Chapter 22 CHAPTER 22: Apologies in Designer Packaging
I realized very quickly that Elara wasn’t listening to me anymore.
Not truly. My words were leaving my mouth, forming apologies, reassurances—careful, respectful things—but they weren’t reaching her. I could see it in her eyes. They were fixed somewhere past me, bright and burning, as if she were watching the memory of last night replay against the horizon instead of standing here with me.
“Elara, please,” I tried softly. “You’re misunderstanding what people are saying. No one thinks—” But she moved before I could finish, pacing again, silk whispering violently around her ankles like it shared her agitation.
“They stared,” she said over me, voice tight, brittle.
“Every single one of them.” She didn’t look at me as she spoke—she was speaking to the air, to the ghosts of the dinner table.
“Do you know what it’s like to feel eyes crawling over you? Counting the minutes he hasn’t arrived?” Her laugh came out sharp.
“Thirty-two minutes, Sera. I counted. Thirty-two minutes before Father ended the dinner.” I opened my mouth to respond, but she cut through it without pause. “And the chair stayed empty the entire time.”
“I’m sure there was a reason,” I said gently.
She stopped so abruptly the hem of her grown swung forward.
“A reason,” she repeated slowly, finally turning to me. Her gaze was scorching—not because she expected comfort, but because she rejected it.
“There is no reason sufficient enough to excuse public humiliation.” She stepped closer, and I felt my voice shrink under the force of her presence. “If a man cannot attend the dinner meant to bind our families, then the message is clear.” Her jaw tightened. “I was not worth the effort.”
“You are,” I insisted quickly. “Anyone can see—”
“Stop.” The word cracked like a whip.
I fell silent at once.
She exhaled sharply through her nose, shaking her head as though my reassurance offended her.
“You keep offering me these polished little consolations,” she said, voice low and cutting. “Do you think I want comfort?” Her lip curled faintly. “Comfort is for people who accept their humiliation quietly.” She resumed pacing, faster now, agitation building again. “I don’t want comfort. I want an explanation. I want accountability. I want—” Her voice faltered for half a second before hardening again. “—respect.”
I tried again anyway. “You still have it, Elara. From everyone in this house. From me.”
She laughed—a hollow, humorless sound.
“Respect?” she echoed, finally facing me again. “If I had respect, the staff wouldn’t whisper outside my door. If I had respect, guests wouldn’t leave early to avoid the awkwardness of my embarrassment.” She took another step toward me, eyes narrowing. “And if I had respect, you wouldn’t be standing there choosing your words like stepping around broken glass.”
“I’m careful because I don’t want to hurt you,” I admitted quietly.
For a moment, something flickered across her face—but it wasn’t gratitude. It was irritation.
“Hurt me?” she said, almost offended. “Sera, the damage has already been done.” Her hand lifted, gesturing sharply toward the shattered remains on the balcony floor. “Do you think a few careful words can wound me more than last night did?” She shook her head. “No. What wounds me is being looked at like I’m something fragile now. Something pitiful.”
“I don’t pity you,” I said, more firmly this time.
She stilled—but again, she didn’t truly hear me.
Her gaze drifted past my shoulder, distant again, trapped in her own storm. “He knew what this meant,” she murmured, more to herself than to me. “Our families have discussed this alliance for years. Years.” Her fingers curled slowly at her sides. “And still… he chose absence.” The word came out venomous. “Do you understand what kind of statement that makes?”
I answered anyway, even knowing she wasn’t listening. “It makes a statement about him. Not about you.”
But she was already shaking her head before I finished.
“You’re wrong,” she said flatly. “In our world, a man’s absence is always the woman’s shame.” Her eyes finally snapped back to mine—but they were closed off now, unreachable. “Remember that, Sera. Because I will not forget it.” She turned away from me then, gaze lifting back to the horizon, and the morning light had turned harsh by the time the knock came.
Not the gentle, respectful tap staff usually used—but a quick, uncertain knock, like whoever stood outside wasn’t sure they should be interrupting. I was still standing near the balcony doors, unsure whether to leave when the sound cut through the heavy quiet of the room. Sunlight poured in across the mess—broken vase pieces, water streaks across the hardwood floor, crushed white lilies ground underfoot. Elara hadn’t moved. She stood rigid, arms folded, staring out at the skyline beyond the estate grounds like she could glare last night out of existence.
The knock came again.
Before Elara could snap a response, the door opened just enough for Judy to slip in sideways.
She stopped dead the second she saw the room nd her eyes went wide—flicking from the shattered vase to the overturned chair, to the cigarette burn on the balcony rail, to me standing stiffly near the door. In her hands was a large matte-white garment box tied with a charcoal ribbon, the kind luxury boutiques used. She tightened her grip on it instinctively, like she’d walked into the aftermath of a storm. “G-Good morning, Miss Elara,” she said carefully, voice small.
Elara didn’t turn right away.
She exhaled slowly first, like she was forcing herself not to explode again. Then she glanced over her shoulder, eyes already sharp with irritation at the intrusion. “You’re either very brave or very foolish walking in unannounced this morning, Judy.” Her gaze dropped to the box. “And judging by the size of that thing, you didn’t come to clean.”
Judy swallowed. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I wouldn’t have disturbed you but… this was marked priority delivery.” She stepped forward hesitantly, heels clicking softly on the wood. “It just arrived at the front gate. Security said it was cleared personally.”
Elara turned fully now.
Her eyes locked onto the box instantly—recognition flashing before she could hide it. She walked toward Judy slowly, bare feet silent against the floor, expression tightening with every step. “Cleared… by whom?” she asked, voice cool but edged.
Judy lowered her head slightly. “By Mr. Auren, ma’am.”
The temperature in the room dropped.
I saw Elara’s fingers flex at her sides once before she stilled them. She stopped in front of Judy, staring at the box like it was something offensive. “He sent me… a package.” Not a question. A flat, disbelieving statement. Her brows lifted faintly. “After not showing up last night… he sent a box.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Judy said quickly. “He asked that it be delivered to you personally this morning.”
Elara let out a quiet, humorless laugh.
“Of course he did.” She took the box from Judy—but without gratitude, without care. Her nails pressed into the lid as she turned it, reading the embossed designer logo stamped in silver. “So this is his strategy?” she murmured. “Ghost me at my own engagement dinner… then courier me couture at nine in the morning?” She looked at me briefly, incredulous. “Is this what passes for an apology now? Overnight shipping and expensive fabric?”
Neither of us answered.
She set the box down on the table beside the wreckage of the morning’s destruction, the contrast almost obscene—luxury packaging against broken glass and flower stems. Her hand rested on the lid but didn’t open it yet. Instead, she looked back at Judy. “Did he include a note? Or did he assume the brand label would speak for him?”
“There’s a card inside, ma’am,” Judy said.
Elara smirked faintly—but there was no amusement in it. “How personal.” She tapped the lid once. “Tell me, Judy—what does he think fixes humiliation? A dress tight enough to distract people from the fact he didn’t show? Or something dramatic so I can make a grand entrance next time he decides I’m worth attending for?”
“I… I didn’t look, ma’am.”
“Pity,” Elara said lightly. “I would’ve enjoyed judging his taste before judging his nerve.”
Finally, she flipped the lid open.