Chapter 21
Elara
My resignation letter was sitting on my desk, but I hadn’t contacted the Ashworth’s in almost a month. I wasn’t answering calls, so the family hadn’t talked about what happened that night at the estate. I knew everyone was probably pissed at me, but I couldn’t mentally deal with it yet.
I still hadn’t told Julian about what went down that last night with Alastair, and he was hiding something too. Something that happened on his trip to Zurich. But I wasn’t pushing him. We both needed to rest. I was calling my time away a vacation.
Julian was on "vacation" with me, not that I’d asked him to be. After the Giveon concert, he’d driven me home and simply never left. His mother had been calling him; he said she was annoyed because he’d seemed more interested in the business before he actually inherited it.
I watched out of the corner of my eye as he took a slow hit from the blunt he’d rolled, then passed it to me. His eyes were heavy-lidded, fixed on my profile. He never seemed to look away when I was in the room. It made my heart feel funny.
“So,” he said, his voice quiet, “when are you permanently leaving them?”
“Soon,” I said, my tongue loose and honest from the smoke. “End of the quarter, maybe. After I make sure Alastair can’t fuck anything up so badly it becomes my fault.”
His brows lifted. “Why are you making it easy for him?”
“I’m making it easy for everyone. I want no one to be able to say I just walked away. I’ll make a public announcement. Give him the throne he thinks he deserves.”
Julian’s jaw flexed. “He doesn’t deserve a fucking folding chair.”
I laughed. “True.”
“Then what?” he asked. “I can give you money—lots of it—if that’s an issue.”
I mock-glared at him. “Stop trying to buy me, Baby Warbucks. I have money.” I let my head fall back against the headboard. “I have four million saved. I’m buying a house somewhere with actual seasons. Somewhere quiet. I’m going to spend the next ten years doing absolutely nothing.”
“Do you ever picture that with someone?” he asked. “Or just alone?”
I shrugged. “I picture peace. Whoever fits inside that… can come.”
He was quiet for a moment. “What does that mean for a younger, emotionally volatile billionaire who loves you?”
I turned and cupped his cheek. This man had a face that had been beautiful since the day he was born. “He can visit. If he brings me lopsided cakes once in a while.”
A slow grin spread across his face. “Deal.”
“Did you ever…” he hesitated. “When you were younger… was there ever a time you actually liked him? Alastair?”
“When I was fourteen and he was sixteen? Yeah. Hormones are a hell of a drug. He was cute, in that generic, privileged way.” I shrugged. “Then he opened his mouth. Or he’d do something cruel to the staff to make his friends laugh. The asshole was always there. You met him.”
Julian’s expression darkened. “A masterpiece of mediocrity.”
I nudged him with my foot. “What about you? Pre-me. Any serious girlfriends? The one who got away?”
He snorted, stubbing out the joint. “There weren’t any. Women find me… weird and domineering. Intense. They said I was a momma’s boy.”
“Wait, momma’s boy? Like an Oedipus complex?”
He glared at me.
“Explain,” I chuckled.
“My mother… she’s not like other society mothers. She built half of Esmé. She taught me how to read a balance sheet and a person’s eyes at the same time. We’re close. We talk all the time.”
“You’re telling me you’ve had sex with women, but never a girlfriend?” I teased him, a smirk on my face. “I find it hard to believe. Only one part, though.”
“What part?”
“That you’ve had sex with lots of women.” I gave him a mock-skeptical look. “You’re probably not that good at it. The word would have gotten out.”
I was pressing his buttons. He always fucked better when he was mad.
The effect was instantaneous. He was on top of me in a fluid motion, his weight pinning me down. I yelped, laughing, as his fingers found my ribs.
“Julian! Stop! I take it back!”
“Too late,” he growled, but he was laughing too. He pinned my wrists above my head. The playfulness shifted into something hotter. I could feel his hardness trapped between us.
“Not that good, huh?” he murmured. His hips pressed down.
A moan slipped from me. “I might need a refresher,” I whispered.
He was about to kiss me when my phone shattered the moment. I shoved him off and grabbed it. It was Alastair.
When I hung up, Julian was sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting.
“It’s Alastair’s father. He was in a car accident. It’s bad.”
The world felt like it was spinning—slow and sickening. My chest went cold. I had been through this before. This was how my parents died.
I wasn’t thirteen anymore, but my body didn’t know that. My vision blurred. My fingers shook so hard I nearly dropped the phone.
“Elara.” Julian’s voice reached me through the static. “Breathe.”
“He—” My voice cracked. “He said I should come.”
Julian stood, already grabbing his sweats. “Get dressed. I’m driving you.”
“No. I can go alone. It’s fine—”
“It’s not fine.” His tone was undeniable. He reached out and cupped my face. “Elara. Look at me. We’ll get through tonight. Whatever happens.”
The pressure on my lungs finally gave way, letting me pull in the air I needed. I grabbed a hoodie and jeans. Julian knelt and tied my laces for me. We left the condo in silence.
By the time we reached the garage, the shock had settled into guilt. I didn't love Alastair or what his family had done to me, but I didn't want his father to die. Too ba death didn't care about things like that. It just carved through everything.
Julian opened the car door for me, then climbed into the driver's seat. He remained quiet, and I appreciated it.
The drive felt like a descent into a recurring nightmare—one more blow to my foundation that was already held together by scar tissue and sheer will.