Chapter 3
Ella's POV
Cade agreed.
Two words, low and steady, and they nailed me to the floor.
What did he just say?
I turned to look at him. His expression hadn't changed at all — he just stood there, planted like a post driven into concrete.
Richard was already talking about next steps. Margaret had her head down, her handkerchief twisted into a knot. Everyone in the room had moved on, like the decision was already made, and not one person glanced at me to ask whether I was on board.
Not one person said a single word to me.
"Ella, go pack your things." Margaret's voice came out hoarse, still not looking at me. "Personal items only."
I stayed where I was for a few extra seconds, waiting for her to keep going. Waiting for her to look up. To call me back.
She didn't.
I turned and walked toward the stairs. The hallway was lined with family portraits — frames I'd grown up looking at, photographs where I was smiling in every single one. They looked like someone else's life now. I slowed when I passed the living room doorway.
Victoria was on the sofa, her cream coat still spotless, speaking quietly to Richard, her expression calm, almost warm. Richard leaned back against the cushions and listened, nodding occasionally.
That kind of ease between two people doesn't get built — it's inherited.
I stood there and watched them for a moment.
I thought that even when she came back, we'd still be a family.
I'd been telling myself that for three months. Every time something felt wrong, I'd reach for it — Victoria is just a new addition; this is still the same home, I'm still me.
But I could see it clearly now. They were the family. They always had been. I was just someone who'd lived here for twenty years, and tonight had only made it official.
I went upstairs and pushed open my bedroom door.
Everything was exactly as I'd left it. The bed was made, the skincare lined up in neat rows on the vanity, the closet full of dresses I could still place — which year, which store, how happy I'd been.
On the desk in the corner sat a glass jar I'd arranged myself — a few stems of dried lavender, two sprigs of eucalyptus, one small white ranunculus I'd picked up from the market last weekend. Nobody asked me to do it. I just liked having something alive in the room.
I stood in front of that closet for a long time and didn't touch a single thing.
None of it was mine. The clothes, the jewelry, the bags — everything the Sterlings had bought, I had no right to take. I picked up my phone, my wallet, and my document holder — driver's license, student ID, Social Security card.
That thin plastic card was the only thing in this house that actually belonged to me once I walked out the door.
On my way downstairs, Richard was already waiting in the entryway. He had an envelope in his hand.
He held it out to me when I reached the bottom step. No expression. Just the envelope, extended like he was closing out an account.
"Ten thousand dollars," he said. "Enough to get yourself settled."
I stared at the envelope. My throat went tight.
Twenty years. This is what it comes down to.
"After this —" He paused for a second. "There's no need to come back. Better for everyone."
Better for everyone.
I reached out and pushed the envelope back across the table, my hand steadier than I expected. I didn't look at his face. "Keep it."
Cade spoke from beside me, his voice low but very clear. "I'll cover her expenses."
Richard looked at him, and something crossed his face for just a moment — contempt, or surprise, I couldn't tell which — then he pulled his gaze away and didn't look at either of us again.
That was it. That was how it ended.
I turned to find Margaret. She was standing at the foot of the stairs, gripping the banister with both hands, eyes red, tears held right at the edge but not falling. I stared at her, and something in my chest pushed hard against my ribs.
Say something. Please. Anything. Even if you're angry.
Her mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
"Take care of yourself."
I stood there for a second, not moving.
That was all she had. Twenty years. She'd driven me to school, sat with me through every birthday, and now she was standing at the bottom of the stairs giving me five words.
My eyes burned. The back of my throat went tight. I clenched my jaw and forced it all down. I was not going to cry here. Not in front of Victoria. Not in front of any of them.
I turned and walked toward the door.
Cade fell into step beside me without a word, but I could feel him there — that solid, silent presence, like something holding the air steady.
I kept walking. Through the entryway, out the front door, into the night air. The tears came the moment I crossed the threshold, and the wind hit them cold against my face.
The estate gates closed behind us with a heavy metallic thud.
A motorcycle was parked out front. Not the black Sterling house car.
I stopped.
Cade walked over to it and lifted the helmet off the handlebars, then held it out to me.
"That car belonged to your family," he said, his tone flat, like he was stating something completely unremarkable. "I'm not their driver anymore. This is what I've got."
I took the helmet and held it in both hands without putting it on.
"I'm sorry." I heard myself say it, steadier than I expected. "You lost your job because of me."
He didn't respond to that. He just looked at me. The night breeze moved through, carrying the damp smell of the lawn and a faint trace of exhaust from the road somewhere behind us.
"Why did you agree?" I asked.
His throat moved.
"I could say I'm a victim in this too," he said. "That's true. But the truth doesn't make those photos disappear. If I'd walked away right there, everything — the photos, the rumors, every bit of your family's rage — would have landed on you alone."
He paused. "Your parents were sitting right there, and not one of them said a word for you. You lived in that house for twenty years, and that's what it came down to."
He said it straight, no buildup, each sentence landing flat and solid.
"Even if you'd fought back with everything you had, you couldn't have buried those photos. You couldn't have stopped what your family decided. If I'd walked too, you would have had nowhere to go."
I was quiet for a moment.
I could accept that. He was telling the truth, and I knew it. I had no leverage, no evidence — and the two people who'd raised me for twenty years had chosen silence tonight. I had nothing to use against Victoria. No way out, no way to win.
"I don't want to get married," I said. "You don't have to go this far."
He didn't answer right away. He looked down at the ground, one hand resting on the handlebar. The muscle along his jaw pulled tight for a second.
"I agreed to protect you," he said, "not to trap you." His voice came out low and even, like he'd already rehearsed this possibility and made his peace with it. "So what do you want to do?"
There was one last number I hadn't wanted to use.
I had to try one more time.
