Chapter 87
Elena's POV
The living room fell into a silence so complete I could hear my own heartbeat pounding in my ears. I watched my father's face, watched the color drain from it, watched his mouth open and close like he'd forgotten how to form words.
"What did you just say?" His voice was barely above a whisper.
I forced myself to meet his eyes. "I like Caleb. I choose him."
"That's—" Donald's face flushed red. "That's not funny, Elena."
"I'm not joking."
He laughed, sharp and bitter. "You're lying. You're just saying this because you don't want to marry Damon. You think if you make up some ridiculous story about the bastard—"
"It's not a story." My voice came out steadier than I expected. "And I'm not lying."
His eyes narrowed. "You don't even know him."
"I do know him." I took a breath, feeling something crack open inside my chest. "I've been confused. Scared. I didn't understand what I was feeling or why everything felt wrong. But I'm not confused anymore."
Saying it out loud felt like stepping off a cliff. Terrifying and freeing all at once.
I like Caleb. I want to be with Caleb. And that's not something I need to be ashamed of.
Donald's shock was morphing into something darker. "You have no idea what you're talking about."
"I know exactly what I'm talking about." I kept my voice level. "Yesterday when I left, it was to see him."
The air in the room shifted. Donald went very still.
"And before that—" I forced myself to keep going. "He's helped me before. More than once. He's been kind to me when no one else was."
"Kind?" Donald's voice rose. "Do you have any idea what you're saying? What this means?"
"I know what it means."
"No, you don't!" He slammed his hand on the armrest. "You'll lose everything! The family, your position, your future—"
"Maybe I don't want that future." The words came out before I could stop them.
Donald stared at me like I'd slapped him. "You're out of your mind."
"He likes me too," I said quietly. "We're not... we're not impossible."
"Likes you?" Donald's laugh was cruel. "Elena, wake up. He's using you. He's always hated this family, hated Damon. You think he cares about you?"
"Yes." My voice didn't waver. "I do."
"You have a marriage pact with Damon. And now you're sneaking around with Vance's bastard? What do you think people will say?"
The old Elena would have flinched. Would have apologized. Would have shrunk back into herself.
But I was so tired of being that girl.
"I used to care too much about what other people thought," I said. "That's why I ended up like this. Always trying to be perfect, always trying not to cause problems." I met his eyes. "I thought there was something wrong with me. That I was defective because I couldn't shift, because nothing felt right."
I took a breath. "But Caleb never made me feel that way. He never looked at me like I was broken."
Donald's face went white, then red.
I felt something settle in my chest. Something solid and sure. "I'm done letting other people decide what's good for me. If no one's going to think about what I want, then I'll think about it myself."
For a second, Donald just stared at me. I could see him processing, recalibrating. He'd never heard me talk like this before.
Then his face hardened. "You can't be selfish, Elena. The family is at stake."
"Caleb can help," I said quickly. "He's brilliant with business strategy. He could help Dad's company—"
"Enough!" Donald's roar made me flinch. "I don't want his help! I don't want anything from him!"
"Why not?" I shot back. "Because he's a bastard? Because his bloodline isn't pure? That doesn't make him—"
"You are forbidden from seeing him again." Donald's voice was ice-cold. "Do you understand me?"
I lifted my chin. "I'm going to see him."
His eyes flashed.
We stood there, locked in a stalemate. The air felt electric, dangerous.
"I'm going to live my life for myself."
The slap came so fast I didn't see it coming.
The sound cracked through the room like a gunshot. My head snapped to the side, pain exploding across my cheek.
For a moment, I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. My face was on fire, my vision blurring.
Slowly, I turned back to face him.
Donald was breathing hard, his hand still raised. "I raised you for twenty-one years," he said, voice shaking. "And this is how you repay me?"
I touched my cheek. It was already swelling. But I didn't look away. Didn't let myself cry.
"I'll repay you," I said. My voice was steady, even though my hands were trembling. "But not by sacrificing myself."
His face contorted with rage. The second slap was harder.
This time, I tasted blood. My lip had split, warm copper flooding my mouth. The room tilted, but I stayed on my feet.
I didn't cry. Didn't speak. Just stood there, meeting his eyes.
The front door opened.
"What the hell is going on—" Vivian froze in the doorway, her eyes going wide. "Donald, what did you—"
"This is your fault!" Donald whirled on her. "If Alex had lived, we wouldn't be in this mess! We'd have a son, a real heir, instead of a daughter who won't do her duty—"
"Don't you dare," Vivian's voice cracked. "Don't you dare bring him into this."
"You couldn't even keep him alive!"
"And you can't even save this family without selling our daughter!"
They faced off, both of them shaking with rage. I stood there between them, numb. Listening to them tear each other apart.
This isn't about me at all, I realized. It never was. I'm just the scapegoat for all their failures.
The fight escalated, voices rising. I stopped listening to the words. They didn't matter anymore.
I turned toward the stairs.
Up the stairs, down the hall, into my room.
I grabbed my bag. Started throwing things into it. Clothes. Toiletries. My phone charger.
I'm going to him. Right now. I'm going to Caleb and I'm never coming back.
Footsteps thundered behind me.
Donald's hand closed around my arm like a vice. "You're not going anywhere."
"Let go—"
He dragged me backward. I fought, twisting, trying to break free, but his grip was iron.
He shoved me into the room. I stumbled, nearly fell.
The door slammed shut. I heard the lock click.
"You're staying here until you come to your senses!" His voice was muffled through the wood. "When you're ready to stop this nonsense, you can come out!"
I ran to the door, pounding on it. "Let me out! You can't do this!"
No answer. Just his footsteps retreating down the hall.
Downstairs, the argument continued. My mother's voice, sharp and desperate. My father's, angry and broken.
I slid down to the floor, my back against the door. My face throbbed. My hands ached from hitting the wood.
Slowly, I crawled to the bed. Sat on the edge. Touched my swollen cheek, my split lip.
The pain was dull. Distant. Like it was happening to someone else.
The tears came then. Silent. Unstoppable.
I pulled my knees to my chest and let them fall.