Chapter 132
Elena's POV
I stood a few steps behind him, arms wrapped around myself.
The elevator dinged. The doors slid open.
We stepped inside.
"Caleb," I started.
He looked at me.
I moved closer. "You haven't—" I hesitated, my gaze falling on the bruise along his jaw, the faint swelling near his cheekbone. "Does it hurt?"
Without thinking, I reached out, fingers hovering near his face.
He stepped back.
Not violently. Just half a step, just enough to pull the distance between us.
"It's fine," he said quietly. "Doesn't hurt."
My hand hung in the air for a second before I dropped it.
"Oh."
The word came out smaller than I meant it to.
He looked away, jaw tight.
The elevator arrived. The doors opened with a soft chime.
He stepped out, turning to face me as the doors began to close.
"Goodnight, Elena."
"Wait—"
But the elevator doors had already closed.
I stood in the empty elevator, staring at my reflection in the polished metal.
My hand was still raised, fingers curled around nothing.
He pulled away.
Why did he pull away?
My thoughts spun, grasping for explanations. Maybe he was tired. Maybe his face really did hurt and he didn't want me to touch it. Maybe—
Maybe he doesn't want me touching him at all.
The thought hit like ice water.
What if I'm a burden to him?
What if tonight—the scene with my family, the confrontation with Donald, bringing Mom here—what if all of it was too much for him?
The elevator ascended. When it reached my floor, I walked back to the apartment, my slippers shuffling across the floor.
Inside, the living room was still empty. Cold.
I sank onto the sofa, pulling my knees to my chest.
The way he said goodnight was different.
Before, he would linger. Would look at me like he was memorizing my face. Would touch my hand, my wrist, my cheek, like he couldn't help himself.
Tonight, he looked at me like I was something fragile. Something that needed to be handled carefully.
Or maybe something he regretted.
I buried my face in my knees.
I heard Mom's footsteps, soft and deliberate, crossing the floor.
"What's wrong?" she asked. "He just left and you already look like this."
I lifted my head. "Nothing. I'm fine."
She raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "He just walked out the door and you're already like this?"
I didn't answer.
She sighed, set her phone on the coffee table, and sat beside me. "Elena. Talk to me."
I hesitated, then blurted out, "I dragged him into this. The engagement thing. Then Donald hit him. And now we're here."
Mom looked at me for a long moment.
Then she said, "So what is this engagement to you two—a temporary strategy, or are you actually planning to become mates?"
"I care about him. I want to be with him." I paused. "But I'm not sure what he really thinks."
She smiled, tired but genuine. "You're twenty-one, Elena. You have time to make mistakes. To take risks. If you want something—if you want him—then go for it. Don't sit here waiting for someone's permission."
I stared at her.
She reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. "Love isn't something you earn by being perfect. It's something you fight for. Messily. Imperfectly. But you fight for it."
My throat tightened. "Mom..."
"I mean it." Her voice was firm now. "You've spent your whole life trying to be what everyone else wanted. Donald wanted you obedient. Damon wanted you convenient. But what do you want?"
I closed my eyes.
Him.
"I want to be with Caleb," I whispered. "I want to try. " I opened my eyes, vision blurring.
Mom smiled. "Then do it."
---
A few minutes later, Mom stood up and handed me the black card.
"Here. Take it."
I shook my head. "Mom, we shouldn't take this. We can—"
"Elena." Her voice was sharp. "He gave this to you. I only took it to make a point."
"What point?"
"I wanted to see how he'd react." She set the card on the coffee table between us. "Whether he'd hesitate. Whether he'd look reluctant. Whether he'd try to take it back."
"And?"
"He didn't." She crossed her arms. "Didn't even blink. That tells me something."
"What?"
"That for him, this isn't about the money. It's about you."
I stared at the card, chest tight.
"I still can't take it," I said quietly. "It doesn't feel right."
"Why?"
"Because... because it's his. And I don't want him to think I'm with him because of what he can give me."
Mom sighed. "Elena. You know what I see when I look at you right now?"
I shook my head.
"I see a girl who's so afraid of being a burden that she'd rather drown than ask for help." She sat back down beside me. "But here's the thing. If he's offering, it's because he wants to help. If you refuse, all you're doing is telling him you don't trust him."
I flinched.
"Is that what you want?" she pressed. "To push him away because you're scared?"
"No," I whispered. "But I don't know how to—"
"Start small." She picked up the card and pressed it into my hand. "Use this when you need to. Let him take care of you, even just a little. And then, when you're ready, you take care of him too. That's how it works."
I looked down at the card, its weight heavier than it should be.
"Okay," I finally said. "I'll try."
---
Later, I lay in the guest bedroom, staring at the ceiling.
The room was too big. Too empty. Too quiet.
I pulled out my phone, thumb hovering over Caleb's name in my contacts.
What am I even supposed to say?
Thank you? Goodnight? I miss you already?
I started typing.
Are you asleep?