Chapter 83
Elena's POV
Outside the window, snowflakes drifted lazily past the street lamps in slow spirals.
The words from earlier settled into my chest like stones. Like anchors. I pressed my palms together, thumbs circling in that nervous pattern I couldn't seem to break. The engine went quiet after we reached the neighborhood.
I could feel Caleb watching me. His gaze was a weight I couldn't ignore, patient but unyielding, and I knew what he was waiting for. He'd offered me a solution. A way out that didn't require me to crawl back to Damon or let my father orchestrate my life like some kind of puppet master. All I had to do was say yes. All I had to do was let him help.
But that meant my father would know. He'd know I'd gone to Caleb. He'd know I'd chosen him.
"You're still afraid," Caleb said quietly. It wasn't a question. "Afraid your father will find out you've been seeing me."
My breath hitched. I didn't look at him. I couldn't.
"It's not—" I started, but the words crumbled before I could shape them into anything. My fingers twisted tighter. What was I supposed to say? That I wasn't afraid? That I didn't care what Donald thought? We both knew that would be a lie.
Caleb shifted in his seat. I felt the air change, felt his attention sharpen. "I can go to him myself," he said, his voice still low, still steady. "Talk to him about restructuring the business. Offer him options that don't involve selling you off to Damon."
The bluntness of it stung, even though he was right. That's exactly what this was.
"But it doesn't matter what I say to him," Caleb continued, and his tone shifted, just slightly. Colder. "The real question is what you want. Because if you're not ready to stand behind this, if you're going to keep hiding what's between us, then there's no point."
"I..." My voice cracked. I swallowed hard, trying again. "I just need time. To think."
"Fine." The word was clipped. Final. He reached past me, unlocking the door with a soft click. "Think, then."
I hesitated, my hand frozen on the door handle. I wanted to say something, anything to soften the edges of this moment, but the silence between us felt too heavy to break. So I pushed the door open and stepped out into the cold, murmuring a quiet "thank you" that I wasn't even sure he heard.
The car door shut behind me. Then the engine turned over, and he pulled away. I didn't move until his taillights disappeared around the corner.
The walk through the gated neighborhood felt longer than it should have. My mind was a tangled mess, everything closing in.
Then I smelled it.
The sharp, aggressive edge of pheromones flooding the air.
I stopped walking. My heart slammed against my ribs.
Damon stepped out from the shadow of a tree just ahead, his amber eyes catching the lamplight. He wasn't smiling. His hands were shoved deep into the pockets of his coat, his shoulders tense, and the look on his face was something I hadn't seen before. Cold. Calculating.
"Have fun with Caleb?" His voice was light, almost conversational, but the edge underneath it was unmistakable.
I stared at him, my pulse hammering. "Why are you still here?"
"Waiting for you." He took a step closer, and I fought the instinct to back away. "Saw you rush out earlier. I knew something was off."
He closed the distance between us in two long strides, stopping just short of crowding me. His scent was overwhelming now, thick and heavy, pressing against my senses like a physical thing.
"Let me guess—the person you like is actually that bastard, isn't it?" He drew out the words, dripping with sarcasm. "So many normal men out there, and you pick a dirty bastard."
The words hit like a slap. My hands curled into fists at my sides, nails biting into my palms.
"He's not—"
"He is," Damon cut me off, his tone sharp and vicious. "And you're too naive to see it. You think he actually cares about you? He doesn't. He just knows you're engaged to me, and he's getting a kick out of screwing with us both. It's revenge, Elena. That's all this is."
My breath caught. For a split second, doubt flickered through me, cold and insidious.
But then I remembered the way Caleb had looked at me. The way his voice had softened when he told me I didn't have to apologize. The way he'd promised his door would always be open.
"You don't know him," I said quietly, my voice shaking but firm. "You've never known him."
Damon's expression twisted into something ugly. "And you do? Based on what? Jesus, Elena. How long has he been in your head? And you're just eating it all up."
"Stop." The word came out sharper than I intended. "Just stop."
"Why should I?" He stepped closer, his voice rising. "You know why Grandpa's lying in a hospital bed fighting to stay alive?"
I froze.
"It's because of you," Damon said, his words cold and deliberate. "Because you couldn't keep your mouth shut. You told your parents about Scarlett, and it got back to him. He flew into a rage. He shifted and couldn't control it." His voice cracked slightly. "Elena. It's your fault."
No, that wasn't—
"You did this," I said, my voice low and shaking. "You chose Scarlett. You made me lie to your family. And now you're trying to make it my fault?"
Damon's mouth opened, but I didn't let him speak.
"Randy's condition isn't because I told the truth," I continued, my voice rising. "It's because you broke the blood pact. Don't you dare try to put that on me."
His face went white. Then red. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, and for a second, I thought he might actually hit something.
His jaw worked. His eyes were wild, his breathing ragged.
"You'll regret this, Elena. Caleb's a piece of shit. I'm waiting to watch him throw you away."
I said mockingly, "Are you sure you won't regret choosing Scarlett?"
"Let's see who regrets it first!"
Still so childish. I didn't respond. I turned and went inside.