Chapter 104
Elena's POV
She was quiet for a long moment.
"I loved him once." Her voice went softer. Sadder. "When we were young, before everything. But after Alex died, after the family pressure, the failures... he changed. Or maybe I just finally saw who he really was."
She stared at our joined hands. "I had my own career. I was good at what I did—better than most. But to him? That didn't matter. He wanted a wife who'd stay home, bear children, reflect well on him. I was supposed to be an accessory."
"Mom..."
"I'm not saying this for pity." She looked at me now, really looked. "I'm saying it so you understand. One wrong choice can derail your entire life. I chose the wrong man. I stayed when I should've run. And I dragged you down with me."
My chest hurt.
"I wasn't a good mother." The admission came out flat. Matter-of-fact. "Other girls clung to their moms. You never did. You were scared of me. Scared I'd yell, or ignore you, or—"
"Stop." I couldn't hear this. Not now.
But she kept going. "Every time I looked at you, I saw Alex. The son I lost. The child I failed. I know that's not fair. You didn't ask to survive when he didn't. But I couldn't..." Her voice cracked. "I couldn't separate you from that grief. So I pushed you away. And I'm sorry."
The tears came harder now. I shook my head, throat too tight to speak.
"I'm sorry," she repeated, and this time she was crying. "You deserved better. You deserved a mother who saw you."
She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, wincing when the motion pulled at her bruises. When she spoke again, her voice had steadied. Turned clinical.
"My life is over. I've made my choices and I'll live with them. But you?" Her grip on my hand tightened. "You still have a chance. That's why I told you to leave. To get out while you can."
"You deserve freedom, Elena. Real freedom. Not a marriage to someone who doesn't love you, doesn't respect you, doesn't even see you. That kind of life will destroy you slowly. I won't let you repeat my mistakes."
Something warm unfurled in my chest. Small. Fragile.
She cares. She actually cares.
---
The warmth didn't last.
"Your father said..." She hesitated. "He said you're with Caleb now. Is that true?"
I froze.
Didn't answer. Couldn't.
But the silence was answer enough.
She sighed. Heavy. Resigned. "Elena..."
"He's been kind to me." The defense came out automatic. "He's—"
"I'm not trying to control you." She cut me off gently. "You have every right to choose your own life. But Caleb Vance?" Her eyes searched mine. "Are you sure he's the right choice?"
"What do you mean?"
"Do you really know him?"
The question landed wrong. Off-balance.
"I know enough," I said, but it sounded weak even to me.
My mother's hand remained on mine, her grip tightening slightly. The warmth in her eyes from moments before had cooled into something sharper, more assessing.
"Think about it." She shifted in the hospital bed, wincing slightly. "A man who was imprisoned, abused, locked in that tower—who would want to return to that place?" Her eyes held mine. "And he didn't just come back. He walked straight into Vance Industries. Why?"
My throat felt tight. "He has... work there. Skills they need."
"Elena." Mom's laugh was bitter. "With his abilities? He could have built his own territory in Aetheria. Started fresh where no one knew his past, where he'd never have to see the people who hurt him again." She paused. "So why come back to the one place that destroyed him?"
Cold dread began crawling up my back.
"I've seen this before," Mom continued, her voice taking on a clinical quality that made my skin crawl. "People who've been hurt by their families. Some run and never look back. But others..." She met my eyes. "Others come back for revenge."
"No." The word escaped before I could stop it. "Caleb isn't—"
"A man like that has to be calculating," she said, cutting through my protest. "To survive what he did, to claw his way up from nothing—that takes intelligence. Patience. The ability to hide what you're really thinking." Her fingers tightened on mine. "Do you honestly believe someone who was locked in a silver chamber, who was ignored and degraded, would simply forgive everyone who hurt him? Especially the Vances?"
My face felt bloodless.
Because she was right. The logic was sound. And I'd never asked him why he came back. I'd been too wrapped up in my own problems, too desperate for his warmth and protection.
My mind dragged me back to childhood. To standing behind Damon while he and the others circled Caleb. And I'd done nothing.
No—worse than nothing.
I'd been forced to join in.
The care I gave him later, I thought, bile rising in my throat. That wasn't kindness. That was guilt. Those insignificant scraps of help when it was safe, when no one was watching.
My hands began to tremble.
"Elena." Mom's voice pulled me back. "You need to understand something. Caleb Vance is more dangerous than Damon."
I stared at her.
"Damon is..." She searched for words. "He's a spoiled child. His cruelty is thoughtless, impulsive. He lashes out without thinking." Her expression hardened. "But Caleb is different. His cruelty—if it exists—would be planned. Surgical. Lethal."
"Mom—"
"A man who grew up without love," she continued relentlessly, "do you think he knows how to love? His wolf has never been treated gently. It's only learned defense, aggression, camouflage." She leaned forward slightly, ignoring the pain it clearly caused. "What if everything—the protection, the tenderness—is just another mask?"
My vision blurred. "I... I don't know..."
I thought of Caleb saying having you here is enough. Of the way he'd prepared the guest room with every detail considered. Of the careful distance he maintained even when I could feel his wolf straining against invisible chains.
"Those words," Mom said softly, reading my face. "The things he's said to you. What if they're just tools? Means to an end?"