Chapter 13
893 Words
The silence after Miguel’s arrest felt nothing like peace.
It was hollow.
Like standing in the wreckage of a house after the fire is out—where the smoke has cleared, but the walls still crumble beneath your hands.
Elena sat at the edge of her bathtub, fully clothed, the shower running behind her—an empty excuse for noise. Steam rose. Her hands were clasped tightly, eyes distant.
She hadn’t cried.
Not yet.
---
Downstairs, Lena waited at the penthouse entrance.
She hadn’t spoken to Elena since the rooftop.
Hadn’t dared to.
But guilt weighed heavier than fear.
When Jaxon opened the door, he didn’t smile.
“She doesn’t want to see anyone,” he said.
“I know,” Lena whispered. “But I need to see her.”
He stepped aside reluctantly. “She’s in the bathroom.”
---
Lena approached slowly, her shoes silent on the marble floor.
“El…” she called.
Elena didn’t turn.
Lena knelt beside her, voice barely a breath. “I never meant for it to go that far.”
“I know,” Elena said quietly. “But you still lied.”
Lena’s eyes welled up. “I was trying to fix it. I thought if I gave him what he wanted, he’d leave us alone.”
Elena turned to face her, finally.
“And what exactly did you give him, Lena?”
The silence that followed felt colder than the steam.
Lena looked away. “I gave him… everything I had. Old footage. A list of your old addresses. The names of the people who helped you disappear. I even signed a contract promising I wouldn’t talk.”
Elena blinked.
“You sold my safety for your silence?”
“I sold my shame,” Lena whispered. “And I regret it every day.”
Elena stood slowly.
“I can forgive you,” she said. “But I don’t know if I can ever trust you again.”
Tears slipped from Lena’s lashes. “I don’t blame you.”
---
That night, Jaxon found Elena alone in the rooftop garden, hugging her knees to her chest beneath a blanket of stars.
He sat beside her.
“She loves you,” he said.
“I know,” she replied. “But love without truth is just… comfort.”
A pause.
Then: “She wasn’t the only one who kept something from me, was she?”
Jaxon stilled. “What do you mean?”
She looked at him, eyes sharp. “The photo. The warning Miguel sent. You knew about Lena’s past before I did. And you didn’t tell me.”
He exhaled slowly.
“I didn’t want to break your trust in her.”
“So you broke mine instead?”
His silence said enough.
Elena stood.
“I can’t keep being the last one to know my own story, Jaxon.”
“Elena—”
“I love you,” she said. “But I need to know we’re partners, not just protector and protected.”
His jaw clenched. “That’s not how I see you.”
“Then prove it,” she whispered. “By giving me the truth. Every time. No matter how much it might hurt.”
---
The next morning, Jaxon called a meeting with his legal team.
“Drop the civil countersuit against Miguel’s allies,” he said.
“Are you sure?” his lawyer asked. “They were part of the attack.”
“I’m sure,” Jaxon replied. “Elena’s right. This can’t be about control. It has to be about truth.”
He looked out the window, where Elena’s silhouette stood on the balcony—alone, but standing tall.
“She’s not someone to protect,” he added. “She’s someone to stand beside.”
---
Later that evening, Elena walked the runway again—for the first time in over a year.
The room was packed. The lights blinding. The music thundered.
But she was steady.
Each step a reclamation. Each look a statement. She wore black velvet with a blood-red sash—a symbol of her scars, worn with pride.
After the final bow, cameras flashed as she left the stage.
Jaxon waited just off the curtain.
He didn’t say anything.
He didn’t need to.
She walked straight into his arms.
---
That night, in the quiet of their bedroom, Elena curled into Jaxon’s side.
“Next time something happens,” she whispered, “promise me you won’t try to handle it alone.”
“I promise,” he said.
“No more secrets?”
He hesitated.
Then: “None. From this day forward.”
She smiled faintly.
“You’re lucky I believe in second chances.”
He kissed her forehead.
“No,” he whispered. “I’m lucky you still believe in me.”
---
But in a dark prison cell across the city, Miguel sat against the wall, humming softly.
He’d lost the game.
But not the war.
A guard approached, sliding a letter under the bars.
Miguel picked it up.
On the back: a new seal.
A different snake.
And inside, a note:
> You played it wrong. But I play long games.
She will never escape her past. And neither will he.
—M.
Miguel smiled.
“Let’s see how long their promise really lasts.”
---
- Writer
