Chapter 38 House of Cards
Elena：POV
"I'm not interested in your games—"
"Oh, but that's exactly what this is, isn't it? A game." She tilted her head, examining me like I was a bug under a microscope. "You think you've won something. You think because Julian's been playing house with you for a few weeks that everything's changed."
My stomach clenched. "I don't know what you're talking about—"
"Please." She laughed, the sound cold and sharp. "Don't insult my intelligence. I know he's been coming home more. I know he's been... attentive." Her eyes glittered with malice. "But do you know why?"
I didn't answer. Couldn't.
"Guilt," she said simply. "Pure, simple guilt. He feels bad about the Morrison incident, about not being there when you needed him. So he's overcompensating. Playing the concerned husband. But it won't last, Elena. It never does."
"You don't know anything about our marriage—"
"Don't I?" She stepped closer, close enough that I could smell her expensive perfume. "Let me tell you what I do know. I know that when you're not around, he still calls me. Still asks how I'm doing. Still tells me he's worried about me."
My heart stuttered. "You're lying."
"Am I?" She reached into her designer clutch and pulled out her phone, swiping through it with practiced ease. Then she turned it to face me.
Text messages. From Julian's number.
Julian: [How are you feeling today? Did you sleep better?]
Julian: [Let me know if you need anything. I'm here.]
Julian: [The doctor said your medication needs adjusting. I'll make sure it's taken care of.]
The timestamps were recent. Within the last week.
While he'd been coming home to me. While he'd been touching me, kissing me, making me believe things were changing.
"See?" Victoria's voice was triumphant. "You think you have him, but you don't. You'll never have him. Because the person he calls when he's worried? The person he checks on every single day? That's me."
I wanted to look away from the phone, but I couldn't. The messages blurred in front of my eyes.
"And here's the best part," Victoria continued, leaning in close enough that her breath tickled my ear. "That bracelet I'm wearing? The one with the emeralds?"
She held up her wrist, showing off a delicate gold bracelet studded with green stones that caught the light.
"Julian's mother gave this to me three years ago," she whispered. "Right before our engagement party. It's a Sterling family heirloom, passed down through generations. She said I was the daughter-in-law she'd always wanted. That I was perfect for her son."
My throat closed up completely.
"You know what she gave you?" Victoria pulled back, her smile vicious. "Nothing. Because to her, you're just temporary. A mistake that will be corrected soon enough."
She tucked her phone back into her clutch, her movements unhurried and confident.
"So by all means, enjoy your little victory lap. Enjoy having him in your bed for a few more weeks. But don't delude yourself into thinking it means anything. Because when it comes down to it, when he has to choose..." She leaned in one more time. "He'll always choose me."
Then she brushed past me, her shoulder deliberately bumping mine as she walked away, her heels clicking against the polished floor.
I stood there frozen, my hand instinctively moving to my stomach, pressing against the slight curve that was just starting to show through my dress.
She's lying. She has to be lying.
But the messages had looked real. The bracelet was clearly authentic. And the way she'd said it all—with such absolute certainty—made my chest ache with doubt.
I forced myself to take a breath. Then another.
Get it together. Walk back out there. Smile. Pretend everything's fine.
I smoothed down my dress, checked my reflection in the decorative mirror on the wall, and made myself walk back toward the dining area.
But I stopped short when I reached the corner.
Through the archway, I could see them.
Victoria had somehow stumbled and Julian had caught her, his hands on her arms to steady her.
And now she was leaning into him, one hand pressed against his chest, her head tilted up toward his face as she said something I couldn't hear.
Around them, I could see other diners glancing over, and I caught snippets of whispered conversation:
"...such a beautiful couple..."
"...they look so good together..."
"...I heard they were engaged before..."
"...she's so elegant, and he's so handsome..."
Victoria was saying something into Julian's ear, her lips close enough to brush against his skin. Whatever it was made him frown, made him lean his head down toward hers to hear her better, bringing their faces even closer together.
And to anyone watching—to all these strangers murmuring about how perfect they looked together—it must have looked like an intimate moment between two people who belonged together. Like a romantic scene from a movie.
My hand tightened on my stomach.
This is what it'll always be like, I thought. Even if he tries. Even if he wants to change. She'll always be there, always be the one people think he should be with. The one his mother wanted. The one who fits into his world so perfectly.
And I'll always be the outsider. The girl who doesn't belong.
Then Julian's eyes lifted, scanning the room, and found me standing there in the archway.
For just a split second, I saw something flash across his face—panic, maybe guilt, I couldn't tell. His body went rigid, and he immediately started to step back from Victoria.
But she clung to him, her fingers digging into his shoulders, her face contorting in what looked like pain.
Julian carefully guided her to the nearest chair, his hands supporting her as she sat down with exaggerated care, favoring one ankle.
Then he straightened and started walking toward me, his expression tight with something I couldn't read.
"Elena—" he started as soon as he was close enough.
"Victoria twisted her ankle," he said quickly, the words tumbling out. "She was walking back and her heel caught on something. I just caught her before she fell. That's all it was."