Chapter 50
Elara
Julian's fingers tightened around my wrist. Not enough to bruise. Just enough to make it clear I wasn't going anywhere.
He pulled me toward the brick wall beside the door. The rough surface scraped against my shoulder blades as he positioned himself in front of me, one hand still gripping my wrist, the other braced against the wall beside my head.
Trapped.
"Explain," he said, voice low and sharp, "what just happened in there."
I tried to pull my arm free. His grip didn't budge.
"I don't understand what you're—"
"Don't." The word cut through the air like a blade. He leaned closer, eyes boring into mine. "You reinforced the ribbons on that dress. You knew Victoria would try something, so you set a trap and waited for her to walk into it."
I kept my expression carefully confused. "I was just worried about the quality. Tristan gave me those dresses—how was I supposed to know if I could trust them?"
His laugh was cold. "You really expect me to believe that?"
"I don't know what you want me to—"
"I've been watching you, Elara." His other hand came up, palm flat against the wall on my opposite side, caging me completely. "Every move you've made these past few weeks. You stopped chasing me. Started calculating instead. Even learned how to lie without blinking."
My pulse hammered against my ribs. The alley felt too small, the air too thin.
"So I'm going to ask you one last time." His face was inches from mine now, close enough that I could see the flecks in his irises. "Did you deliberately set up Victoria?"
The lie sat on my tongue, ready. No. Of course not. I would never—
But I was so tired of lying.
I took a breath. Met his eyes.
"Yes."
His pupils contracted. The fingers braced against the wall curled into a fist. But he didn't interrupt.
"Tristan's 'apology dinner' was a setup from the start," I said, voice steady now. "They prepared three dresses—all sabotaged. The black one had loose ribbons. The blue had faulty clasps. The red had been re-sewn at the seams. No matter which one I picked, I was supposed to fall apart in front of everyone."
I paused, watching his face. No reaction. Just that terrible, assessing stare.
"I checked every dress. Chose the most obvious trap. Then I reinforced it." My voice dropped. "I knew Victoria would make a move. Because..."
"Because what?"
"Because she's done it before." The words tasted like ash. "Last year. Thanksgiving dinner at Blackwood. Someone tampered with my dress—loosened the back seam. When I walked down the staircase, it split open. Everyone laughed. I stood there for five minutes, not knowing whether to go up or down."
Julian's jaw tightened. "Why didn't you tell anyone?"
The question was so absurd I almost laughed.
"Tell who? You?" I tilted my head, something bitter rising in my chest. "Would you have believed it was Victoria? Or would you have told me to 'understand' her, that she was just joking? Tell Mr. Vane? He'd say I was being dramatic, that I shouldn't cause trouble for the family."
My voice rose despite myself. "So this time I got smart! I protected myself!"
"Elara—"
"You know what the worst part was?" The words burst out before I could stop them. "Tonight, walking into that room, knowing everyone was waiting to watch me humiliate myself. My hands were shaking so hard I almost stabbed myself with the needle while I was reinforcing those ribbons. I didn't know if my plan would work. I didn't know what would happen if it failed."
My eyes burned. I blinked hard, refusing to let the tears fall.
"And you." My voice cracked. "The first thing you did when you saw me wasn't ask if I was okay. It wasn't protect me. You interrogated me about whether I'd hurt Victoria."
A tear slipped free. Then another.
"No one helps me, Julian. Mason tried—you had him transferred. Ms. Rivera tried—the board silenced her. My mother?" I laughed bitterly. "She just tells me to apologize. To endure. To not offend the Vanes."
I looked up at him, vision blurred. "Even when I'm just defending myself, you judge me. Question me. So tell me—what am I to you? A tool that's supposed to take abuse forever? A pet that doesn't even have the right to bite back?"
The tears came faster now, hot against my cold cheeks.
"I'm not a saint! I get scared. I get angry. I want to fight back. Is that wrong?" My voice rose to a desperate shout. "Why can Victoria hurt me again and again, but the moment I retaliate, everyone blames me?"
The words echoed off the brick walls. "I just want to survive! As a person, not as your plaything!"
My legs trembled. The world tilted slightly. All the adrenaline, all the fear, all the rage—it drained out of me at once, leaving only exhaustion.
Julian stared at me. Just... stared.
His expression shifted through emotions too fast to track—anger, shock, something that might have been pain. Then his eyes darkened with a resolve I didn't understand.
His hand dropped from the wall. But instead of stepping back, he moved forward. His palm slid to the nape of my neck, fingers threading through my hair.
I froze. The touch was too gentle. Too intimate.
"I'll find out who planned this," he said quietly. Every word was steel wrapped in silk. "Tristan. Victoria. Anyone else involved. I won't let a single one of them walk away."
I stared up at him, confused and wary. "What—"
"You're right." His thumb brushed against the base of my skull, sending an involuntary shiver down my spine. "I should have paid more attention. I didn't."
His eyes locked with mine, dark and unreadable.
"But from now on, anyone who wants to hurt you has to go through me first."
My breath caught. For one moment—one dangerous, foolish moment—something warm bloomed in my chest.
Hope.
Then reality crashed back.
"You're Vane family," he continued, voice hardening. "Only I have the right to discipline you. No one else."
He didn't see me as a person. Not really. Just as property. Something that belonged to him.
"Victoria crossed the line tonight." His grip on my neck tightened fractionally. "She and Tristan will pay for it."
He leaned down, close enough that his breath ghosted across my forehead. "But next time something like this happens, you tell me first. Understood?"
It wasn't a question. It was an order.
I wanted to pull away. To shove him off and run.
But my body wouldn't move.
I managed a small nod.
He held my gaze for another moment, then stepped back. His hand fell away, leaving a cold spot where his fingers had been.
"Come on," he said, turning toward the car. "You need to eat something."
I blinked. "What?"
"You haven't eaten all night." He glanced back at me, expression unreadable. "Let's go."
"I'm not hungry—"
My stomach chose that exact moment to growl. Loud. Unmistakable.
Silence.
Heat flooded my face. I pressed a hand against my abdomen, mortified.
Julian's mouth twitched. Almost—almost—a smile.
"Right," he said dryly. "Not hungry."
"I don't—"
Another growl. Even louder this time.
I wanted to die.
Julian walked back to me and caught my hand. "Walk. Now."
"Where are we—"
"To get food." His tone left no room for argument. "Before you pass out and I have to carry you."
He pulled me toward the car. I stumbled after him, too tired and humiliated to resist.
Atlas opened the door. Julian gestured for me to get in.
I hesitated. "I can just take the subway—"
"Elara." His voice dropped to that dangerous quiet. "Get in the car."
I got in the car.