Chapter 3 One Last Night

Elena's POV

At seven that evening, Elena walked into the dining room and found two place settings waiting on the table, just as always.

Her gaze fell on Damian's usual seat, and only then did she remember what he had said before leaving.

You don't have to wait up for me tonight.

"Please clear the other place setting," she told the butler.

"Mr. Hawthorne won't be home for dinner?"

Elena hesitated. "No. He has other plans."

The kitchen had prepared all of Damian's favorite dishes. His steak was seasoned with nothing but sea salt, and there wasn't a trace of onion in the soup.

Even after receiving divorce papers the night before, Elena had still arranged everything around him without thinking.

The habit would be harder to break than she'd imagined.

She covered the plates herself and returned the unopened bottle of wine to the cabinet. As she passed the trash, she noticed the bouquet of white roses from their anniversary dinner. The petals had already begun to wilt.

She paused.

But she didn't take them out.

Back at the table, Elena forced herself to finish half a bowl of soup and a small piece of bread. She wasn't eating for herself alone anymore. Even without an appetite, she had to manage something.

At eleven, the sound of a car came from outside.

Elena was already in bed. Still, when she heard movement downstairs, she pulled on her robe and went to see what was happening.

The butler opened the front door, and a tall man stepped inside with one of Damian's arms slung over his shoulders.

"Good evening, Mrs. Hawthorne." He looked relieved to see her. "I'm Ryan, a friend of Damian's."

Elena had met him a few times. She knew he and Damian had been friends for years.

Damian was clearly drunk. His tie hung loose around his neck, the top two buttons of his shirt were undone, and the sharp smell of whiskey clung to him.

No matter how late he came home, he was always in control.

Elena had never seen him like this.

"How much did he drink?" She moved forward and supported Damian from the other side.

"I'd like to know what got into him." Ryan helped settle Damian's arm across her shoulders. "After he left Vanessa's place, he went to the club and drank more than half a bottle by himself. I asked him what happened, but he wouldn't say a word."

Elena lowered her gaze.

Vanessa had finally returned, and Damian was about to end their contract marriage.

What could possibly have driven him to drink?

Ryan studied her for a moment but didn't ask.

"Want me to help you get him upstairs?"

"The butler can help me."

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure. Thank you for bringing him home."

Ryan nodded. He had almost reached the door when he stopped and looked back.

"He hasn't been this drunk in years."

Elena said nothing.

With the butler's help, she got Damian upstairs and into their bedroom. The moment they reached the bed, he collapsed onto it, nearly pulling her down with him.

Elena braced one hand against the mattress and tried to free the arm trapped beneath him.

"Damian, let go."

He didn't respond.

She struggled out of his grip, removed his coat and shoes, then leaned over to loosen his tie. The smell of whiskey made nausea churn in her stomach. She quickly turned her head and waited for it to pass.

Damian's eyes suddenly opened.

They lacked their usual sharp focus. He was clearly still out of it, but his hand found her wrist with perfect accuracy.

"Elena?"

"It's me."

Once he recognized her, his grip loosened slightly.

"You're drunk," she murmured. "Go to sleep."

Elena pulled the covers over him, picked up the glass of water from the nightstand, and turned to leave.

She had barely risen when an arm wrapped around her waist from behind and pulled her back onto the bed.

Water splashed over the rim of the glass and ran across her fingers.

"Damian."

"Don't go."

He was barely conscious, yet he held her more tightly, as if keeping her there were instinct.

"Stay with me."

Elena went still.

In two years, Damian had rarely asked her to stay. He only had to look at her, and she would return to his side on her own.

She had always been there.

It had never occurred to him that one day she might leave.

"Do you know who I am?" she asked.

"Elena."

Her name came out clearly. His hold tightened again.

"My wife."

Her heart gave one hard, painful beat.

But she knew that when he woke up tomorrow, the divorce agreement would still be waiting for her.

A drunk man's need wasn't love.

She couldn't afford to forget that again.

Elena looked down at the hand locked around her waist.

Once the divorce papers were signed, they would never share a bed again.

She could let herself have this one final goodbye.

Elena placed the glass back on the nightstand and slipped beneath the covers.

"All right," she whispered. "I'm not going anywhere."

As if finally satisfied, Damian pulled her fully into his arms.

His breathing gradually evened out, but his hold on her never loosened.

Elena remained awake.

The curtains hadn't been drawn all the way, and moonlight fell across Damian's face, softening the coldness he usually wore.

She lifted one hand and traced the line of his brow. Her fingers stopped just before they reached his lips.

When he was awake, she never dared look at him this closely.

Or perhaps it wasn't courage she lacked.

Perhaps she was afraid that if she looked too long, she would mistake responsibility for tenderness and habit for love.

In the end, she only took his hand.

Her wedding ring pressed lightly between their intertwined fingers.

Elena didn't fall asleep until dawn.

The phone on the nightstand began to vibrate early the next morning.

Still half-asleep, Elena reached for it and answered without checking the screen.

"Hello?"

Silence came from the other end.

"Elena?"

Vanessa's gentle voice held unmistakable surprise.

Elena woke instantly.

She looked down at the name on the screen and realized she had picked up Damian's phone.

The call had woken him too. His eyes opened.

"Sorry." Elena immediately handed it to him. "It's Vanessa."

Damian took the phone, threw back the covers, and walked to the window.

"Good morning."

His voice was still rough with sleep.

Vanessa asked something Elena couldn't hear. Damian glanced back at her.

"I came home last night."

After a brief pause, he added, "She's my wife. Of course we woke up in the same bed."

Elena looked away and rose to tie her robe.

By the time Damian ended the call, she had reached the door.

"About last night--"

"You don't have to explain." Elena didn't turn around. "You were drunk. I was only taking care of you."

Her voice was calm, with no trace of attachment.

The silence behind her lasted long enough to make her glance back. Damian was staring at her, a faint crease between his brows.

His phone chimed again.

This time, the message came from the Hawthorne family office. Damian read it, his expression hardening.

"My grandfather has moved his eightieth birthday celebration to next Saturday," he said. "The press and members of the board will be there. The family lawyers don't want us filing anything that might draw attention before the celebration is over."

Elena turned back toward the door.

"Elena."

Her hand stopped on the doorknob.

"We can't submit the divorce petition today."

Her fingers slowly tightened around the handle.

"How long will we have to wait?"

Damian held her gaze.

"Seven days."