#####Chapter 4

Elena

Liam didn't call for three days.

It was the longest stretch of silence in fifteen years, and I discovered that I didn't know what to do with that silence. I kept reaching for my phone, fingers poised to text him about something funny, something stupid, something small and insignificant that had become the fabric of our daily connection.

But I stopped myself every time.

Instead, I worked. I poured myself into a new project—a commission from a local bookstore for fantasy illustrations. I lost myself in shadow and light, in the kind of raw emotional expression that required me to be present and vulnerable on the page.

And I thought about Damien constantly, which was its own special kind of torture.

On the fourth day, Liam called.

"Hey," he said, and his voice had that hesitant quality that meant he was afraid. "I've been giving everything a lot of thought."

I was in my studio, surrounded by sketches and watercolor, and I made myself sit down before answering.

"Okay."

"I talked to Jessica. Really talked to her. And you were right. I wasn't being fair to her. We're done. Actually done, not the usual thing where we break up and get back together in three weeks."

I felt a complex tangle of emotions at that news—relief that he was finally making a mature decision, sadness for the messiness of his heartbreak, and something that felt close to guilt for the fact that I didn't feel the overwhelming need to comfort him through it.

"That's good, Liam. I'm glad you did the right thing."

There was a pause. "I've also been thinking about what you said. About me not fighting for things. And about you being... I don't know, less available."

Here it comes, I thought. Here's where he tells me he's in love with me after all.

"I realized that I've taken you for granted," he continued. "And I want to fix that. I want to be better. So I'm asking if we can start over. Not immediately—I'm obviously dealing with Jessica stuff—but I want to try. With you. With us."

My stomach dropped.

"Liam—"

"Just think about it, okay? Don't say anything now. But Elena, I don't want to lose you. I can't lose you."

He hung up before I could respond, leaving me alone with the implications of his words. Because what he'd said wasn't *I love you*. It was *I'm scared of being alone, and you're my safety net*.

It was the exact same thing he'd been saying for fifteen years. It just took me this long to hear the difference.

I didn't respond to his message.

But that night, my phone buzzed.

Damien: My mother is making Sunday dinner. She's been asking about you. I told her you might come. Will you?

I stared at the message. Sunday dinner at Rosa's house. With Damien. And Liam. And the rest of his chaotic, loving, complicated family.

Elena:That's a bad idea.

Damien:Probably.

Elena: Your mom will think we're something. Your family will—

Damien: I don't care what they think. Neither should you.

And that was the thing about Damien—he didn't seem to play by the same rules as the rest of the world. He said what he meant. He didn't soften things or make them palatable. He just stated facts and waited for you to catch up.

Elena:I'll think about it.

But I knew, even as I typed that, that I would go. Because I was apparently the kind of woman who made decisions based on the trembling in her chest and the warmth in her skin when a dangerous man paid attention to her.

Damien: Wear something red.

I didn't ask why. I just felt my breath catch and knew that I would.

Saturday morning, I forced myself to call Liam. It wasn't fair to let him exist in the hope that I might come back to him without being clear about the boundaries I was setting.

He picked up on the first ring.

"Elena! Hey, I was just about to call you. About Sunday—"

"I'm coming," I said. "But I need to be clear about something."

"Okay..."

"I appreciate you trying to be better. I do. But I can't come back to how things were, Liam. I just can't. I need to figure out who I am without you being my entire emotional world, and you need to do the same thing. That's not punishment. It's just... it's what we both need."

There was a long silence.

"Are you saying you're done with me?" His voice sounded young, confused. "Like, forever?"

"I'm saying I love you as a friend, and I always will. But I can't be in love with you anymore. I'm exhausted, and I deserve better, and so do you. You deserve someone who chooses you first."

"You could choose me first," he said, and there was something almost desperate in his tone. "If you gave it a chance, you could—"

"No," I said gently. "I couldn't. And I think deep down, you know that. You love the idea of having someone who will drop everything for you. But you don't love *me*."

After I hung up, I sat with that truth for a long time. It wasn't cruel. It was just the quiet reality we'd both been avoiding.

Sunday arrived gray and wet, the way Portland Sundays seemed to exist primarily to be. I wore a red dress—deep crimson, silky, the kind of dress I'd bought three years ago and never had the confidence to wear outside of my apartment.

Rosa's house was chaos. The entire Russo family seemed to exist in a state of controlled explosion—loud voices, too much food, too much wine, and underneath it all, a genuine kind of love that made me ache.

Damien was already there when I arrived, leaning against the kitchen counter with the ease of someone who owned space simply through the force of his presence. When he saw me, something in his expression shifted. Not a smile, exactly, but something that felt like recognition.

Like he'd been waiting for me.

Liam was in the living room, and when he saw me, his face transformed with a hope that made me feel guilty all over again. He stood to approach me, but Damien was suddenly there, somehow between us without moving, his hand on the small of my back.

"Elena," he said, and his voice cut through the room like a knife. "Come help me with the wine."

It wasn't a question.

I let him lead me away, hyperaware of every point of contact between his hand and my dress. Aware of the way the room had gotten very quiet. Aware of Liam watching us with an expression I'd never seen on his face before.

In the kitchen, Damien backed me against the counter, and this time there was no Thai food, no Artemis, no safety between us.

"Liam is looking at you like you're the missing piece of his life," Damien said quietly.

"I know."

"And you're letting me touch you like that means nothing."

"It doesn't," I said, and I wasn't sure if I was lying to him or to myself. "I just ended things with Liam. I'm not trying to start something with you."

"You already have," he said. "The second you let me in your apartment. The second you answered my text. The second you wore that dress."

He was right. I knew he was right.

And then Liam appeared in the kitchen doorway, and his face went white.

"What the fuck is happening?" he asked.