Chapter 96
Elena's POV
I stared at Ethan across the table, his proposal still hanging in the air between us.
Fake girlfriend.
The words felt absurd. Like something out of a bad romantic comedy I'd never watch.
But there was something almost... safe about it. A role to play. A script to follow. No messy feelings. No expectations.
"I know it sounds crazy," Ethan said quickly, misreading my silence. "You don't have to answer now. Take some time to think about it."
His kindness made my chest tight.
Here he was, offering me an out. A way to breathe. And all I could think was how much I didn't deserve it.
You're broken. Damaged. A disaster.
"Ethan, I—" I started, then stopped.
What was I supposed to say? That I'd already used up my lifetime quota of pretending? That the last time I'd played a role in someone's life, it had ended with a dead baby and divorce papers?
But when I looked at him—really looked—I saw something familiar in his eyes.
Loneliness.
The same kind I'd been drowning in for months.
"I'm sorry," I said quietly. "I just... I don't want to feel like I'm using you."
"You're not." He leaned forward, earnest. "If anything, I'm the one asking for a favor. My family's driving me insane, Elena. I need this."
I thought about Mom's words from last night. You don't have to earn love.
Maybe I didn't have to earn this either. Maybe I could just... accept it.
"Okay," I heard myself say.
Ethan's eyes widened. "Okay?"
"Yeah." I shrugged, trying to sound casual even though my heart was pounding. "I mean, it's just pretend, right? How hard can it be?"
The smile that broke across his face was blinding.
"Really? You'll do it?"
"Don't make me regret it." I tried to smile back, but it felt shaky.
"You won't. I promise." He reached across the table, squeezing my hand briefly. "Thank you, Elena. Seriously."
For a split second, something flickered in his expression. Something I couldn't quite name.
Was that... Calculation?
But it was gone so fast I must have imagined it.
"So," Ethan said, settling back in his chair. "We should probably get our story straight. How we 'got together,' all that."
"Right. The story." I picked at my napkin. "What do we tell people?"
"We reconnected after you moved to Florida." He was already working it out, his professor brain kicking in. "Realized we'd always had feelings for each other. Decided to give it a shot."
Feelings.
The word made my stomach twist.
"Sounds simple enough," I managed.
"And believable." Ethan smiled. "My family already knows we were close in college. They won't question it."
I nodded, trying to ignore the voice in my head screaming that this was a terrible idea.
"There's just one thing," Ethan said slowly.
Of course there was.
"What?"
"I'd like to meet your mom."
I froze.
"Your family will probably ask about her," he continued. "It would look weird if I've never met her, especially since you're staying with her."
He was right. It made sense.
But the thought of bringing Ethan into that house—into the reality of Mom's illness, the medications, the exhaustion—made me want to bolt.
He'll see. He'll know she's dying. He'll pity you even more.
"I don't know..." I started.
"Just for a quick visit," Ethan said gently. "I don't want to intrude. But my mom needs to believe I'm part of your life."
---
Julian's POV
The bourbon burned going down, but I poured another glass anyway.
It had been eight days since Elena left.
Eight days of staring at my phone. Eight days of typing messages I never sent. Eight days of knowing exactly where she was and doing nothing about it.
Flight 2847 to Miami. Arrived 6:47 PM.
Adrian had sent me the information within an hour of her departure. I'd asked him to track her movements, make sure she was safe.
Liar. You just wanted to know where she was. So you could go get her back.
I swirled the bourbon, watching it catch the light.
One phone call. One private jet. Three hours, and I could be standing on her mother's doorstep.
I could apologize. Beg. Promise to do better.
She'd slam the door in your face.
Probably.
And she'd have every right to.
I thought of the last time I'd seen her face—pale, hollow-eyed, those bandages wrapped around her wrists like accusations.
"I want you to leave."
"Let me go."
"You killed our son."
I downed the bourbon, poured another.
The office door opened without warning.
"Julian, darling."
Victoria's voice slid across the room like silk over glass.
I didn't turn around.
"What do you want, Victoria?"
She closed the door behind her with a soft click. I heard her heels on the hardwood, smelled her perfume—jasmine and something cloying—as she approached.
"I wanted to see how you were doing." Her hand landed on my shoulder. "You've seemed so... distant lately."
I shrugged her off, finally turning to face her.
She looked perfect, as always. Lavender dress, hair swept up, that practiced expression of concern on her flawless face.
"I'm fine," I said curtly.
"Are you?" She perched on the edge of my desk, crossing her legs. "Because you look terrible. When was the last time you slept?"
"That's none of your concern."
"Of course it is." She reached for my hand. I pulled it away. "I care about you, Julian. I always have."
Something about her tone set my teeth on edge.
I remembered the way she'd looked at Elena. The barely concealed contempt. The whispered comments she thought I didn't hear.
"That little gold-digger."
"She's not one of us."
"She'll ruin you."
And later, after the attack, after Catherine's arrest—
"I told you she was trouble."
"Maybe it's for the best. That baby would have complicated everything."
I set down my glass with a sharp click.
"Victoria. I need to ask you something."
"Anything." Her smile was warm, inviting.
"The people who attacked Elena. Who made her lose the baby." My voice came out cold, controlled. "Did you have anything to do with it?"
Her eyes widened, shock painting her features.
"Julian! How could you even—"
"Answer the question."
"No! God, no." She stood, hurt radiating from every line of her body. "I would never—Julian, I know we had our differences, but I would never do something like that."
I watched her carefully, looking for tells. The flutter of her eyelids. The set of her mouth.
"You've never liked her," I said flatly.
"That doesn't mean I'd—" Victoria's voice broke. "Julian, I wanted you two to work out. I knew how much she meant to you, even if you couldn't admit it."
Really?
"After I came back, I tried to be her friend." Victoria's eyes glistened with tears. "I wanted to make peace. For your sake."
"Really." I couldn't keep the skepticism out of my voice.
"Yes." She stepped closer. "I know I was jealous. I know I handled it badly. But I never wanted her hurt. And I certainly never wanted..." She trailed off, pressing a hand to her mouth. "That poor baby."
Poor baby.
The words cut through me like a blade.
Our son. The child I never got to meet. The pregnancy I questioned. The future I destroyed.
"Victoria—"
"I'm so sorry, Julian." Her hand found my arm. "I can't imagine what you're going through."
Suddenly her breathing changed. Shallow, rapid. Her face went pale.
Oh, fuck. Not this again.
"Victoria?"
"I just—" She swayed slightly. "I need to sit down."
I guided her to the chair, recognizing the signs.
Another episode.
"Is it your medication?" I asked, already reaching for her purse. "Did you take it today?"
"I forgot." Her voice was barely a whisper. "I've been so stressed, I keep forgetting..."
Of course you did.
I found her pill bottle, shook out two tablets, grabbed her some water.
"Here."
She took them with shaking hands, eyes closed, breathing through her nose.
We sat in silence while she "recovered."
This is bullshit, a voice whispered in my head. She's fine. She's playing you.
But I'd seen the medical reports. The depression diagnosis. The medication.
Or had I?
"I should go," Victoria said finally, standing carefully. "I don't want to be a burden."
"You're not—"
"Julian." She turned to face me, eyes clear now. Too clear. "I know you loved her. Maybe still do. And I know... I know I can't compete with that."
"You should go," I agreed quietly.
She nodded and headed out.