Chapter 49 The Exile
The flight to Chicago felt like a dream. Elena sat in her seat, staring at the small screen in front of her without seeing any of the images.
Her mind was still picturing Julian standing there as the plane took off.
When the plane finally descended into O’Hare, the pilot’s voice announcing the landing made her flinch. She was back in his territory.
The second the doors opened, Elena unbuckled her seatbelt and scrambled into the aisle.
She didn't want to wait for anyone. She pushed past passengers, so focused on getting away that she practically sprinted toward the exit.
"Wait! Ma'am! Stop!"
Elena didn't even turn around until a hand caught her shoulder. She flinched, expecting one of Julian’s men to be standing there.
Instead, it was a woman from the flight, breathing hard and holding a small suitcase.
"You forgot your luggage," the woman said, handing her the handle. She looked at Elena with a mixture of pity and curiosity. "Are you really okay? That man back there... he was terrifying."
"I’m fine. Thank you," Elena said, her voice sounding thin. She grabbed the bag and ran.
She rushed through the airport procedures, her eyes darting to every corner, looking for black suits or military uniforms. But thankfully, she didn't see anyone.
She burst through the sliding glass doors into the biting Chicago wind and immediately threw herself into the first yellow taxi she saw.
"Vance Estate, 12b Merland Avenue," she barked at the driver. "And please, hurry."
The drive felt like it took hours. She had to see her father. She had to tell him that Julian was a ghost, a dead man, and that she couldn't stay in that house for one more second.
Her father would understand once he saw the proof that she'd taken from the records office. He had to.
The taxi pulled up to the massive gates of the Vance estate. Elena paid the driver and stepped out, pulling her bag behind her. She walked up to the small side gate where the security men stood.
"Open up," Elena said, her voice shaking. "It's me."
The guard who had worked for her father for five years, didn't move.
He looked at her through the bars with a bored expression. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Thorne. You aren't on the list for today."
Elena blinked, stunned. "The list? I’m Elena. I’m his daughter. I don't need to be on a list to enter my own home. Open the gate, dude."
"I have my orders," the man replied. He didn't look afraid. "You are forbidden from entering the family estate. Orders from Mr. Vance himself."
"Forbidden?" Elena’s voice rose to a scream. "This is preposterous! I am a Vance! You know exactly who I am. I could have all of you fired by tomorrow morning. Let me in right now!"
The guard actually laughed mockingly. "You aren't a Vance anymore, ma'am. You're a Thorne. And your father was very clear. You aren't welcome here until you learn how to be a proper wife."
Elena felt a surge of hopeless fury. She grabbed the iron bars and shook them, her knuckles turning white. "Dad! Dad, let me in!" she shrieked.
She stepped back into the street, looking up at the mansion. She could hear some kind of music thumping from the interior. Suddenly, a door on the second-floor balcony opened.
Elena looked up. It was Alex.
He was wearing a silk shirt, unbuttoned at the top, holding a crystal glass of red wine. A tall blonde woman in a short cocktail dress was draped over his arm, giggling and kissing his neck.
He looked down at Elena like she was a stray dog.
"Alex!" Elena yelled, waving her arms. "Tell them to let me in! They’re saying I’m forbidden! Tell these idiots to open the gate!"
Alex leaned over the railing, a smug smile on his face. He took a slow sip of his wine. "I don't make the rules, Elena. You heard the man. Father’s orders. You’ve caused quite a mess for yourself, haven't you?"
"Alex, please!" she begged, the tears starting to fall again. "I just need to talk to him. Julian is…he’s not who we think he is! I have proof! Just let me in for five minutes!"
Alex didn't even answer. He just chuckled, leaned down to whisper something into the blonde woman’s ear, and turned back inside.
The glass doors shut behind him, cutting off the sound of the music.
Elena stood in the street, alone. She looked down at the gravel, then at the stone wall.
She was done being polite.
She reached down and grabbed a heavy stone from the flowerbed near the gate.
She wound up and hurled it at the nearest window. The stone hit the glass, though it didn't break. She grabbed another one and threw it harder. Then another.
"Let me in! Dad! Let me in!"
The security guards moved toward her, their hands reaching for her shoulders. "That’s enough, ma'am. Move away or we’ll have to restrain you."
"Don't you touch me!" she screamed, swinging her heavy bag at them. "My father will kill you! He’ll kill all of you!"
The front door of the mansion finally swung open and Alex stepped out onto the porch, looking annoyed.
He signaled to the guards. "Let go of her. She’s disturbing the celebration inside and Father doesn't want any distractions."
The guards finally stepped back, the iron gate hummed and began to slide open.
Elena didn't wait. She sprinted past them, dragging her bag up the long driveway. She met Alex at the front door.
"What is happening today?" Elena panted, her face red and puffy. "Why are you all dressed up? Why is there music?"
Alex looked her up and down. He looked disgusted. "You’ll see for yourself. Although, if I were you, I’d have fixed my hair before showing up. You look like a homeless person, Elena."
He turned and walked into the house without waiting for her.
Elena followed him into the living area.
"Father!" she called out hastily. "Father, I’ve had enough! I’m done with Julian! The marriage has to be dissolved today! I have the records, I have—"
She stopped dead in the center of the room.
The living room was full of people. There were at least a dozen men and women, all dressed in formal attire, holding glasses of expensive champagne.
These weren't friends. They were board members, investors, and high-level executives from the Vance Group.
At the center of it all stood Marcus Vance. He was laughing, clinking his glass against another man's.
When he heard Elena’s voice, he turned around. The smile vanished instantly, replaced by a look of pure, unadulterated anger.
Elena stood there, frozen. She looked down at herself. She was wearing the wrinkled, sweat-stained clothes from her run and her flight.
Her face was puffy from crying, her mascara was smeared under her eyes, and her hair was a tangled mess. She looked like a woman who had lost her mind.
The investors all stared at her in shock and disgust, some even stepping away.
"Elena," Marcus said growled. "What are you doing here?!"