Chapter 7 Don't eat it then. Your choice.

Elara's POV

I walked straight to the dining table, poured myself a glass of warm water, and glanced at him briefly.

"Fine." I took a sip, my voice completely flat. "Don't eat it then. Your choice."

Caleb froze.

His mouth hung open, those blue eyes filled with disbelief, as if he couldn't process my reaction at all.

For as long as he could remember, I'd been strict about his medication and diet to the point of being overbearing.

He'd expected a battle today, a fight to escape his medicine, but instead I'd just let it go without a word.

After a moment of stunned silence, he burst into excited cheers.

"Yes! No gross medicine!" He shoved the dish with the pills away triumphantly, shooting me a challenging look.

"I knew you didn't love me anymore! Mommy Vivian would never make me take this nasty stuff!"

I didn't respond, didn't even spare the son I'd nearly died bringing into this world a second glance.

I set down my glass and turned to leave.

Damian was rising from his seat at the head of the table, clearly preparing to head out.

We met unexpectedly at the archway leading out of the dining room.

He stopped, his six-foot-three frame blocking most of the light.

Those ice-blue eyes fixed on me with that deep, penetrating stare, his brow slightly furrowed, as if waiting for me to do what I always did—straighten his slightly askew tie, or gently remind him to drive safely.

I kept my eyes forward, my expression perfectly blank, my steps never faltering as I brushed past him without a word.

Back in my room, I locked the door and retrieved the laptop I hadn't touched in ages from the bottom drawer.

I'd be starting in New York next month, and after five years away from my field, I needed to take on a job to shake off the rust.

I logged into an anonymous forum on the dark web and quickly found a high-paying commission.

A fifteen-carat blue diamond—the buyer couldn't verify its authenticity.

I imported the high-resolution images into my professional software, zoomed in, and examined the cut, internal inclusions, and light refraction carefully.

It was a perfect fake, but the fluorescence at the edges gave it away.

I typed quickly, drafting a detailed authentication report in English, and hit send.

Within five minutes, a substantial deposit landed in my offshore account.

Watching the balance update on my screen, I let out a long breath.

This was my safety net for life after the Montgomery family.

I closed the laptop and rubbed my aching neck.

When I turned around, my breath caught in my throat.

Damian was standing right behind me.

He moved like a panther in the darkness, his footsteps completely silent.

He wore a black turtleneck under a perfectly tailored dark overcoat, hands in his pockets, ice-blue eyes looking down at me with that calculating gaze.

"What are you doing?" His voice was low, carrying that familiar note of scrutiny.

I had no idea how long he'd been standing there or what he'd seen, but my heart only skipped for a moment before settling back into its steady rhythm.

"Just browsing." I stood up, casually pushing the laptop aside.

"Looking at some jewelry photos. Passing time."

Damian's eyes narrowed, his gaze lingering on the laptop for two seconds before returning to my face.

His stare was penetrating, as if he could see through every lie.

"Elara, you'd better behave yourself." He took a step closer, his imposing frame creating an immediate sense of pressure.

He leaned down slightly, his tone carrying a warning.

"For the next month, I don't want to see you pulling any stunts. You stay at the estate, don't go anywhere, not until after the surgery."

He still thought last night at the club was some kind of game, playing hard to get.

I lowered my eyes, focusing on the metal buttons on his coat, my voice completely even.

"I understand. For Vivian's heart, I'll behave."

Damian's brow furrowed almost imperceptibly.

He seemed uncomfortable with this kind of blunt, almost clinical exchange, but he quickly suppressed whatever irritation he felt.

"Go change." He looked away, his tone cold.

"We leave in thirty minutes. We're going to Emerald Cove."

I froze.

Emerald Cove.

The most exclusive and expensive private beach in California.

Three years into our marriage, we'd attended a black-market family gathering nearby.

I'd seen that stretch of coastline through the car window and begged him to take me there, full of hope.

What had he said then?

"Elara, I'm busy. I don't have time for these pointless romantic games."

And now, he was offering to take me there.

I'll admit, hearing that name made my heart—dead as still water for so long—skip a beat despite myself.

Five years of obsession ran too deep.

Even though I'd decided to leave, some part of me still responded to even the smallest scrap of attention from him.

But that flicker of hope didn't even last a full second.

"Vivian's been cooped up in the hospital too long. The doctors say she's stable enough to get some fresh air by the ocean." Damian checked his Patek Philippe, his tone matter-of-fact.

"You're coming along. She's fragile, so you'll push her wheelchair and take care of her."

The air seemed to solidify around me.

I looked at this man I'd loved for five years and suddenly found the whole thing absurd.

It wasn't a change of heart. He hadn't suddenly remembered my wish.

He just needed a free, on-call caretaker to look after the woman he actually loved.

That barely perceptible flicker of emotion on my face vanished completely, replaced by absolute coldness.

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