Chapter 66

Chapter 66
Lila

It wasn't gentle or tentative. His mouth claimed mine with a possessive intensity that sent heat flooding through my body despite the clinical setting and my injuries. His hand tightened in my hair, angling my head to deepen the kiss, and I responded without thinking, my fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer.

When he finally pulled back, we were both breathing hard. He pressed his forehead against mine for a moment, his thumb stroking along my jaw in a gesture so tender it made my chest ache.

Then he turned to face Leo, and the tenderness evaporated into something cold and absolute.

"Still think she's lying?" His voice was quiet, dangerous. "Still think this is some elaborate game to hurt your feelings?" He paused, letting the question hang in the air. "My wife doesn't need to invent excuses to reject you, Whitmore. The truth is damning enough on its own."

Leo had gone completely white, his earlier bravado crumbling as the reality of what he'd just witnessed sank in. His mouth opened and closed several times, searching for words that wouldn't come. When he finally found his voice, it came out broken and hollow.

"You—you really—" He couldn't finish, couldn't force out the words that would make it real.

"Yes," I said softly. "I really did. Two months ago, at the courthouse, with a marriage certificate and witnesses and everything that makes it legal and binding. I'm his wife, Leo. Not your girlfriend, not your mistress, not your anything. His wife."

Something in Leo's expression shattered completely. His shoulders sagged, his head dropped forward, and when he looked up again there was nothing left but defeat.

"So that's it," he said flatly. "You're really done with me."

"I was done with you the moment you chose Victoria," I said. "Everything since has just been me catching up to a truth you already knew."

He stood there swaying slightly, and I held my breath waiting for some final explosion. But when he finally moved, it was only to turn toward the door with slow, mechanical movements.

"I hope you'll be happy," he said without looking back, his voice defeated and broken. "I hope he gives you everything I couldn't."

And then he was gone, leaving behind only echoes and the lingering scent of cologne mixed with blood.

The silence that settled felt heavy with finality. I stared at the door, trying to summon triumph or relief, but all I felt was empty and wrung out.

"Are you all right?" Elias's voice was gentle now, his fingers lacing through mine.

I wanted to say yes, but we'd promised honesty. "No," I said, voice cracking. "I'm not all right. I'm hurt and exhausted and I just watched someone I used to love completely fall apart, and even though I know it's not my fault, I can't help but feel—"

He pulled me into his arms, careful of my injuries but firm enough that I could feel his heartbeat, his warmth surrounding me like a shield. His hand cradled the back of my head, and I finally let myself break down, great shuddering sobs that left me gasping.

"You're not responsible for his choices," Elias murmured into my hair. "You're not responsible for his pain or his inability to be the man you deserved. All you did was choose yourself. That's not cruelty. That's survival."

I breathed in his familiar scent, feeling his steady heartbeat, and made a conscious choice to try—to believe I deserved this, to accept that my happiness mattered, to build something real with this man who loved me anyway.

"Take me home," I said, and the word felt right because home was wherever Elias was, wherever I could stop pretending and just exist as myself.

"Always," he said, and there was a promise in that single word. "I'll always take you home."

---

Morning light cut sharp angles across the bedroom when I woke to the smell of coffee and the quiet rustle of fabric. Elias stood by the bed already dressed for work, charcoal suit perfectly tailored, arranging pill bottles and a breakfast tray with the methodical precision of someone who'd been planning this for hours.

"Good morning," he said, setting the tray across my lap. "Pain medication first, then food."

I accepted the pills he handed me, watching him arrange everything within reach—water, phone, magazines. The careful attention should have been comforting, but something in the set of his shoulders made my stomach tighten.

"You're going in early," I observed.

"I have things to handle." His tone was too casual, and when he sat on the edge of the bed to adjust my pillows, I caught his wrist.

"What kind of things?"

He went still, and the look he gave me was cold in a way I'd never seen directed at me. "I'm making sure they understand what happens when they hurt you."

My chest constricted. "Elias, please—can't we just let it go? I don't want this to become a bigger thing—"

"Let it go?" He carefully lifted the blanket from my injured leg, exposing the swollen, purple-black ankle. "This is what 'letting it go' looks like. They hurt you deliberately, Lila. Stood over you while you were down and made sure you knew exactly how worthless they thought you were."

Tears pricked my eyes. "I'm scared people will say I'm hiding behind you. That I can't fight my own battles."

His hands framed my face, forcing me to meet his gaze. "You've already proven you can stand alone. But this?" He gestured at my ankle. "This isn't a battle you should have to fight. If I do nothing, I'm telling everyone it's acceptable to hurt you. What happens next time? What happens when it's worse?"

The logic was sound, but the thought of him unleashing his power on my behalf still made me uncomfortable. "Just promise you won't do anything you'll regret."

Something flickered in his expression—surprise, maybe gratitude. He kissed my forehead, lingering. "I promise. This isn't revenge. It's boundaries."

He left before I could argue further, and I sat staring at my injured ankle, wondering what "boundaries" meant to a man like Elias Voss.