Chapter 20
Elena's POV
When I looked up, his fingers were white-knuckled around his coffee cup.
"You don't need to apologize," he said finally. His voice was rough. Gentle. "I'm not angry. It wasn't your fault."
The way he said it. Like he'd spent his whole life getting hurt and learned to accept it.
Something in my chest cracked.
The silence stretched. Then he changed the subject. "Though I will say, I didn't expect you to be so... different when you're drunk."
Heat flooded my face. "I don't remember."
Liar. I remembered enough.
"Right." He took a slow sip of coffee. "If you say so."
I grabbed my water glass. "I really need to get back. Exam week's coming up. I shouldn't have been drinking last night."
"Does your head still hurt?"
I touched my temple. "A little. But I'll be fine."
He was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke again, his voice was different. Lower. Almost... worried.
"Your reaction to alcohol was severe. You need to avoid it."
I found myself nodding.
Like it was natural to obey his command.
"Let me take you out to dinner," I said, keeping my voice steady. "To thank you for everything last night."
Caleb's expression didn't change. He was quiet for a long moment, and I could see him thinking. Then he tilted his head slightly, and when he spoke, his tone was almost too casual.
"How about this," he said. "Once a month."
I blinked. "What?"
"You said you wanted to thank me. This is how." He put down his fork. "Unless you'd rather just hand me cash and call it even."
The sarcasm stung, probably because he was right. Throwing money at this felt wrong, like I was trying to keep distance when part of me didn't want distance at all.
"I didn't mean it like that," I said quietly.
"Then what did you mean?"
I looked up at him, trying to read his expression. There was something there, hidden behind his cold mask. Like he expected I wouldn't refuse him.
"Fine," I heard myself say. "Once a month. But I decide when."
Something in his face shifted. Not quite a smile, but close. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly.
"Deal."
Then he paused, and his voice dropped lower. "Though if you really want to just give me money, you should know I still have the cold wallet you gave me. Haven't touched it."
My heart stopped.
The wallet.
I'd forgotten about that, pushed it so far back in my memory. Six years ago, when he was eighteen and being shipped off to Aetheria for university, I'd seen him at the Blackwood gates with a single bag and nothing else. I'd gone home, emptied my savings account, loaded everything onto a cold wallet, and slipped it into his luggage when no one was looking.
"You knew?" My voice came out strangled. "You knew it was me?"
"Your scent was all over it." He said it matter-of-factly, like it was obvious.
My face burned. I'd thought I was being clever, thought I was helping anonymously. Clearly he'd figured it out quickly.
I'd given him that money because I couldn't stand the thought of him alone and broke in a foreign country. Because even though I'd been too scared to defend him as a child, I could at least do this one thing to help.
"Caleb—"
"This time it's my turn," he interrupted, his voice firm. "You helped me. I take care of you. We're even."
"Okay," I whispered.
He nodded once, sharp and final, then stood and walked toward the door. "I'll drive you back."
---
The car was silent as we pulled out of the estate. I sat in the passenger seat. The morning was gray and cold, frost still clinging to the edges of the windows.
There was something I needed to ask. Had to know.
"Caleb," I started, my voice too loud in the quiet. "That night. When Damon got in trouble at The Glitch Bar. Did you—" I stopped, tried again. "Did you tell anyone what happened?"
His hands tightened on the wheel, knuckles going white. He didn't look at me.
"No," his voice was flat, cold. "I don't talk to the Vances about anything if I can help it."
I believed him. Immediately, without question. The way he said it, I knew he was telling the truth.
"Okay," I said softly. "I believe you."
Some of the tension bled from his shoulders. "You do?"
"Yes." I looked at him.
Something shifted in his expression. Relief, maybe. Or something deeper. His jaw unclenched.
I turned away, staring out the window as traffic crawled past.
---
We were almost at the school when I saw it.
The midnight blue supercar. Damon's car, unmistakable, parked right where everyone could see it.
My entire body went rigid.
"Stop," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
Caleb's gaze flicked to the car, then back to me. His expression went blank.
"Here?" His voice was ice.
"Yes. Please."
He pulled over, putting the car in park but not turning off the engine. The silence stretched, sharp and jagged.
"Afraid he'll see us?" The question was quiet. Deadly.
"It's not—" I started, but the words died. What could I say? I don't want to deal with his questions? I don't want him to know I stayed at your place?
"It's fine, Elena." His voice was flat now, completely empty. "You don't owe me an explanation."
But the hurt in his eyes said otherwise.
I hesitated, hand frozen on the door. Part of me wanted to stay, to explain. But the other part—the coward part—just wanted to run.
"Thank you," I whispered.
He didn't respond. Just stared straight ahead, his profile carved from stone.
I opened the door and stepped out into the cold morning air.
The door slammed shut. Tires screeched. And then he was gone, the black car disappearing into the morning fog.