Chapter 13
13
T he once warm bed felt vast and cold as Elara tossed and turned, tangling her legs in the sheets and making a mess of the pillows. Every time she closed her eyes, all she could see was the hurt in Grace’s eyes. The silence in the room was deafening, as if all sounds disappeared after the door clicked shut behind Grace. She had once thought of Grace’s emotions as an ocean berating her stone walls, eroding away her defenses. Now, she felt as if she were drowning on land, gasping for air and breathing in sand, making her throat raw and her heart heavy.
Breathing deep, trying to find her center of calm, Elara filled her lungs with Grace’s honey-sweet scent. The anger bubbled up in her stomach, making her feel sick. Elara sat up in a fury, throwing the sheets and blankets off the bed as she punched a pillow. She strode over to the sitting room, desperate for a dram to calm her nerves. Elara methodically poured her drink as her hands shook. In search of any relief, she quickly downed the whiskey in one gulp and poured another.
Elara leaned against the wall, fuming as she played their argument over in her mind. Elara’s hands tightened around the glass, her knuckles white as she downed the whiskey, feeling the familiar burn in her throat. She glared at the empty glass, then poured a third, her mind churning as fragments of their argument echoed in her ears.
“You can’t honestly believe that, Elara. You can’t just kiss me like that, have sex with me like that, and then act like none of it matters.”
The words twisted in her mind, poking at her pride, fueling her anger. How could Grace think she had any right to demand so much? They’d had an arrangement—clear, simple, no strings attached. Grace had known that from the start. She had no business expecting more.
Elara clenched her teeth, staring into her drink as her chest tightened. She’d never asked for this, never asked Grace to care so much. I didn’t ask her to make me feel anything, she thought bitterly, a familiar wave of frustration building inside her. Grace had pushed and pried, refusing to accept the boundaries Elara had worked so hard to keep intact.
Her gaze dropped to the floor, the memory of Grace’s tear-filled eyes flashing in her mind. She’d been so…vulnerable, so open, begging for something Elara didn’t know how to give. Why couldn’t she just let it be?
But as the thought settled, a sliver of doubt crept in, nagging at the edges of her anger. She remembered the way Grace had looked at her—not with blame or resentment, but with a deep, aching hurt, as though Elara had reached into her chest and ripped out her heart. Elara’s throat tightened, and she swallowed hard, pushing down the rising wave of guilt.
Maybe she didn’t deserve that, a small voice whispered, but Elara shoved it down, clinging to her anger like a lifeline.
Yet, as she stared blankly at the wall, the anger began to ebb, replaced by a gnawing emptiness. She replayed every sharp word, every icy response she’d thrown at Grace, each one a defense she’d clung to out of fear. A fear that now felt hollow, pointless, leaving her with nothing but the memory of Grace’s retreating back and the silence that had fallen in her wake.
Maybe I’m the one who’s afraid, the thought whispered again, this time louder, undeniable. She had watched Grace leave without saying a word, knowing it was what she’d wanted—yet now, the emptiness that filled the room felt like a punishment. She’d pushed Grace away, but now, alone in the cold silence, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d just lost something real, something precious.
Elara’s hand shook as she lifted the glass to her lips again, the whiskey now offering no relief, no numbing comfort. All she felt was the ache, a hollow, suffocating ache that seemed to spread through her chest, filling every corner of her heart. She squeezed her eyes shut, but all she could see was Grace’s face, the hope in her eyes when they’d first kissed, the warmth that had lingered in every touch, every word, even as Elara had tried to deny it.
And then she saw the moment that warmth had broken, replaced by the look of betrayal, of pain, as Elara’s words had struck deep. She’d torn down Grace’s hope without a second thought, like it meant nothing to her. But it didn’t mean nothing, she realized, her chest tightening painfully. It never did.
