Elara’s POV
Aiden hadn’t said a word since we left the house.
His hand rested on the gearshift, the city gliding past outside in grays and silvers. The only sound in the car was the rhythmic pattern of light rain tapping the windshield.
I sat quietly in the passenger seat, fingers twisted in my lap. I was still wearing the black dress I packed before I left the penthouse, simple, safe, forgettable.
I hated that I looked like I belonged on my way to a funeral.
Maybe I was.
When the penthouse came into view, I sat up straighter, heart starting to drum.
Aiden slowed the car to a stop in front of the entrance.
“I can wait,” he said.
I shook my head. “No. He’ll make it a scene.”
He didn’t argue.
I placed my hand on the door but didn’t open it.
I could feel his eyes on me.
“Elara,” he said, voice low, like he wanted to ask me something he knew I couldn’t answer.
So I saved him the trouble. “I’ll be fine.”
“You don’t have to be.”
“I know,” I whispered. But I still opened the door.
The wind hit me first. Then the familiar ache in my chest as I looked up at the building I had once called home.
The glass doors to the penthouse slid open just as I stepped onto the sidewalk.
And there he was.
Thorne.
Descending the private elevator alone.
Sharp suit. Umbrella tucked under his arm. Jaw tight. Eyes unreadable.
In one hand, he held a folded envelope. Red. A little worn at the edges.
I recognized it instantly.
My divorce papers.
He spotted me a second later.
He didn’t greet me. He didn’t frown. He just stared like I was some stranger blocking his path.
We stood there for a beat.
I lowered my eyes first.
He stepped past me and opened the car door.
I followed him in.
Not because I wanted to.
But because I needed to know why they were dragging me back.
The drive was short and silent.
Thorne’s cologne filled the car. Clean. Cold. Unfamiliar, even after all these years.
I stared out the window, trying to calm the rising tide in my chest.
He didn’t say anything.
He didn’t ask where I’d been.
Not even, “Are you alright?”
I didn’t offer anything either.
Maybe we were both pretending that nothing had changed.
The Vance estate appeared over the hill like something out of a dream I didn’t want to remember.
Lights in the windows.
Slick stone steps.
Everything polished to perfection, like the people inside hadn’t ruined me.
Thorne opened his door and stepped out first.
He didn’t wait for me.
We barely made it through the entry hall before she appeared.
Sierra.
Descending the grand staircase like she’d just won a pageant.
All soft curls, painted lips, and a gown too expensive for her personality.
“Thorne,” she sang, rushing toward him. “You look divine tonight.”
She clung to his arm like they were already married.
He didn’t pull away.
Her eyes slid to me. “Oh,” she added with a smile too sweet to be real, “You came too. Brave.”
I didn’t answer.
I didn’t have the energy.
She looped her hand tighter around Thorne’s elbow and whispered something to him. He said nothing.
I walked behind them like I was the assistant, not the wife.
I always have been.
Dinner was in the gold room.
Everything shimmered.
Candlelight danced off crystal glasses. Silver clinked against porcelain. Mrs. Vance sat at the head of the table like a queen presiding over her chosen peasants.
I took the seat furthest from her, next to Thorne.
Sierra sat across from us, her chin in her hand, eyes on him like he was dessert.
“I’m so glad everyone could make it,” Mrs. Vance said as the first course was served.
Thorne didn’t respond.
I didn’t look up.
Mr. Vance cleared his throat. “It’s been a while since we’ve all sat down together.”
“It’s been tense,” Mrs. Vance added smoothly. “But we’re a family, after all.”
No one answered.
She turned her eyes to me.
“Elara, how’s married life treating you these days?”
My fork paused mid-cut.
Sierra smirked into her wine glass.
I forced my throat to work. “Fine.”
“Fine,” she repeated. “Is that what you’d call vanishing last night without explanation?”
“I needed space,” I said quietly.
“From your husband?”
I didn’t reply.
Mrs. Vance leaned back in her chair, lips pursed in mock thought.
“I suppose some unions were never built to last. Which brings us, actually… to why we’re here.”
The table went still.
“Elara,” she said, smiling like she was offering a gift, “since you seem determined to go through with the divorce… we won’t stop you.”
I blinked once.
Then again.
Thorne said nothing.
“We’ve spoken with the Ashfords,” she continued. “And since Sierra is finally back from her little detour abroad—”
She reached for her wine.
“Thorne will marry her instead.”
My stomach dropped.
Sierra giggled, twisting a curl around her finger. “Don’t worry, Elara. I’ll take good care of him.”
