29. After The Applause Faded

Elara’s POV

The applause didn’t follow us home, It never does.

By the time the penthouse doors closed behind Adrian and me, the city felt quieter—like it was holding its breath, waiting to see if the declaration would survive the night.

I slipped my heels off by the door and stood there for a moment, grounding myself against the marble floor. My body still hummed with adrenaline. Not excitement. Awareness.

Public loyalty always comes with private consequences.

Adrian loosened his tie slowly, methodically, as though every movement was a decision he refused to rush. He didn’t look at me right away, and I didn’t rush to fill the silence.

That was new.

Before, I would have.

“Are you angry?” he asked eventually.

I considered the question carefully. “No.”

“Relieved?”

“Not exactly.”

He turned then, leaning against the counter, studying me like he was reading a document with hidden clauses. “Then what?”

“Alert,” I said honestly. “You didn’t just draw a line. You erased an illusion.”

His mouth curved faintly. “Which one?”

“That I could stay invisible,” I replied. “That I could exist beside you without being seen as leverage.”

He nodded once. “That illusion was never sustainable.”

“I know,” I said. “But it was comfortable.”

Comfort is dangerous. It dulls instinct.

He moved closer, stopping just short of touching me. “You held yourself together out there.”

“I had to,” I said. “Everyone was watching to see if I would shrink.”

“And you didn’t.”

“No,” I agreed. “But don’t mistake composure for certainty.”

His eyes sharpened. “Meaning?”

“Meaning now they’ll test me differently.”

A beat passed.

“They already are,” he said.

My chest tightened. “What does that mean?”

Adrian reached for his phone, hesitated, then handed it to me.

A message glowed on the screen.

You made your choice very loudly today. Let’s see how long she enjoys the echo.

No name.

No number.

I didn’t need one.

“She’s not done,” I said quietly.

“No,” Adrian agreed. “She isn’t.”

I handed the phone back. “And now?”

“Now,” he said, “we stop reacting.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You mean you stop reacting?”

His lips twitched. “Fair.”

The night passed without incident, but sleep didn’t come easily. I lay awake, staring at the ceiling, replaying the way Lydia had looked at me before she walked away.

Not furious.

Calculating.

That unsettled me more than anger ever could.

Morning came too quickly.

I left the penthouse early, choosing routine over isolation. The florist shop opened like it always had quiet, unassuming, honest. I immersed myself in the work, fingers brushing petals, trimming stems, breathing through the scent of fresh blooms.

Normalcy mattered.

By mid-morning, the first crack appeared.

A supplier called to say my order had been delayed.

Then another.

Then a polite but stiff email arrived from the building manager, citing “temporary concerns” about my lease.

Temporary.

Concerns.

I laughed softly, shaking my head.

So this was the backlash.

Power doesn’t always shout. Sometimes it nudges, quietly, persistently, hoping you’ll step aside on your own.

I closed my eyes briefly.

Not today.

When I stepped outside for air, I nearly collided with her.

Lydia stood on the sidewalk, sunglasses shielding her eyes, posture immaculate as ever. She looked like she belonged anywhere she chose to stand.

“Bold,” I said evenly. “Showing up here.”

She smiled faintly. “I wanted to see it.”

“See what?”

“You,” she replied. “Without the lights. Without the audience.”

I folded my arms. “And?”

“And you’re still standing,” she said. “Interesting.”

I met her gaze. “What do you want, Lydia?”

She removed her sunglasses slowly, revealing eyes sharp with intent. “I want you to understand the position you’re in.”

“I understand it very well,” I said. “You’re used to being chosen. You don’t like losing.”

Her lips pressed together briefly. “This isn’t about losing.”

“It is,” I countered. “Just not the way you frame it.”

She stepped closer, lowering her voice. “Adrian doesn’t do permanence the way you think he does.”

“Neither do I,” I replied calmly.

That caught her off guard.

“You think tonight changed everything,” she said. “It didn’t. It accelerated it.”

“I know,” I said. “That’s why I didn’t stop him.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You’re braver than I thought.”

“No,” I said softly. “I’m just done pretending.”

She studied me for a long moment, then smiled again—but this time it didn’t reach her eyes.

“Enjoy the attention,” she said. “It fades quickly.”

She walked away without another word.

I stood there long after she disappeared, pulse steady, mind racing.

She was right about one thing.

Things were accelerating.

But not in the direction she expected.

That evening, Adrian came to the shop instead of calling.

He stood in the doorway, sleeves rolled up, tie gone, billionaire polish stripped down to something more dangerous focus.

“She came here,” he said.

“Yes,” I replied.

“Did she threaten you?”

“No.”

“That’s worse,” he muttered.

I smiled faintly. “She wanted to remind me that pressure doesn’t always bruise.”

He stepped closer. “And did it work?”

I looked up at him. “No.”

Something shifted in his expression approval, maybe. Or recognition.

“Good,” he said. “Because tomorrow, the board meets.”

My stomach tightened. “About us.”

“About control,” he corrected. “They’ll push back. Harder this time.”

“And you?”

“I’ll push forward,” he said simply.

I searched his face. “Even if it costs you?”

“Yes.”

That answer didn’t feel performative.

It felt chosen.

Later, as we stood side by side at the window, city lights stretching endlessly before us, I spoke the thought that had been sitting heavy in my chest.

“I don’t need to be protected from this,” I said. “But I need honesty.”

He turned to me fully. “You’ll get it.”

“Then tell me,” I said. “Are you prepared to lose things you’ve spent years building for this marriage?”

He didn’t hesitate.

“I already decided,” he said. “The moment I realized I didn’t want to win if you weren’t standing next to me when it ended.”

The words settled slowly, deeply.

Not dramatic.

Definitive.

I nodded once. “Then whatever comes next we face it openly.”

He reached for my hand, not possessively, not urgently.

Deliberately.

And for the first time since all this began, I understood something with clarity that steadied me completely.

The danger wasn’t that Lydia would try again.

The danger was that she would underestimate how much ground she had already lost.