A shaky breath escaped her lips, and before she could stop herself, a tear slipped down her cheek, hot and bitter. She swiped at it angrily, but another followed, and another, until the walls she’d built around herself began to crumble. She sank to the floor, the glass slipping from her fingers as the weight of her own actions crashed over her.
The reality hit her like a wave, stealing her breath, leaving her raw and exposed. She hadn’t just hurt Grace; she’d hurt herself, wounding the part of her that had dared to hope, that had longed for something real, something she’d never thought she could have.
Her shoulders shook as the tears came faster, her heart aching with a regret so deep it felt like it might swallow her whole. She pressed a hand to her mouth, stifling a sob, her chest heaving as the pain she’d tried so hard to deny finally broke free, flooding her with the truth she’d been too afraid to face.
She’d pushed Grace away, again and again, trying to keep her heart safe. But now, with Grace gone, the emptiness felt unbearable—a hollow ache that no amount of anger, no amount of pride, could ever fill.
Curling into herself, Elara let the tears fall, each one a release, a reminder of everything she’d lost. And for the first time, she let herself feel it all—every ounce of pain, every sliver of regret—knowing there was no one to blame but herself.
Later, Elara felt the tears begin to dry as if she had hollowed out all the parts of herself she had tried to bury deep, and she felt empty and cold. She sat up on the floor and looked around at the mess around her. Her glass had shattered when she dropped it; the dress Grace had worn earlier was still on the floor, her heels kicked off in separate directions across the room. Elara felt her heart squeeze, wanting to wring out any last tears. Every inch of this room had some piece of Grace, and she felt as if she would break if she had to look at any of it any longer. She knew she should go after Grace; she should call her and beg her to come back, but Elara still felt like a hollowed-out shell and was too afraid of what Grace would say to her.
Elara sighed as she stood up and made her way over to the room phone. With a press of one button, she had called housekeeping, requesting the sheets be changed and the mess cleaned up ASAP. There would be no sleep for Elara this evening. She knew that. It was pointless to wait for the sunrise surrounded by the evidence of her mistakes. Instead, Elara decided to do the only thing she knew would clear her mind, however briefly. She donned her workout clothes and a warm jacket and rushed from the room, desperate to get away from the suite.
When she made it to the gym, she got on the treadmill and began her routine. Running had always been her escape. She loved the way her muscles burned, her lungs ached, and her mind emptied. When she ran, the world narrowed down to the next step, the next mile. There was nothing but what was directly ahead. Her daily five miles wasn’t going to cut it today. She ran until the sun began to rise and she felt like she was going to collapse, and then she ran a mile more after that. She savored that last mile, the pain and the elation mixing to wash away anything else.
Over the past week, Elara had avoided the family for breakfast and lunch in the hopes of reducing their interactions with Grace. However, when Elara faced the thought of spending time alone, she found herself wandering to her parent’s suite for their private family breakfast gathering.
The family’s chatter hummed in the background, and the clink of silverware punctuated the quiet. Elara sat at the head of the table, her usual calm facade in place, but her stomach twisted. Grace should have been here. She’d been present for nearly every family event so far, and yet, this morning—after all the meals, the celebrations, the conversations—she was conspicuously absent.
Victor, as always, was the first to notice. He set his coffee cup down with a precise motion, his gaze sweeping the table before landing on the empty seat beside Elara.
“Where’s Grace?” he asked, his tone neutral but laced with curiosity. The silence that followed felt suffocating.
Elara’s breath caught. It was the question she had been dreading, the one she knew would come.
“She’s not here,” Elara replied, keeping her voice steady despite the knot in her chest. She forced herself to look around the table, avoiding her father’s steady gaze. But her mother had already noticed.
Her mother raised an eyebrow, her face an unreadable mask as she set her napkin down carefully. “Not here? But she’s been with us at every event. Why wouldn’t she join us today?” Her tone was polite but expectant, like it was the natural course of things.
