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Elena's POV
I left the Thorne estate without saying goodbye.
The moment the heavy front doors clicked shut behind me, I exhaled like I'd been holding my breath for days. The crisp evening air touched my cheeks, cool against the heat of bitterness still simmering inside me.
I got into my car and shut the door. My hands were shaking lightly on the steering wheel, but I refused to cry.
I couldn't.
Not for them.
Not anymore.
Halfway down the driveway, my phone buzzed in the passenger seat. I glanced down.
Damien.
> "I'm sorry about what happened earlier."
"Vivian can be... emotional. My mother's been babying her because of the pregnancy."
"Don't take anything she said to heart. I'll talk to her."
Each line landed like cold steel across my chest. I read them in silence.
He wasn't upset with her. Not even surprised. He was explaining her behavior. Justifying it.
And not once-not once-did he ask how I was.
I stared at the screen, then typed with numb fingers:
> "Getting back to work. I have orders to do."
"And for the record, I never want to see her again."
I didn't wait for a reply. I dropped the phone face-down on the seat, shifted into gear, and drove away.
---
Work helped. A little.
Chopping, seasoning, plating-it gave my hands something to do while my thoughts churned restlessly. I moved on autopilot, checking over orders, giving instructions. But every now and then, my mind slipped.
Vivian was pregnant.
So was I.
But no one was spoiling me. No one hovered, asking how I felt, or if I was eating enough. Not even Damien. And I hadn't even told him yet.
And maybe... I wouldn't.
By sundown, I was finishing off the final dinner rush, standing at the pass when one of the younger cooks, Mira, burst into the kitchen.
"Chef Elena!" she gasped, wide-eyed. "Someone's here to see you!"
I frowned. "Who?"
Her grin spread, teasing. "A very, very handsome man. With a gigantic bouquet of roses. Like, movie-scene gigantic. Everyone's staring."
I wiped my hands on a towel slowly.
I already knew.
I stepped out of the kitchen, heart steadying as I saw him.
Damien.
Tall. Impossibly composed. Holding a bouquet so large it looked enchanted-roses the shade of fresh blood, thick and velvety, no doubt grown in some greenhouse that only nobles had access to. His jaw was tense. His eyebrows furrowed the way they did when he was uncertain.
"Elena," he said softly when he saw me.
The noise around us dulled. It always did when he looked at me like that-like I was the only person in the world who existed.
"I thought you might still be mad," he said, holding out the roses.
"I am," I said. But I took the flowers.
His shoulders eased, slightly.
"I wanted to say sorry. In person. No messages. No shortcuts."
I stayed silent.
"I booked a table," he continued. "Just the two of us. Tomorrow. And... I leased the old cottage."
I blinked. "The one at Pinehill?"
He nodded. "Our first house. After our mating ceremony."
Memories crashed into me-painting walls together, arguing over throw pillows, lighting candles we never finished burning.
"You booked it?"
"I've stocked the fridge. Tidied the place. I just... wanted to take you somewhere without noise. No mother. No Vivian. Just us."
I looked down at the roses in my arms. My throat thickened.
"And Vivian?"
"She won't be there," he said quickly. "It's just for us."
---
The next evening, we drove up the winding hill road together. It wasn't like before. The silence between us wasn't as sharp, but it wasn't soft either. He reached for my hand once. I let him hold it.
When we arrived at the cottage, my breath caught in my throat.
The carved door with our initials-D & E-still stood proudly at the entrance. Vines curled along the stone walls. The garden was a little overgrown but still beautiful.
It looked like a piece of our past that hadn't moved on without us.
I stepped out, clutching the bouquet.
Damien unlocked the door.
But as soon as it opened, something was off.
I froze in the doorway.
There was someone inside.
Not just someone.
Vivian.
She stood in the center of the living room, wrapped in a pale pink robe-the same robe-her hair curled and flowing over her shoulder. She blinked at us like we'd caught her doing something wrong.
"Oh, my Moon," she gasped. "I didn't know you were staying here. I'm... so sorry."
I didn't move. My grip on the roses tightened.
"I didn't mean to intrude," she rushed on. "Damien's mother gave me the address. She said I could stay here a few days. That it'd be good for the baby."
I turned to Damien slowly.
He looked stunned. "I didn't know. I swear I didn't tell her."
Vivian clutched the arm of the couch dramatically. "Please don't be mad. I'll leave if I'm not wanted. I just... the stress, the exhaustion..."
I walked past her and entered the house.
She blinked, clearly expecting a fight. Maybe even hoping for one.
I didn't give it to her.
"You need to go," I said flatly.
Damien hesitated. "She's... pregnant," he said. "Let her stay. Just tonight. We'll figure it out tomorrow."
We.
That word cut deeper than any blade.
I nodded once. "Fine. One night."
---
I didn't sleep that night.
Something about the house felt different. It still looked like ours, but the soul had shifted. The warmth was gone. The air felt... occupied.
I wandered the house in silence.
My favorite tapestry from the solstice market was missing from the wall.
My hand-dipped candles had been replaced with cheap vanilla ones.
The pillows were rearranged. One photo frame on the hallway shelf was cracked.
Even the dishes had changed. My antique teacup set-gone. In its place? Bright floral porcelain.
Vivian's taste.
She hadn't just entered the house.
She had taken it.
I stood there in the living room, clutching my robe tighter. And then I heard her behind me.
"Oh," she said softly, eyeing the roses I'd placed on the table. "He still remembers my favorite flower."
I turned my head.
"They're mine," I said quietly. "He bought them for me."
She tilted her head. "Oh? That's sweet. I just assumed... well, you know how much I love red roses. He used to give them to me every year. Even when I was abroad."
I didn't answer.
I didn't cry.
I just walked away, into the bedroom, and closed the door.
Because some heartbreaks don't break you with noise.
They do it in silence.