Chapter 6 – The Silent Goodbye

Elena's POV

I woke before the sun rose.

Sleep had been an illusion anyway—what little rest I got was broken by dreams that left me breathless, heavy. Dreams of things once mine, slipping away. My body ached with exhaustion, but it wasn't physical. It was the ache of knowing that someone was digging into my life, planting her roots in the home I built. Slowly replacing me.

Vivian's scent still lingered in the hallways of the Pinehill cottage. Sweet, cloying, expensive—like she wanted her presence felt in every corner. And Damien… he was curled on the far end of the bed, facing the other way, as if even in sleep he was choosing distance.

I sat up quietly. My feet found the floor and I moved with purpose. I didn't want to disturb him. I didn't want to say goodbye.

The bathroom tiles were cold against my soles. I stood under the shower for too long, letting the water run down my skin like it could wash away the pain lodged in my chest. It didn't.

Once dressed, I moved to the kitchen and scribbled a note on the notepad near the fruit bowl—the same one we used to write grocery lists and reminders.

> "I loved you quietly. But you hurt me loudly.

Please don't come looking for me."

I folded it neatly and placed it where he'd see it when he woke. Then I packed a small bag, laid the roses he gave me on the porch table, and walked away from the house that once felt like home.

---

It took me a while before I called Jules.

She didn't ask questions. She simply said, "Come."

A taxi carried me through sleepy towns and fog-laced streets until I arrived at her estate—a penthouse nestled in one of the wealthiest ridges in the city. Everything about it screamed freedom. Glass walls, clean lines, soft light pouring through open spaces. It was elegant, powerful, and nothing like the shadows I just left.

Jules opened the door before I even knocked twice.

Her eyes landed on me—my face, my bag, the silence in my posture. She didn't speak.

She just pulled me into her arms.

And I broke.

Tears spilled down my cheeks, soaking her shoulder as my body trembled. I hadn't cried since this whole thing began. Not when Vivian showed up. Not when Damien chose silence over truth. Not when the walls of our cottage began whispering her name louder than mine.

But now… I wept. Quiet, deep sobs. For the love I tried to earn. For the child I hadn't told him about. For everything I lost without anyone even noticing.

When I finally pulled away, she smoothed my hair back and said, "Tell me everything."

And I did.

From the moment Damien left me on our anniversary… to the day he walked into my restaurant with her. The cottage. The necklace. The dinner. The lies. And finally, the morning I decided to walk away.

"And I'm pregnant," I whispered at the end.

Her eyes widened. "Elena…"

"I couldn't keep it to myself anymore."

She blinked, stunned, and then her whole body shifted—like a switch had been flipped.

"Are you hurt?" she demanded, her hands moving to my arms, then my stomach.

"No," I replied, my voice low. "But I'm dying in pain."

She pulled me into her again and said, with quiet finality, "You are not going back to that house. Not with them. Not with her."

---

She tucked me into her guest room and told me to rest. That later, she'd tell me something she heard from the council.

I tried. I really did.

But when she returned, I sat up and asked, "What was it you heard?"

She hesitated. Then sat down beside me.

"They're already twisting the story."

"What?" I blinked at her.

Jules sighed. "Catherine is saying… that you tried to poison Vivian. That because she's pregnant and you're not, you wanted her gone."

I stared at her, stunned. "What?"

"She's playing the victim, Elena. Claiming stress from you is hurting her baby."

I felt the room spin. "What did I ever do to Catherine? Why does she hate me this much?"

I clenched my fists in my lap, swallowing the lump in my throat. My bones felt like they were cracking under invisible pressure.

"And Damien?" I asked softly. "Has he said anything?"

Jules looked away. "No. He hasn't defended you. Not once."

Her words landed like stones in my stomach. I knew it already… but hearing it made it real.

The silence was louder than any accusation.

Then Jules said something I didn't expect.

"I have a cousin," she said. "She runs a female-led rogue pack in the Northwoods. She takes in women like you. Hurt Lunas. Wounded warriors. Survivors."

I didn't reply.

But her words planted a seed.

A life away from all of this. A life where I'm not defined by Damien. Or Vivian. Or any of it.

Later that day, I told Jules I needed to go back to Ember Flame. Just for a while. Just to breathe.

"My kitchen is still mine," I said. "It's the only place where I still feel real."

---

When I got there, the air smelled like saffron and sage. It was comforting.

On my desk was a sealed envelope.

The Culinary Council.

I didn't open it. I didn't have to. I already knew what it was.

A ticket out. A chance to choose myself.

But before I could leave, I locked up the doors for the night.

As I turned the key, I heard a voice behind me.

"Elena Hart?"

I turned sharply.

A man stepped from the shadows.

Rugged. Tired. A long scar cut across his jaw. He smelled like pine and fire.

"Who are you?" I asked.

His voice was quiet. Low and grave.

"Someone who's seen what the Thorne family does to those who trust them. You'll want to leave—before they take more from you than your name."

And just like that… the wind changed.