Chapter 88
Caleb's POV
The conference room had emptied twenty minutes ago, but Marcus remained motionless at the head of the table. His fingers drummed a slow, deliberate rhythm against the polished wood as he watched me gather the presentation materials. When our eyes met, his expression showed there was more to discuss.
"Sit down," he said.
I lowered myself back into the chair across from him.
Marcus studied me for a long moment, and when he finally spoke, his voice was calm, measured, carrying the weight of absolute authority. "Damon and Elena's engagement will take place next month. The bonding ceremony is set for July."
The words hung in the air between us like a blade suspended over my throat. I didn't move, didn't let my expression shift, though something sharp and vicious twisted deep in my gut.
"I see," I said, keeping my tone neutral, professional, as if we were discussing quarterly projections instead of the systematic dismantling of everything that mattered.
Marcus's eyes narrowed slightly, searching my face. "You don't seem surprised."
"Should I be?" I met his gaze without flinching. "Grandfather set this long ago."
His mouth twitched, something that might have been approval or disappointment. "Indeed." The silence stretched, heavy with unspoken accusations, before he leaned back in his chair and added, almost conversationally, "I trust this won't interfere with your current projects."
The phrasing was deliberate, clinical, and I knew exactly what he was really asking. I also knew that denying it would be pointless—Marcus didn't manage the business by being oblivious to the currents shifting beneath the surface.
"My work for the company will continue as planned," I said evenly, and left it at that.
He stood, straightening his cuffs with practiced precision.
"Good. That's all."
I remained seated as he walked out, listening to the sharp click of shoes against marble fade into silence. Only when I was certain I was alone did I allow my hands to curl into fists against my thighs, nails biting into my palms.
---
I'd been staring at projected earnings for the next quarter, forcing myself to focus on something other than the ticking clock in my head, when it struck—not physical, not quite, but present enough that my hand flew to my ribs as if I could press the ache away.
Accompanied by a surge of instinctive panic that had nothing to do with myself.
I grabbed my phone and dialed before I could think twice about it, my thumb trembling slightly as I pressed call. The line rang once, twice, and when she answered, the sound that came through wasn't a greeting but something broken and small.
---
Elena's POV
I must have dozed off. When I woke, the room was dark. My face still hurt, but it was a background ache now.
My phone buzzed.
I grabbed it, blinking at the too-bright screen.
Caleb.
My throat tightened. I stared at his name, my thumb hovering over the answer button.
The phone kept ringing.
I answered.
"Hello?" My voice cracked. Hoarse from crying.
There was a pause. Then his voice, low and tight with concern: "Elena. Are you okay?"
I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.
All the strength I'd gathered, all the defiance, all the brave words—they crumbled the second I heard his voice.
"Talk to me," his voice gentled in a way that made my eyes burn. "Whatever it is, just tell me."
I took a shaky breath, then another, forcing air past the tightness in my chest until I could speak without sobbing. "I'm okay. I just... I had a fight with my family."
"You're not okay." It wasn't a question. "I can hear it in your voice." He stopped abruptly, and I heard him exhale hard, like he was forcing himself to stay calm. "Is it because they forced you to get engaged to him today?"
"Yes," I said, the words coming easier now. "My father, Marcus, Isabella—they've decided everything. Next month. They're planning the engagement next month, and complete the pack ceremony in July. Nobody asked me if I wanted it. They just decided."
Caleb was quiet for a moment, but I could hear his breathing, carefully controlled.
"Everyone has their reasons," I continued, my voice barely above a whisper. "My father needs the Vance family's backing. Marcus and Isabella value the pact and my abilities. And Damon—" My voice caught. "Damon saw you drop me off yesterday. He told both families. Now they think rushing the engagement will fix everything, that it'll make me forget about you and force Damon and me to settle down. And I..."
I couldn't finish. None of it mattered except the terrible certainty that in four weeks they'd lock me into a bond I didn't want with someone who didn't want me either.
The silence on the other end felt heavy, weighted with everything neither of us was saying. When Caleb finally spoke, his voice was so quiet I had to press the phone harder against my ear to hear him.
"You're afraid," he said, and there was no accusation in it, just a bone-deep exhaustion that matched my own. "Aren't you?"
My heart clenched. The urge to deny it, to pretend I was stronger than I felt, rose up instinctively. But I was so tired of lying, tired of pretending.
"Yes," I whispered.
"I'm afraid if I choose you, everything will fall apart." My voice cracked. "But I'm more afraid of losing you."
I pressed my free hand over my mouth, trying to muffle the sob that wanted to escape. "I want to learn how to be brave, Caleb. I know I'm cowardly, I know I've made so many mistakes and hurt you and hurt myself. I need time. Maybe months, maybe a year. And I know I might mess up, might let you down again, might—"
"Elena." The way he said my name, soft and certain, made me go still. "I'll wait. However long it takes."
The simplicity of it broke something open in my chest. "You mean that."
"I do." There was rustling on his end, like he was moving, and when he spoke again his voice was closer, more intimate. "We should talk in person. Not like this, not over the phone when you're locked in that house. Can you meet me?"
I looked at the door, at the lock I knew wouldn't budge. "I can't get out right now. My father locked me in my room." I tried to laugh but it came out bitter. "But I'll find a way tonight. Can you come get me?"
I heard him draw in a sharp breath, could practically feel the tension radiating through the line. "I can come now."
"No." Panic flared in my chest. "Not now. If they see you, if they think I called you—please. Just wait until midnight."
The silence stretched, and I knew he was warring with himself, every instinct probably screaming at him to come get me immediately. Finally, he exhaled roughly. "Fine. But the second you're ready, you text me."
"I will. I promise."
"Be careful," he said quietly, and beneath the words I heard everything he wasn't saying.
"I will," I said again.