Chapter Eight
595 Words
Elena stood outside Christian’s penthouse, her fingers tightening around the strap of her bag. The city lights shimmered behind her, a stark contrast to the turmoil twisting inside her chest.
She had spent the entire day thinking about Mia’s words. You need to have a real conversation with Christian.
Easier said than done.
She exhaled slowly, squared her shoulders, and knocked.
The door opened almost immediately. Christian sat in his wheelchair, his expression unreadable, though something flickered in his gaze when he saw her. “You’re late.”
“Traffic,” she lied.
The truth was, she had stood outside for ten minutes, gathering the nerve to walk in.
Christian tilted his head, studying her. “Come in.”
She stepped inside, feeling the tension in the air. The apartment was dimly lit, the only source of warmth coming from the fireplace. A dinner table was set near the floor-to-ceiling windows, a bottle of wine resting between two plates. It was unsettling, seeing this softer side of Christian—the man who had spent weeks keeping her at arm’s length.
“I wasn’t sure if you’d show up,” he admitted, wheeling himself toward the table.
Elena forced a smile. “I wasn’t sure either.”
They ate in silence at first, the sound of clinking silverware filling the space. Every now and then, she caught Christian watching her, his sharp gaze making her skin prickle.
Halfway through the meal, he spoke. “You talked to Mia, didn’t you?”
Elena’s fork froze mid-air. “How did you—”
“You hesitate when you look at me now.” His voice was calm, but there was an underlying challenge in his tone. “What did she say?”
Elena exhaled. Here we go.
“She thinks I’m walking into something I don’t understand.”
Christian leaned back in his chair. “And do you agree with her?”
Did she? The question had been gnawing at her since their conversation.
“I think…” She met his gaze. “I think we both need to be honest with ourselves about why we’re doing this.”
Christian was silent for a long moment. Then, he set his glass down. “Alright. Let’s be honest.”
Elena’s stomach twisted as he continued.
“You want to help Liam. You don’t want him to feel abandoned.” His voice was quieter now, more restrained. “I understand that. But this—” he gestured between them, “—this isn’t just about Liam anymore.”
Her breath hitched.
Christian’s gaze darkened. “You feel it too, don’t you?”
She didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Because if she said it out loud, it would make it real.
Christian pushed his chair back from the table. “We could pretend this is just a favor. That after the surgery, we’ll go our separate ways. But we both know that’s not the truth.”
Elena’s pulse quickened. “Christian—”
“Do you want to leave?” His voice was low now, almost a dare. “If you do, say the word, and I won’t stop you.”
She should. She should get up, walk out that door, and tell herself that this was a mistake.
But she didn’t move.
Christian’s lips curled into a knowing smirk. “That’s what I thought.”
The air between them felt electric, charged with something neither of them wanted to name.
And for the first time since this all began, Elena realized—she wasn’t sure if she wanted to fight it anymore.
- Writer
