Chapter 13
The master suite of St. Jude Manor was a sprawling expanse of cream-colored silk, mahogany furniture, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the estate gardens. It was midnight. Lily was safely tucked into her own small bed in the adjoining nursery, exhausted from the day’s trauma and sleeping deeply under the influence of herbal chamomile tea Elena had brewed for her. In the dressing room, Elena stood before the massive gilded vanity mirror, still wearing the white lace wedding gown that was now stained at the hem with mud and salt water. She looked at her own reflection—pale, exhausted, with dark circles under her eyes and hair coming loose from its pins. She looked like a ghost haunting her own life. The heavy mahogany door of the dressing room clicked open, and Julian stepped inside. He had removed his black suit jacket and tie, his crisp white shirt unbuttoned at the collar, revealing the smooth column of his throat. He stopped a few feet behind her, his dark eyes meeting hers in the glass of the mirror. "You should change out of that dress, Elena," Julian said quietly, his tone almost gentle. "It brings back unpleasant associations." Elena did not turn around. She reached out with a trembling hand, picking up a heavy silver-handled hairbrush from the vanity table. "You think you won, Julian," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the hum of the central air conditioning. "You think because you dragged us back here and locked the doors, you've restored your little kingdom." Julian stepped closer, his reflection looming over hers in the glass. "I didn't drag anyone, Elena. You made a foolish choice, realized the futility of it, and came back of your own accord. That is the narrative that matters." "She said you hurt her," Elena said, her voice rising slightly as she finally turned around to face him, the silver hairbrush clutched in her hand like a weapon. "I know how your mind works, Julian. You treat everyone around you like extensions of your own ego. But she is a child. If you ever touch her again—if you even look at her with that cold, calculating stare—I will find a way to destroy everything you’ve built. I don't care about the money, I don't care about the estate, and I don't care about your precious reputation." Julian looked at her for a long, silent moment. A muscle ticked in his jaw, the only sign of the violent fury boiling beneath his calm exterior. He didn't raise his voice. He didn't threaten her. He simply stepped forward, took the heavy silver hairbrush out of her unresisting fingers, and laid it gently back down on the glass tabletop. "You talk a great deal about destruction, Elena," Julian said softly, leaning down so his face was inches from hers. "But you forget one fundamental truth. Without me, you have no voice, no refuge, and no future. Go to sleep. Tomorrow is a new day."
