CHAPTER 4

Chapter 4

The Woman in White

Elena's POV 

“Smile, Elena, the press is to your left.”

“I am smiling,” I murmured, forcing a smile without looking at Damon.

“Not like you’re walking into a funeral.”

“Maybe I am actually doing that.”

His jaw was already hardened slightly at that, but he didn’t respond. Typical of him. Three days ago, I had made the greatest discovery of my life, that the snow was a lie. Two nights ago, I still lay beside him, my emotions all over the place, while he slept like a man without guilt. Yesterday, he acted so smoothly, like nothing had happened between us.

And tonight, the same people that stayed in the same house for three days without talking, are now at a charity gala, dressed in perfection, pretending our marriage wasn’t bleeding from inside. 

The ballroom was more than glittering, because everything was done in excess, like excess had taken physical form. There were different crystal chandeliers, champagne towers. Also, women in couture gowns and men in tailored power, all gathered around. The kind of room where different secrets abode, mostly wearing tuxedos and betrayal hiding politely behind applause.

“Stay close,” Damon had said quietly, more like an instruction.

“I always do that,” I replied calmly. 

His eyes scanned my face, maybe about to scold me again, but before he could say anything else, someone approached him almost immediately. 

“Damon! Good to finally see you back from Tokyo.”

“Kyoto,” he corrected smoothly, which I pretended not to read the meaning into.

Kyoto, snow, all are lies. 

I excused myself from them before their conversation kept returning the memory I had been dying to keep buried, the one that almost swallowed me. 

I didn’t know why I felt it at first. It wasn't actually by sight, not logic, just my instinct at work. Like, from nowhere, my body recognized a presence my mind had never met instantly. 

Then I saw her, in white. 

It wasn't the dramatic kind of white. Not bridal kind either, or attention-seeking. It was just silk, clean lines, and understated elegance. She looked… peaceful, very fragile, and the kind of woman you wouldn’t suspect of being the mastermind behind someone’s emotional breakdown.

And yet I knew her. I knew Jasmine just by sight. 

I had never met her my entire life, never seen her in person. Only a handful of old photos buried deep online, most deleted quickly, reason best known to her.

She turned slowly after entering, and our eyes met. Her gaze did not widen in shock, or the look of surprise. She didn't even flinch, she simply smiled at me, and then walked toward me.

“Dr. Carter,” she said gently, stopping in front of me. Her voice was strangely softer than I imagined.

“Have we met before?” I asked evenly, trying to figure out how she knew me.

“Not formally.”

“You seem sure it’s me, or my look alike.”

She bent her head slightly in a dramatic way, almost making me laugh. “You’re exactly how he described you to be.”

My heartbeat skipped the moment she said that. “He describes me?”

There was no malice in her expression, not even a smirk, no competition surprisingly.

“I’m glad you’re here tonight,” she said sincerely, and I wondered what type of person she is.

That sincerity kind of unsettled me more than cruelty would have done. “I almost didn’t come,” I admitted truthfully to her before I could stop myself.

Her gaze sharpened just slightly after that. “And that would have been because of me?”

“Should I have?”

She let out a soft breath, carefully gathering her words. “No. I don't think it's appropriate for you to rearrange your life all because of history.”

History? 

Is she truly the one saying this? She said history, not rivalry, not regret, just history. 

“I didn’t know you would be here,” I said carefully.

“Neither did I inform Damon.”

My pulse quickened, beating harder that I could almost hear my heartbeat. “He doesn’t know you’re back till now?”

“He knows I’m in New York per say.” She paused. “He only doesn’t know I’m standing just ten feet away from him.”

I resisted the urge to turn around, to calculate the distance.“Why make the attempt to approach me first?” I asked her.

“Because you’re actually the one he chose.” The words should have comforted me due to what I had passed through, but they didn’t.

She studied my face gently, for every emotion I displayed on it. “I wanted to see the woman who actually stayed.”

Stayed?

As she said that, the moment in the snow flashed back in my head. His smooth and muscular hands around me. His voice said the sweetest things in a careless abandon to me. 

“People don’t always stay or stick around just by choice alone,” I said quietly.

Her eyes softened, maybe she read another meaning to it.

“You found out, didn’t you?”

My throat tightened, as I braced up for more information, as it seemed I still had a long way to go.

“Found out about what?”

“That Damon isn't the kind to be trusted to handle endings well.”

It wasn't an accusation, and at the same time, it wasn't a defense. It was actually the truth delivered like porcelain.

“Why did you leave for Italy?” I asked before my pride could stop me from doing that. 

There it was again. The question that has been eating me up ever since the drunken night. She didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, she glanced past me, and my body stiffened, because right there was Damon. 

He hadn’t seen her yet. He was still engaged in conversation, unaware that the past had just entered the room in white. I wondered what his reaction would be on seeing her. Will he pretend to never be part of the conversation? 

