Chapter 32
Elara
We stood in the hallway outside Victoria's room, his hand still gripping my wrist like a shackle, and the silence stretched between us—thick with things unsaid, accusations unspoken, a chasm that had been there all along but I'd been too blind to see.
"Why can't you just behave?" Julian's voice was low, controlled, but I heard the edge underneath. "Why do you always have to make everything so difficult? For once, couldn't you think about the family? About what's best for everyone?"
Something inside me snapped.
"Behave?" The word tasted like ash in my mouth. "You want me to behave?"
My voice started shaking but I couldn't stop. The words came pouring out like blood from a wound I'd kept pressed shut for too long.
"Victoria hired men to assault me in an alley. She destroyed my father's watch—the only thing I had left of him. She posted lies about me on Instagram and Twitter, turned the entire school against me. Because of her, you threatened Mason until your family forced him to transfer to California, three thousand miles away, just so he couldn't testify about what really happened."
Julian's jaw tightened but he said nothing.
"And you." I looked up at him and my eyes were burning. "You knew Mason saved me. You knew he was the only witness. But you still called me a troublemaker. A seductress. You looked at me like I was trash."
"Elara—"
"What did I do wrong?" My voice cracked and I hated myself for it, hated the tears that were gathering despite everything. "What did I do to deserve this? I just wanted to live. I just wanted to survive in this house without being destroyed."
He was quiet for a long moment, his expression unreadable in that way he'd perfected—the Wall Street mask, the Vane family armor.
Then he spoke, and his words were like ice water over an open wound.
"Whatever happened, you shouldn't have touched Sloane. She's going to be my wife. You need to respect her position."
The floor tilted beneath my feet.
The tears I'd been fighting spilled over and I couldn't stop them, couldn't breathe past the tightness in my chest.
This was it. The final proof.
I'd been a fool to hope. A fool to think that somewhere beneath the coldness, there might be a shred of fairness. Of humanity.
I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand, forcing myself to breathe, to stand upright, to meet his gaze.
And something in me went very still. Very calm.
"You're right." My voice came out flat, mechanical. "I'm sorry, Julian. You're absolutely right."
He frowned, suspicion flickering across his face.
"I shouldn't have hit them," I continued in that same dead tone. "It was wrong of me. I was jealous of Sloane. I was thinking dirty thoughts. I was shameless and inappropriate. I don't deserve to live in Vane's estate."
"What are you—"
"I tried to seduce you." The words felt like stones in my mouth but I kept going. "I harassed Sloane. I deserved to be taught a lesson. I deserved everything that happened."
"Stop it." His eyes narrowed. "Stop playing the victim. Victoria and Sloane are the ones who got hurt today."
"Am I?" I tilted my head, studying him. "Playing the victim?"
"Obviously."
"Because if I don't fight back, I'll be destroyed." My voice gained strength, sharpened. "The entire school already thinks I'm a whore who threw herself at her foster brother. Social media is calling me names I won't repeat. If I don't defend myself, I'll be buried alive in rumors and lies and nobody will ever believe another word I say."
He opened his mouth but I cut him off.
"This is what you want, isn't it? Me, silent and broken and grateful. Me, accepting whatever your family does because I should be thankful for the scraps."
"That's not—"
"Fine." I stepped back, pulling my wrist from his grip. "If you want me to apologize, I'll apologize. If you want me to get on my knees, I'll kneel. Whatever you want."
I took a breath, and the next words came out clear and cold and final.
"But after this, I'm done. I'm moving out. We'll have nothing to do with each other. No more family dinners. No more pretending. You go your way, I go mine. Strangers."
His face went blank with shock.
"You don't get to decide that."
"Watch me."
I turned and walked away, my spine straight, my footsteps steady even though my hands were trembling.
Behind me, Julian's voice followed like a curse.
"Don't think you can run. Not until I've finished investigating what really happened. You stay where I can see you."
I didn't answer. Didn't look back.
---
I made it halfway down the corridor before a figure stepped into my path, blocking the turn toward my room.
Tristan leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, his St. Valerius uniform still crisp and perfect, his tie knotted just so. He'd clearly just returned from school—probably came straight here when he heard about the "incident."
"Elara." His voice was smooth, almost kind. "I heard you had quite the day. Very brave of you."
I stopped, my muscles tensing.
"Fighting with Victoria and Sloane?" He pushed his gold-rimmed glasses up his nose, and his smile was all wrong—too sharp at the edges. "Have you forgotten who you are? You're a charity case. A stray we took in out of pity. Without this family, you and your mother would be on the streets."
He straightened, taking a step closer, and his tone shifted to something softer, more dangerous.
"I know you're stressed. College applications, portfolio reviews, all that pressure. But that doesn't give you the right to lash out at family. You should be grateful. You should know your place."
I raised my eyes to meet his, and I didn't look away. Didn't flinch.
"Enough, Tristan." My voice was flat and cold. "Stop pretending."
His smile faltered. "Excuse me?"
"You're not worried about me. You're not protecting the family." I took a step forward and he actually backed up slightly. "You're just scared I'll ruin things for Sloane. Your precious, untouchable Sloane."
His face went white. "What are you talking about?"
"You're in love with her." The words came out clinical, factual. "Have been for years. You jump every time she calls. You show up first whenever she visits. Last Christmas, you drove two hours to take her home when Julian was out of town."
"That was—that was just—"
"Just what? Coincidence?" I laughed, and it was bitter. "You think I haven't noticed? How you orbit around her like a sad little moon? How you've spent years doing her dirty work, hoping she'll finally see you?"
"Shut up." His voice shook. "You don't know anything."
"You order white roses every year, one week before her birthday. Never sign your name." I watched his face crumble with each word. "Your office has a drawer full of her magazine covers. Her interviews. That pathetic letter you typed but never sent—'Dear Sloane, if you could see me...'"
"Shut up!"
His hand cracked across my face so hard my vision went white.
I tasted blood, felt my cheek burning, but I didn't touch it. Didn't give him the satisfaction.
Instead, I smiled. Cold and sharp and cruel.
"What did all that devotion get you, Tristan? A thank you? A smile?" I leaned in, my voice dropping to a whisper. "Or will you just stand beside Julian at the wedding? Watch them cut the cake, toast their happiness, and then be Uncle Tristan to their children?"
Something broke in his eyes.
He lunged forward with a roar, his hands closing around my throat, and suddenly I couldn't breathe—couldn't scream—
He slammed me against the wall and my head cracked against stone. His fingers dug into my windpipe and his face was twisted with rage, unrecognizable.
"You know nothing!" Spit flew from his mouth. "If you say one word about this to anyone—if you breathe a fucking syllable—I'll destroy you and your whore mother both! I'll make sure you never work again! Never go to college! I'll ruin you!"