we're meant to be together. Everyone knows it." She took a step closer. "You're just... temporary. A mistake he's trying to fix."
"Then why hasn't he divorced me yet?" The words came out before I could stop them.
Victoria's smile flickered. Just for a second.
"I already told him I wanted a divorce," I continued, my voice steadier now. "And you know what? He refused. Your precious Julian is the one who won't let me go."
Her face twisted in anger, and she stammered, "You..."
"How did you get in?" The question came out sharper than I intended.
Victoria blinked, surprised. "What?"
"The front door." I gestured behind her. "There's a keypad. A six-digit code. How did you get in?"
Her smile returned, even more triumphant than before. "Oh, that." She laughed. "Julian gave me the code years ago. Before... well, before all this." She gestured vaguely at me, like I was a mess that needed cleaning up.
My throat tightened. "What's the code?"
"My birthday." Her voice was smug now. "April fifteenth, 1995. 04-15-95. He set it up when we first got engaged. Said he wanted me to always feel welcome in his home."
"He never changed it," Victoria continued, watching my face with obvious satisfaction. "Even after he married you. Even after I left for Paris. The code was always mine. This place was always meant to be mine." She paused. "Just like Julian was always meant to be mine."
Something inside me shattered. The last fragile piece of hope I'd been clinging to.
Three years. Three fucking years, and he never changed the code.
"Poor thing. You really thought you had a chance, didn't you?"
"Get out." My voice was hollow.
"Excuse me?"
"Get out of my home." I stepped forward, my body shaking with suppressed rage. "Now."
Victoria's eyes flashed. "Your home? Honey, this has never been your home. You're just... borrowing it."
"I said get out."
"Or what?" She moved closer, her voice dropping to something vicious. "You'll push me? Attack me? Give Julian another reason to hate you?"
Footsteps echoed in the hallway. Heavy. Measured.
Julian.
Victoria's entire demeanor changed in an instant. Her face crumpled, fresh tears springing to her eyes. She backed away from me—toward the console table near the entrance.
"I didn't mean to upset you," she said loudly, her voice trembling. "I was just trying to talk—"
"Stop it," I said quietly. "Just stop."
But she was already moving. Backing up faster now, her hand reaching out as if to steady herself on the table.
She just kept going, her heel catching—or pretending to catch—on the edge of the Persian rug. Her arms windmilled dramatically.
And then she was falling.
Her body twisted as she went down, and I watched in horror as her temple connected with the sharp corner of the console table. The crack was sickening—flesh and bone meeting polished wood.
She hit the marble floor hard, and blood immediately began pooling beneath her head. Real blood.
Oh my God.
"Victoria!" Julian's voice thundered through the foyer.
I turned to see him standing in the archway, his face white with shock. His eyes went from Victoria's crumpled form to me, standing frozen nearby.
And in that moment, I saw his expression change.
Shock became understanding. Understanding became fury.
He thought I'd pushed her.
"Julian—" I started, my voice shaking. "I didn't—"
But he was already moving, dropping to his knees beside Victoria's bleeding form. "Victoria. Fuck. Can you hear me?"
"Julian..." Her voice was weak, trembling. Her eyes fluttered open, unfocused. "I... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make her angry. I was just trying to leave, and she—"
"Don't talk." His hands were gentle, checking the wound on her head. "Save your strength. I'm calling an ambulance."
He pulled out his phone, already dialing, his other hand pressing against Victoria's wound to slow the bleeding.
And then his eyes found mine.
The hatred there was so pure, so absolute, it felt like a physical force pushing me backward.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" His voice was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that came before an explosion.
"I didn't push her," I managed, my voice barely a whisper. "Julian, please, you have to believe me—"