Chapter 99
Elena's POV
By the time I got back to the manor gates, it was past nine. I realized I didn't have a key to his place.
I hesitated, staring at the door. Caleb was probably still working. The last thing he needed was me interrupting him again. But I couldn't just leave him like that either.
I pressed the doorbell.
The door opened, and my breath caught.
He looked exhausted. There were shadows under his eyes I hadn't noticed this afternoon, and his hair was messed up like he'd been running his hands through it. His tie was loosened, and there was something raw in his expression before he shuttered it away.
"I'm sorry," I said quickly. "I forgot my key."
He stepped back without a word, holding the door open. I slipped inside, clutching the takeout bag like a shield.
"I, um—" I held it out. "I got this from the steakhouse. You haven't eaten, right?"
He took the bag, and for a second, I thought I saw something flicker in his eyes. But then it was gone, replaced by that terrible politeness.
"Thank you."
That was it. Just "thank you," like I was a delivery person. Like we hadn't kissed until we couldn't breathe, hadn't—
I noticed the ashtray on the coffee table. Five, maybe six cigarette butts. Way more than usual. The faint smell of smoke hung in the air, mixing with his cedar scent until it made my chest ache.
I wanted to ask if he was okay, if I'd done something to make him pull away like this. But did I have the right?
"Here." He pulled something from his pocket. A silver key glinted in the low light. "Spare key. Should've given it to you before."
I took it, feeling the cold metal press into my palm.
"I'll just... borrow it for now." The words came out automatically. "Until I find a place—"
Something shifted in his expression. A shadow passed over his eyes, there and gone so fast I almost missed it.
"Right," he said softly. "Of course."
I watched as he turned to head upstairs. At the foot of the stairs, he stopped.
"Are you planning to leave me?"
His voice stopped me cold. Low, rough, like the words had been dragged out of him against his will.
The takeout bag dangled forgotten from one hand. But his eyes—God, his eyes were wounded and desperate in a way that made my heart crack open.
"Caleb—"
"Because that's what it sounds like." He wasn't yelling. Somehow, the quiet intensity was worse. "Today you talked with Lila about moving out. Like you're already halfway out the door."
The pain in his voice hit me like a physical blow. All evening, he'd been cold because he thought I was leaving. Because he'd overheard me tell Lila I couldn't stay here forever, and he'd taken it as rejection.
"I didn't mean it like that."
I didn't think. I just moved.
Crossing the space between us felt like stepping off a cliff. I wrapped my arms around his waist, pressing my face against his chest. He was so much taller than me that I could barely reach, but I held on anyway, listening to his heart hammer against my cheek.
I didn't have words for everything else. For how much it hurt to see him hurting.
He went utterly still. For a terrifying second, I thought he'd push me away.
Then his arms came around me, slow and careful, like I might disappear. One hand slid into my hair, fingers trembling slightly as they tangled in the strands. His other arm tightened around my shoulders, and I felt him exhale, long and shaky.
He pressed his lips to my forehead. A soft, fleeting kiss that felt like a question.
I tilted my head back, opening my eyes to find him watching me. His gaze moved over my face like he was memorizing it.
"I want to stay with you." The words came out clearer than I expected, steady and deliberate. "I want to be here. With you."
His eyes searched mine, that careful blankness from earlier cracking just enough to let confusion show through. "You were talking about moving out," he said, voice low and testing, like he was bracing for the answer to confirm his worst fear.
"I was." I took a breath, willing myself not to look away. "I wanted to prove I could stand on my own two feet. That I wasn't just... jumping from one person's control to another." The admission tasted bitter, exposing the self-doubt I'd been carrying. "I didn't want to be like those people who can't exist without someone else holding them up."
"But that doesn't mean I want to leave you," I added quickly, watching the tension in his jaw. "It just means I needed to know I could choose to stay. That it wasn't because I had nowhere else to go."
Caleb went very still. For several heartbeats, the only sound was the distant hum of the heating system and our breathing. Then something flickered in his eyes.
"I want you to need me," he said finally, his voice rougher than before. "I want you to depend on me, to let me take care of you." His hand came up to cup my cheek, thumb brushing gently across my skin. "But I won't trap you. If you need space, your own place—I'll help you find it. I'll respect whatever you choose."
The contradiction in his words—the raw want versus the forced restraint—made my chest ache. The slight tremor of his fingers against my skin made me realize with startling clarity that he was terrified. Terrified I'd walk away, terrified of repeating whatever patterns had taught him that caring meant losing.
"I'm not going anywhere." My eyes were burning, throat tight. "I'm sorry I didn't see your feelings sooner."
A kiss landed on my forehead.
"Can I stay here?"
He guided me to sit, turning to face me with one leg bent on the cushion between us, his expression serious in a way that made my pulse skip. "My door is always open for you, but not here—we can find somewhere else. We'll look at places, find somewhere that truly belongs to us."
"What's wrong with here?"