Chapter 108
Elena's POV
The tenderness in his voice when he talked to me. The way he'd held me when I cried. The kisses that felt like they meant something, like I meant something.
Was any of it real? Or was I just another name he was waiting to cross off?
Every person, he'd said. I remember them all very clearly.
The cold spread from my chest outward until I couldn't feel my fingers, my toes. Until my whole body was frozen.
Behind the door, I heard Hector say something else, but the words didn't register.
I slowly retreated back to the guest room. The moment I closed the door, I lost all strength. I slid down to sit on the floor with my back against the door, curling into myself. Tears streamed down my face.
I pressed my palm against my eyes, trying to push the thoughts away, but they kept coming back like waves.
My phone buzzed again in my hand. I didn't look at it. I couldn't.
Footsteps sounded in the hallway. I froze. Caleb's low murmur, then Hector's familiar drawl.
"Elena's still not back?"
My breath caught. I'd told Caleb I was going out. But here I was, hiding in the guest room like a coward.
I heard Caleb's response, too quiet to make out. Then footsteps approached. Closer. Closer.
My phone rang.
The ringtone cut through the silence like a knife. I grabbed it, fumbling to silence it, but it was too late.
"Wait." Hector's voice carried clearly from the living room. "Her phone's ringing in there. I thought she went out?"
Silence. Heavy and thick.
Then Caleb's footsteps, deliberate and steady, heading straight for the guest room.
I scrambled up, rubbing my eyes hard enough to hurt, trying to manufacture some excuse.
The knock came soft but firm.
"Elena."
I took a breath, then another, forcing my voice to stay level. "Just a second."
I yanked the door open, schooling my face into what I hoped looked like sleepy confusion. "Sorry, I—I must have dozed off. I didn't hear you guys come in."
Caleb stood in the doorway, perfectly still. His eyes swept over my face, lingering on my eyes.
He didn't say anything. He didn't have to.
Behind him, Hector leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, eyebrows raised. "Dozed off, huh? Must've been some nap." His tone was light, teasing, but there was something sharper underneath. "We weren't even being quiet."
"I was really tired," I said quickly.
Hector's grin widened. "Right." He shot Caleb a look I couldn't quite read, then pushed off the wall. "I'm gonna head out. You two take your time."
He disappeared down the hall, leaving me alone with Caleb.
The silence stretched.
"Come down for dinner," Caleb said finally. His voice was calm, even, but his eyes never left mine. "Takeout should be here soon."
I shook my head, stepping back instinctively. "My ankle's still bothering me. I don't really feel like moving."
His jaw tightened. "Let me see it."
"It's fine—"
"Elena." He moved forward, and I took another step back without thinking.
The movement was small. Barely anything.
But he froze.
Something flickered across his face—hurt, maybe, or confusion—before it vanished behind that carefully blank expression he wore so well.
"I'll just rest here," I said, my voice coming out thin and strained. "Really, it's—"
"I'll check it," he said quietly. "Then you can rest."
It wasn't a question.
I stood there, trapped between the bed and the door, as he waited. Finally, I nodded, moving to sit on the edge of the mattress.
Caleb knelt in front of me, his movements careful and controlled. When his fingers wrapped around my ankle, I flinched.
His touch was warm. Too warm. It seeped through my skin, spreading up my leg, and I hated how much I wanted to lean into it.
"The swelling's down," he said, his voice professional, clinical. "But there's still some bruising. Don't walk too much for the next few days."
He looked up, amber eyes meeting mine. "Anything else hurting?"
I shook my head quickly, staring at the wall behind him. Anywhere but his face.
He stood slowly, moving to sit on the bed beside me. Not too close. Careful to leave space between us.
"What happened today?"
The question was gentle.
I bit my lip, my throat tightening. "My mom..." The words stuck. I swallowed hard. "My dad... he hurt her. Because of me. Because I ran away from home."
My voice cracked on the last word.
The tears came before I could stop them. I pressed my hands over my face, trying to hold them back, but they spilled through my fingers anyway.
The bed shifted. I felt Caleb move closer, felt the heat of him beside me.
"Elena."
I couldn't look at him. Couldn't let him see me like this.
"Do you regret it?"
I opened my mouth. Closed it. I didn't know how to answer that.
"I can help your mother leave Donald."
I stared at him, confused.
"I can take on his debts," Caleb continued, his voice maddeningly calm. "All of them. Vivian can be free."
"That's—" My voice came out strangled. "That's tens of millions of dollars. You can't just—"
"I have savings." He said it like we were discussing groceries. "If it's not enough, I can borrow from friends."
Friends. Tens of millions of dollars. Too absurd.
"I can't let you do that," I whispered. "I can't... I can't afford..."
Something flickered in his eyes. Hurt, maybe. It was gone too fast to tell.
He stood. "Let's have dinner first. Come down when you're ready."
Then he was gone, leaving me alone with my spiraling thoughts.
---
I forced myself downstairs eventually. The dining room held just Caleb and me, sitting at opposite ends of the table like strangers.
I pushed food around my plate, unable to taste anything. Every bite felt like swallowing rocks.
Caleb wasn't eating much either. His gaze kept drifting to me, searching for something I couldn't give him.
"I'm tired," I said finally, setting down my fork. "I think I'll just... rest."
He nodded once. "Go ahead."
I escaped to the bathroom, turning the shower as hot as it would go. The water beat down on me, but it couldn't wash away the doubt, the fear, the sick certainty that I'd made a terrible mistake.
I can take on his debts.
Why would he do that? What did he want from me?
When I finally emerged, my hair was still dripping wet.
Caleb was on the couch when I walked past, papers spread across the coffee table. He looked up, frowning.
"You didn't dry your hair."
I touched the wet strands. "I... forgot."
He stood, disappearing into the bathroom. A moment later, he returned with a towel and a hair dryer.
"Sit."
I hesitated. I wanted to keep my distance, but instinct made me sit down.
He moved behind me, his movements careful as he wrapped the towel around my hair. His fingers worked through the wet strands, gentle and methodical.