Chapter 4

Elodie POV:

The next morning, I woke up feeling hollowed out, but clear-headed. I showered, the hot water a temporary comfort, and stepped out of my room. The smell of coffee and freshly made toast hung in the air. It was his signature apology breakfast.

A pair of strong arms wrapped around me from behind, and his chin rested on my shoulder. "Morning, sleepyhead," Barrett murmured, his voice a low rumble against my ear. "Feeling better?"

My entire body went rigid. The familiar, casual intimacy of his touch was now repulsive. It felt like a spider crawling on my skin. I fought the urge to flinch, to shove him away. Not yet. I needed to play my part a little longer.

He either didn't notice my stiffness or chose to ignore it. He nuzzled my neck, his lips warm against my skin. "I'm sorry about yesterday," he said softly. "Things got complicated at the office. I shouldn't have left you."

Silence. I didn't offer the usual absolution. I didn't turn in his arms and kiss him, telling him it was okay. I just stood there, a statue in his embrace. The silence stretched, becoming a tangible thing between us.

Finally, I felt his grip loosen slightly. "Elodie?"

That was my cue.

I gently unwound his arms from my waist and turned to face him. My expression was neutral, my eyes holding his. "What's more important, Barrett?" I asked, my voice calm, almost clinical. "Me, or your work?"

He was visibly taken aback by the directness of the question, by my lack of emotion. The Barrett I knew would have expected tears, accusations. Not this cold, quiet inquiry.

"You, of course," he said, his voice a little too quick, a little too smooth. He reached for me again, a look of placating concern on his handsome face. "El, I'm so sorry. I..."

I watched him, a scientist observing a specimen. The slight flicker in his eyes, the subtle tension in his jaw. He was a masterful liar, but I knew his tells now. I could see the code behind the performance.

He pulled me into another hug, this one more urgent, more desperate. "Please don't be mad at me," he whispered into my hair. "I can't stand it when you're mad at me."

It was pathetic. And it was working on my last nerve.

"I'm hungry," I said, my voice muffled against his chest.

It was the perfect line. An admission of a basic, physical need. It was a step down from the emotional confrontation he was expecting. It was a lifeline.

He pulled back, a relieved smile spreading across his face. He thought he'd been given a reprieve. He thought I was letting him off the hook. "Of course. Come on, I made your favorite."

He led me to our small dining table. There it was: avocado toast with a perfectly poached egg, a side of fresh berries, and a steaming mug of the expensive coffee he liked.

He'd made this for me a hundred times. But as I looked at it, all I could think of was the text I'd seen on his phone. The one to Dallas. I'll make you breakfast in bed tomorrow, I promise.

He hadn't been able to fulfill his promise to her. So, I was getting the leftovers. I was the stand-in, the substitute, even for his apologetic breakfasts. The thought was so absurdly, painfully bitter that I almost laughed.

"How is it?" he asked, watching me with that earnest, focused gaze that used to melt me.

I took a bite. The food tasted like cardboard in my mouth. "It's good," I said.

"Eat more," he urged, pushing the plate closer. "You need to get your strength back."

He watched me eat for a moment, then his expression turned serious. "Elodie, after you've rested up, I think we should go for a full physical. Just to be safe. I know a great clinic. We can get everything checked out, top to bottom."

My fork clattered against the plate. A full physical. She's got a nice pair of kidneys. Perfect match for Dallas. We checked. The conversation from the cigar lounge echoed in my head. He wasn't worried about my health. He was checking on his investment. On his backup plan.

"I don't think that's necessary," I said, pushing my plate away. "It was just exhaustion."

"I insist," he said, his voice soft but with an unyielding edge. "Please, Elodie. For me."

There it was. The gentle, loving coercion. The velvet glove over the iron fist. Arguing would only make him suspicious.

"Fine," I said, my voice tight.

Later that day, my phone rang. It was Anona. "Shopping spree! Now! My treat! You need a break from that lab and from... well, everything."

Normally, I'd say no. But today, it was a perfect excuse. "Okay," I said, a plan forming in my mind. "I'll meet you at the mall in an hour."

It would be my last time seeing her. My last chance to pretend everything was normal before I disappeared from her life forever.

Barrett returned that evening with my medical report. He'd pulled strings to get the results expedited. He sat me down on the sofa, his expression grave.

"Good news," he said, holding up the file. "You're perfectly healthy. Heart, lungs, liver... and two excellent kidneys." He smiled, a triumphant, proprietary smile that made my skin crawl. "I told you we had nothing to worry about."

I just nodded, my stomach churning.

I decided to test the waters. To see how far he would go. "Barrett," I began, my voice carefully casual. "I've been thinking. Maybe this bio-printing research is a dead end. I was considering shifting my focus. Maybe to synthetic blood research."

His hand, which had been resting on my knee, froze. "What? Why?" His voice was sharp. "We're so close with the kidney project."

"I'm not sure it's the right path anymore," I said, watching his face. "And... I'm tired of hiding. When are we going to tell people about us, Barrett? It's been seven years."

His expression shuttered. The warmth vanished, replaced by a cool, calculating look. "Elodie, we've talked about this. My family... they wouldn't understand right now. With Dallas's health issues, it's a sensitive time."

The lie was so practiced, so smooth. He took my hand, his grip tight. "Just a little longer. I promise."

I knew that promise was worthless. It was a stall tactic. A way to keep his little scientist in her cage until her work was done, or until her organs were needed.

I pulled my hand away, a gesture that did not go unnoticed. "Okay," I said, offering him a small, placating smile. "I'll think about it. I won't do anything rash."

He relaxed, believing he had once again managed me, his brilliant but pliable little project. He had no idea I was already gone.

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