Chapter 164
Elena's POV
Three nights later.
I was curled up on the couch in the apartment living room, my laptop balanced on my knees, when my phone buzzed. His name lit up the screen.
I answered immediately. "Hey."
"Hey." His voice came through low. "You busy?"
"Not really. Just... looking at job postings." I hesitated. "Actually, I got an interview."
There was a pause. Then: "Yeah? Where?"
"Fielding Publishing Group." I sat up a little straighter, suddenly eager to share. "They've brought in so many classic literary works. The translation teams they work with—there are people in the industry I've read about for years. It feels kind of surreal."
"That's good." His tone softened. "When's the interview?"
"Next week. I'm trying to prepare, but I don't even have proper interview clothes. I need to get my hair trimmed, maybe buy lipstick—God, I don't know what to do. It feels like I'm going to war or something."
I heard a faint exhale on his end—something close to amusement. It made my chest feel warm.
"You'll be fine," he said quietly.
I twisted the edge of my sweater between my fingers. "I hope so."
For a moment, neither of us spoke. I listened to the sound of his breathing on the other end of the line. It was strange how comforting that was—just knowing he was there.
"My dad's been acting weird lately," I said suddenly.
"Weird how?"
"He's been calling my mom every day. Asking how she's doing, if she needs anything. And today he called me."
"Did you answer?"
"No." I let out a short laugh. "I let it ring. He's probably going crazy."
Caleb's voice turned colder. "If he keeps bothering you, I can have someone deal with it."
I blinked. "Deal with it?"
"Make it stop."
I wasn't sure what that meant exactly, but the edge in his tone told me I probably didn't want to know. I shifted on the couch, pulling my knees up to my chest.
"It's fine," I said carefully. "He needs your help, so he's trying to stay on our good side. He won't do anything stupid."
"He already did," Caleb muttered. "That night you jumped out of the window—"
"I know." My voice came out sharper than I intended. I softened it. "I know. But now he's... behaving. Sort of."
Another pause.
Then Caleb said, "Your family's company. If you want me to help, I will."
I froze.
"Why would you do that?" I asked quietly. "After everything he did to you—"
"I'm not helping him." His tone was firm. "I'm helping you."
My throat tightened.
"He never really looked at me," Caleb continued, voice flat. "When I was a kid and your dad came to visit the manor, he'd walk past me like I wasn't there. We don't have a conflict. He just never saw me in the first place."
I pressed my palm against my chest, trying to ease the ache there.
"I feel like I've never done anything for you," I whispered. "Not really."
Silence.
Then, so quietly I almost didn't hear it: "Don't leave."
I sat up straighter. "What?"
"Stay." His voice dropped lower, rougher. "That's all I need. Just... don't leave. That's already enough."
My eyes stung.
"I told you I wasn't going anywhere," I said, my voice breaking a little. "I meant it."
"I know." He exhaled slowly. "But sometimes I still—"
He stopped himself.
I waited, heart pounding.
"Never mind," he said finally. "Get some sleep. You have an interview to prepare for."
"Okay."
"Elena."
"Yeah?"
"I mean it. Don't leave."
I closed my eyes. "I won't. I promise."
---
After we hung up, I sat there for a long time, staring at my phone.
He'd sounded... scared. Not in an obvious way. Caleb didn't do obvious. But I'd heard it beneath the surface—that tremor of uncertainty, like he was waiting for me to disappear.
I scrolled through my messages and started sending him every comforting emoji I could find. One after another. Maybe it was silly. But I wanted him to know I was still here.
Then I got up and went to my suitcase.
Buried at the bottom was the nightgown Lila had given me a few days ago. I pulled it out, smoothing the fabric between my fingers.
Okay, I thought. This thing is going to have a mission now.
I folded it carefully and set it on top of my dresser.
---
The next afternoon, I went shopping with my mom.
We walked through the downtown mall, weaving between displays of winter coats and holiday decorations. She insisted on helping me pick out interview clothes—a navy blazer, tailored pants, a cream-colored blouse that made me look older than I felt.
"Your father's driving me crazy," she muttered as we browsed through a makeup section. "Calling me every single day. It's exhausting."
I glanced at her. "He's anxious."
"I know." She sighed. "He's finally realized what a stupid thing he did."
We moved toward the register, arms full of clothes and a small bag of cosmetics.
"I was thinking," I said carefully, "maybe Caleb could help. With the company, I mean. If Dad's willing to listen—"
"Let him suffer a little longer," Mom said sharply. Then, softer: "I'm not letting your father use you as a bargaining chip anymore."
I nodded, throat tight.
On the way back to the dorm, I passed a 24-hour vending machine tucked into a side street. The kind that sold adult products.
I stopped.
Looked around.
And then, before I could talk myself out of it, I ducked inside.
My hands were nervous as I made my selection. I shoved the condoms into the bottom of my shopping bag, burying them under the makeup and clothes.
Just in case, I told myself.
---
Downstairs at the apartment building, a man in a suit stepped into my path.
I froze.
"Miss Cross?" He smiled politely. "I'm an assistant to Mr. Marcus Vance. He'd like to speak with you for a moment. Just downstairs in the café—it won't take long."
I frowned. "Why didn't he just call?"
"He thought it would be better to speak in person."
Something about this felt wrong. But out of politeness, I couldn't refuse outright.
"Okay," I said slowly. "Lead the way."
---
The assistant brought me to a private room in the café. He opened the door and stepped aside.
I walked in.
And stopped cold.
Damon.