Chapter 7 The Mask Slips

Elena: POV

Catherine came down the stairs with that practiced elegance she'd perfected over years of cotillion classes and finishing school. Her pink Chanel dress swished around her legs, and when she smiled, it was all teeth—sharp as knives.

"Julian, darling," she purred, completely ignoring me. "It's been ages. You look exhausted. Working too hard as usual, I suppose?"

Her eyes flicked to me for just a second, and I saw the contempt there, barely veiled.

"Catherine." Julian's voice was flat, his hand still resting on my lower back. "This is Elena. My wife."

Catherine's smile didn't waver. "Oh, I know who she is." She tilted her head, studying me like I was something fascinating under a microscope. "The girl who grew up in the servants' quarters. How... inspiring. A real Cinderella story."

The jab was subtle but deliberate. I felt Julian's hand tighten on my back.

"Watch your tone," he said quietly, and there was steel beneath the words.

Catherine's eyes widened in mock innocence. "I'm just saying it's impressive. Not everyone could go from dusting the furniture to sleeping in the master bedroom." She laughed, light and musical. "Though I suppose some things never change. You're still... serving the family, aren't you?"

Blood rushed to my face. My fingers curled into fists at my sides.

"Catherine—" Julian started, his voice dropping into that dangerous register I'd heard before.

But she waved him off, her attention already shifting. "Anyway, I just wanted to say hello. And to remind you, Julian—she's waiting. You remember Victoria, don't you? Your actual fiancée?" Her smile turned sympathetic, sickeningly sweet. "Poor thing's been so patient. Three years in Paris, waiting for you to come to your senses."

My stomach dropped. The name hung in the air between us like poison.

Victoria Astor. The woman Julian loved. The woman he'd been engaged to before everything went to hell.

Julian's face went blank, that corporate mask sliding into place. "Victoria and I—"

"Are perfect for each other," Catherine finished, patting his arm. "Everyone knows it. This..." She gestured vaguely at me. "This is just temporary, right? A favor for Grandpa Arthur. Once the old man's satisfied, things can go back to normal."

I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. The words sliced through me, confirming everything I'd feared.

'Temporary. A favor. Not real.'

"That's enough." Julian's voice was ice. He glared at Catherine with an intensity that made her take a step back. "You will speak about my wife with respect, or you won't speak at all. Understood?"

Catherine's smile faltered for just a moment. Then she shrugged, already backing toward the living room. "Of course, Julian. Whatever you say."

She disappeared around the corner, and I stood there, frozen, my mind spinning.

Julian turned to me, his face unreadable. "Ignore her. She's always been—"

"I need to use the restroom," I cut him off, my voice barely steady.

I didn't wait for his response. I turned and walked toward the hallway that led to the powder room, my flats padding softly against the marble, my heart hammering against my ribs.

But I didn't make it.

A hand grabbed my wrist, yanking me sideways into a small alcove beneath the staircase—the same spot where I used to hide as a child, reading books I'd stolen from the library.

Catherine's face was inches from mine, all pretense of sweetness gone. Her grip on my wrist was bruising.

"Let's get something straight," she hissed, her breath hot against my face. "You don't belong here. You never did. And everyone in this house knows it."

I tried to pull away, but she held firm. "Julian doesn't love you. He never will. You're just a placeholder, a warm body in his bed while the woman he actually wants is overseas."

Her nails dug into my skin. "Victoria's coming back. And when she does, he's going to toss you aside like the trash you are. So if you have any self-respect left, you'll walk away now. Save yourself the humiliation."

Something inside me snapped.

I'd spent three years being quiet. Being obedient. Swallowing my pain and my pride.

Not tonight.

"I know exactly where I stand," I said, my voice low and steady. "But here's the thing, Catherine—I'm still his wife. And as long as I am, I'll stay right here. So if Julian wants me gone, he can tell me himself. Not you. Not Victoria. Him."

Catherine's eyes flashed with rage. "You little—"

Her hand rose, and I saw the slap coming.

But before it could land, fingers wrapped around her wrist, stopping her mid-swing.

Julian.

He stood behind her, his face a mask of cold fury. His gray eyes were ice, his jaw tight.

"Touch her," he said softly, "and you'll regret it."

Catherine tried to pull her wrist free, but Julian's grip held firm. "Julian, I was just—"

"Leaving," he finished. "Right now. And if I ever see you near my wife again, if I even hear you've mentioned her name, I'll make sure your father's firm loses every contract with Sterling Corp. Are we clear?"

Catherine's face went white. She nodded, jerking her hand away the moment he released her.

She shot me one last venomous look before hurrying toward the front door, grabbing her clutch from the hall table and disappearing into the night.

I stood there, trembling, my back pressed against the wall.

Julian turned to me, and for a moment, something flickered in his eyes—something almost like concern.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice gentler than I'd heard it in weeks.

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

"She won't bother you again." He reached out, his fingers brushing my cheek. "I meant what I said. Stay away from her."

Then his expression shifted, hardening. "But Catherine was right about one thing."

My heart stopped.

"Victoria's coming back this week," he said quietly. "She's... she's not well. Depression. She's been struggling since Paris."

Oh God.

Of course. Of course she was coming back. Of course she was sick. And of course Julian would feel responsible.

I wanted to ask him what that meant for us. For our marriage. For the baby I was carrying.

But before I could say anything, he leaned in.

His lips found my neck, pressing kisses to the sensitive skin there. His hands slid to my waist, pulling me against him.

"Julian—" I gasped, my body responding even as my mind screamed at me to push him away.

But he didn't listen. He just kept kissing, his mouth moving lower, his breath hot against my collarbone.

Then he buried his face in the crook of my neck, his forehead pressing against my shoulder. His body was tense, coiled like a spring, and I felt his fingers tighten on my hips.

It was almost like... like he was struggling. Like he was fighting something inside himself.

I raised my hand, instinctively reaching to touch his hair, to offer some kind of comfort—

He pulled back sharply, as if I'd burned him.

The cold mask was back, his face perfectly blank.

"Don't ask about things that aren't your business," he said, his voice flat. "I won't let her bother you. That's all you need to know."

I stared at him, my hand still suspended in the air where his head had been moments ago.

A bitter smile tugged at my lips.

Of course. He was so terrified I'd go after his precious Victoria. So convinced I'd be jealous, petty, vindictive.

As if I didn't already know how much she meant to him. As if I hadn't spent three years living in her shadow.