Chapter 5 Six

The rain starts just after midnight. Hammering the roof.

Thunder strikes above the vineyard, shaking the windows in their frames.

I move around the living room barefoot. My fingers shake as I look at the photo Alex left behind.

Who were you trying to protect?

I lay on the couch, my heart pounding, I pressed the photo to my chest.

The answer is simple.

John.

But the explanation is anything but.

He was mine. He is mine.

And for four years, I told myself I was doing the right thing by keeping him hidden.

I didn't want him growing up in Alex's cold empire. I didn't want him to become a pawn in the same game that nearly broke me.

But now that Alex is asking questions...

I don't know how much longer I can lie.

A knock.

I jump, startled. It's after 1:00 AM. The storm hasn't stopped.

I move to the door, my heart beating, and pull it open.

Alex.

Soaked through. No umbrella. The buttons on his white shirt are undone, like he left in a rush. He looks at me, eyes dark and hard to read.

"Can I come in?"

I step aside.

He walks in like a storm of his own. Doesn't speak. Doesn't sit. Just stands near the window, watching the lightning split the sky.

I wrap my arms around myself.

"You shouldn't be out in this weather."

He doesn't look at me. "I couldn't sleep."

I nod. I couldn't either.

He finally turns, the light catching the tired edges of his face.

"You're hiding something," he says softly.

The words are a blade. Not accusatory. Not even angry.

Just true.

I sit on the couch, tired of pretending.

"You're correct," I say quietly.

Silence.

Then he moves, slow, careful, and sits across from me, his elbows resting on his knees,

His eyes didn't move. They were on me-like they used to be. Intense. Like he's trying to figure out something. I allow him to look for a second.

"Is it about the photo?"

I nod slowly.

His voice drops. "Was it a man?"

My breath hitches. "No."

"A scandal?"

"No."

"Then what?"

I open my mouth-then close it.

"I can't tell you," I say quietly. "Not yet."

His jaw clenches, and he moves.

"You don't trust me."

"I do."

"Then tell me."

"I-" My voice cracks. "Please don't push me. Not tonight."

He steps forward, and for a moment I think he'll yell, demand answers, threaten to revoke the contract.

But instead... he kneels in front of me.

"Elena," he murmurs. "What happened to you after you left?"

Tears from my eyes. I start to look away, but his fingers find my chin, turning my face toward his.

"You came back with shadows," he says. "You flinch when I speak. You hardly sleep. You look like you're carrying something that's disturbing you."

"I am," I say.

He didn't say a word, he just moved towards me and cleaned a tear from my cheek. "Let me carry it with you."

My body aches to tell him the truth. To say the words. We had a child. He's alive. He looks like you when he laughs.

But then I remember the world he lives in. The cruelty. The expectations. The control.

And I can't.

I just can't.

So I lie.

"I was sick," I whisper. "That's what happened after I left."

His face shifts. "Sick?"

"I had no family. No money. I disappeared because I thought I was dying."

He gazes at me, breath caught in his chest.

"Why didn't you call me?"

"Because it was easier to let you hate me than to let you pity me."

The lie hangs between us like smoke.

He takes a long breath. Then another.

And finally, he nods.

"If you ever want to tell me anything," he says, "I'll listen."

"I know."

He stands slowly. Walk to the door.

And just before he leaves, he turns back.

"You were never just a contract to me," he says. "You were home."

Then he left.

Immediately the door closes behind him, and I tumble to the floor.

I cry like I haven't in years. The deep, silent kind that leaves your ribs sore and your soul hollow.

Because he still doesn't know the truth.

And because when he does...

He'll never look at me the same again.