Elara’s eyes darted to her sister, Cate, who gave her a curious glance before returning her attention to her mother. James sat back in his chair, his expression thoughtful but waiting for Elara to respond. Eleanor observed everything in silence, her sharp eyes missing nothing.
Elara felt the weight of their gazes. She had never been the one to share personal details with her family, and this was no exception. But today, everything felt raw, too fragile to conceal any longer.
“She left,” Elara said quietly, her voice barely rising above a whisper. She didn’t dare meet their eyes. “It was my fault.”
There was a collective pause. Margaret looked at her, her expression unreadable, and Victor leaned forward slightly, his gaze narrowing.
“What do you mean it’s your fault?” he asked, the concern clear in his voice now.
Elara swallowed hard. She could feel the walls closing in around her, but she couldn’t stop now. She had to explain, even if it scared her more than anything she had ever done.
“I…I pushed her away,” Elara said, the words tumbling out with a heaviness she couldn’t disguise. “I didn’t want to admit it, but I was falling in love with her. And it scared me. I couldn’t let myself be vulnerable, not with her...not with anyone.”
The words hung in the air, and the silence that followed felt like a thick fog. Cate shifted in her chair, her lips slightly parted in surprise. James glanced at their father, then back at Elara. Margaret’s face softened, but there was still a quiet intensity behind her eyes.
“Elara,” Victor said, his voice gentler than usual. “You can’t just.. run away from something like this. You’ve spent so long building this life, but you can’t keep pretending it’s enough. Not if it’s costing you everything else.”
Elara’s eyes stung. She hadn’t wanted to hear it, not like this, but his words cut through her defenses.
“I wasn’t ready,” she whispered, her throat tightening. “I thought I could control everything—my business, my life, my relationships. But with Grace, I couldn’t. And it terrified me.”
Margaret’s gaze softened, but there was an edge of concern beneath her composure. “You’ve been so focused on perfection, on control, Elara,” she said quietly. “But this...this isn’t about control. It’s about being real. It’s about letting yourself be loved, not just admired from a distance.”
Cate leaned forward, her voice light but laced with something deeper. “You really pushed her away because you were scared of falling in love?” she asked, almost teasing. “You? The Elara Silver I know would never let fear dictate anything. But love...that’s different, isn’t it?”
Elara looked at her sister, the bitterness in her chest rising. She had never let herself feel things like this, had buried it all beneath a well-maintained facade. And now, faced with her family’s questions, she couldn’t stop the rush of emotion.
“I didn’t want to be vulnerable,” Elara admitted, her voice cracking slightly. “I didn’t want to fall in love with someone who could leave, who could hurt me. I’ve spent my whole life keeping everything together, controlling it. But Grace...she made me feel something I couldn’t control.”
James leaned back in his chair, his expression thoughtful. “Maybe that’s the problem,” he said quietly. “You can’t control everything, Elara. And maybe you’re supposed to feel those things, even if they scare you. That’s what makes us human.”
Eleanor, who had been sitting quietly, watching the exchange, finally spoke up in her steady, wise tone. “You can’t run from love, Elara. It doesn’t wait. You can only hold it back for so long. Don’t let fear make your decisions for you. You’ll regret it.”
Elara felt the weight of her grandmother’s words settle on her like a quiet truth. She didn’t want to regret this. But she didn’t know how to fix it. She had pushed Grace away, and now she wasn’t sure if she could make it right.
“I’ll talk to her,” Elara said softly, the resolve creeping back into her voice. “I have to. I need to tell her the truth, even if I don’t know what happens next.”
Victor’s gaze softened slightly, though there was still a hint of expectation in his eyes. “You’ll figure it out, Elara. You always do. But don’t let your pride get in the way of something that could make you happy.”
The table fell into a quiet lull after that, the weight of Elara’s confession hanging in the air. But as the conversation turned to other topics, she felt a small sense of relief. The truth was out there, for better or worse, and maybe—just maybe—this was the first step toward letting herself be vulnerable enough to make things right with Grace.