Chapter Thirteen

Eleanor. 

The gala feels like a stage set on fire. Everywhere I turn, eyes follow me, whispers snap through the air like lightning. My name, my face, my return tonight, I’m the headline the world never saw coming.

But I don’t waver.

I glide through the glittering room as if I belong here, even though my heart is thrashing against my ribs. My fingers tighten around the stem of the champagne flute a waiter pressed into my hand, though I’ve barely taken a sip. I don’t drink tonight. I need my wits sharp.

Still, I can feel it.

That stare.

Heavy. Relentless. Scorching me from across the room.

Jake Donovan.

I don’t have to look to know he’s there. I feel the tether, frayed and violent, tugging at me like it never broke. Five years apart, five years of silence, and still his presence burns through me like a brand.

I finally lift my gaze, and our eyes collide across the room.

The breath catches in my throat.

He hasn’t changed, not where it matters. Taller than anyone else here, shoulders broad under a perfectly cut tux, that same sharp jaw I once traced with my fingertips when the world felt softer. But his eyes they’re darker now. Haunted.

Before I can blink, he’s moving. Cutting through the crowd like a storm, ignoring every hand that tries to catch his attention, every camera still sneaking shots even inside.

My pulse skips. Instinct screams at me to run, but my heels stay planted, as if I have been waiting for this moment since the night I vanished.

And then he’s there.

His hand clamps around my arm, firm, unyielding. Gasps ripple nearby, but no one dares intervene. With one hard pull, he yanks me out of the spotlight, dragging me toward the side corridors of the hotel.

“Jake” I hiss, but the sound dies in the roar of my heartbeat.

We weave past startled guests, the glittering world of the gala blurring behind us, until the music and chatter fade. He doesn’t stop until we’re deep in a deserted hallway, the heavy double doors shutting out the noise of celebration.

Only then does he release me, but just barely, his grip still tight around my arms as if letting go would mean losing me again.

For a long second, neither of us speaks. It’s just ragged breaths and the heat of his body too close to mine.

Finally, his voice breaks the silence. Low. Rough. Almost like a plea.

“I thought you were dead Eleanor.”

The words slice through me, raw and jagged. His eyes bore into mine, filled with something I can’t name, rage, grief, anger disbelief all tangled together.

I swallow hard, my chest tightening. “Clearly, I’m not.”

“That’s not” He curses under his breath, dragging a hand through his hair before gripping me again, harder this time. “Eleanor, do you have any idea what it did to me? Believing you were gone?”

My laugh is sharp, humorless. “What it did to you? You? Jake, you buried me long before the world did.” I hiss back

His jaw flexes, the muscle ticking like he’s barely holding himself together. “That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?” I snap, my voice rising, echoing off the empty corridor walls. “You were in my bed one night and in my sister’s the next. Don’t you dare stand here and act like you mourned me, like me being gone affected you in any way, you didn't waste no time either, before you started parading her around.”

The color drains from his face, but his grip doesn’t loosen. “You don’t understand… ”

“Then explain it to me,” I cut in, leaning closer, the fury I have bottled for years spilling over. “Tell me why. Tell me how betraying me with Amina made sense to you. Tell me why you broke every vow you swore to me, and then acted like my ghost was the only thing haunting you.”

His chest rises and falls fast, his breath hot as he glares down at me. For a moment, I think he’ll finally say the truth, the thing that’s poisoned us both. But instead, his voice breaks, softer this time, trembling with something he can’t cage.

“I thought you were dead Eleanor,” he repeats, but this time it’s not anger, it’s devastation. A confession. A wound he can’t close.

Something twists in me, something I don’t want to feel. Because the way he says it, it sounds real. Too real.

I wrench free from his grasp, stepping back to put distance between us, my arms wrapping around myself as though that could shield me from him. “And now you know the truth. I’m alive. So what will you do with it, Jake?”

His eyes lock on mine, burning, searching, as though the answer lies in the pieces of me he once knew. But he won’t find her, not the girl he betrayed.

That girl is gone.

I tilt my chin, steeling myself. “You can’t bury me again. I am here to stay, I hope she makes you happy, happier than I did.”

The silence stretches, heavy with everything we haven’t said, everything still festering between us. His hands clench at his sides, his throat working like he wants to speak, but the words won’t come.

For the first time, he looks lost.

And for the first time, I don’t care.

"You could have called, you could have texted, you could have at least done something to signal me that you were out there, alive." he finally said, his voice defeated. I almost felt sorry for him. I wanted to answer him, tell him I wanted to come back, but instead I just shook my head. 

I turn on my heel, leaving him in that deserted hallway with his guilt, his confusion, his ghosts. My heels click against the marble, each step a reminder that I came back on my own terms.

He did not deserve any closure from me. The images from that night at the house hit me hard, the noises I heard and I walk quickly. I was not about to let Jake Donovan see me cry over him.