“I didn’t leave because I stopped loving him,” she said finally.

The words slid under my ribs, but still not the answer I was looking for. “Then why?” I whispered with all eagerness. 

“Because loving someone isn’t always enough to survive them.”

I swallowed hard, as that seemed dry to me. 

“That’s vague.”

“That’s kind.”

Her gaze held mine steadily, and there was no desperation in her. No attempt to reclaim anything, just a girl living life.

“You think I manipulated him into running after me,” she said softly. I didn’t deny it, because there was no need to do that. 

“You think I walked away for ambition, to further my career, left for money, or status.”

“Didn’t you do that?” I asked again. She shook her head negatively. 

“I left because staying would have destroyed us both more than we ever imagined.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one I can give you tonight.”

Tonight?

Which means there were more answers yet to come.

“Does he still love you?” I asked before I could stop myself.Her breathing hitched almost invisibly, but I saw it.

“I don’t know,” she admitted truthfully.

That honesty felt far more dangerous than any confidence could have.

“I hope Damon didn’t have to rush back for me this time..,” she added gently, almost thoughtfully if examined. “As he did before.”

“What do you mean by that?” My voice dropped slowly. 

Her eyes searched mine, maybe to know if I can carry the answer. “He didn’t tell you anything?”

“Tell me what exactly?” Before she could respond to the question, a familiar voice immediately joined, cutting her intentionally. 

“Elena.”

I turned sharply, and there stood Damon a few feet away now, and he had seen her, but chose to call my name instead of hers. 

His face didn’t show shock, it rather showed recognition immediately. It showed old pain, unresolved something. 

“Jasmine,” he finally called quietly.

Her name sounded so different from his mouth, not like mine that was flat. It was softer, and carried more weight.

“Hello, Damon.” she said with no drama. 

“You didn’t tell me you would be attending,” he said.

“You didn’t ask me either,” she replied calmly.

I stood between them, now completely invisible and hyper-visible at the same time.

“You rushed back before,” she continued gently, her eyes never leaving his. “I thought maybe this time would be different.”

“What are you talking about?” I demanded immediately.

Damon’s jaw tightened, like it was a big secret he never wanted me to find out.

“It’s not the place,” he said.

“That seems to be your favorite line lately.” I snapped out of anger. His eyes focused on me, a warning and a please at same time.

“I think I should take my leave right now,” Jasmine murmured.

“No,” I said more quickly than I should have. “Don’t go yet.”

Both of them stared weirdly at me.

“If there’s something I’m missing from this drama,” I continued, my voice steadier than I felt, “I would prefer to not be the only one in the dark.”

“Three years ago,” Jasmine started slowly, “Just immediately after your wedding, Damon flew to Milan.”

My breath caught, but I held myself to get the whole story.

Milan? Italy?

“She wasn’t supposed to know about that,” Damon said sharply, trying to cut her off.

I turned to fully face him. “Know what exactly?” His silence at this point felt louder than any confession could.

“You told me you were negotiating with investors at the time,” I whispered, my voice breaking.

“I was,” he said quickly to cover up.

“In Italy?” My voice shook again.

“Yes.”

“With her?” I pressed on. 

His hesitation lasted half a second longer than usual. 

Jasmine stepped back slightly. “I had no idea he was married when he came.”

The world almost collapsed when she said that. “What?” My voice barely formed.

Damon’s head snapped toward her, trying to stop her. “That’s not...”

“You didn’t tell me any of that,” she continued softly, not accusatory. “I found out about it after you left.”

“You went to her,” I said slowly, each word tasting metallic. “After we got married.”

I clenched my hands at my sides, fighting the urge to leave them on his face.

“So when you said,” I whispered, looking directly at him, “‘If you can’t marry the one you want most…’ you weren’t drunk reminiscing.”

His eyes darkened, more like it was never meant to happen.“You were remembering things that actually happened.”

“Did you ever let her go?” I asked again, but he didn’t answer. And that was the loudest response of all since we started talking.

Jasmine looked at me, something like regret evidence in her expression.

“History isn’t always unfinished most times,” she said quietly. “Sometimes it’s just… interrupted before it could conclude.”

Interrupted, how? 

By what? By who? By me?

I stared at my husband, or rather, at the man who flew to Milan after marrying me. At the man who still looked like part of him had been carved out years ago.

My chest tightened painfully, learning that I was a joke to him all this while.

If the snow was a lie…completely fabricated my me to make me fall in love....

If Milan was real…to the point of rushing to her immediately after our wedding, and staying for six months each time...

If he rushed back once before…to meet her...

Then what exactly am I standing inside of?

A marriage that was never mine?

Or the pause between a love story that was never meant to include me?

Why go through the pain of making me fall when he can easily be with her without me interfering?