After a day of frantically searching, Elle waltzed in as though nothing had even happened. I was furious. Harper, Lukas, Justin, Soren, Caleb—we had all been worried sick, and she just strolled in like she had stepped out for a leisurely walk.
Elle looked as immaculate as ever, not a wrinkle in her clothes or a hair out of place.
“Where the hell have you been?”
“I had some business to take care of,” she responded with a nonchalant air. “Didn’t you get my note?”
“You didn’t leave a note,” I snapped, my eyes narrowing.
She shrugged, her gaze unfazed. “I thought I did.”
“Are you hungry? Do you want something to eat?” Harper asked.
Elle turned to her, the same placid expression on her face. “Don’t worry about me, Harper. You should never worry about me.”
Harper looked almost hurt. “I always worry about you.”
“Really, it’s not necessary,” Elle retorted, her voice tinged with an edge this time.
Lukas, trying to defuse the tension, chimed in, “Well, we’re just glad you’re back.”
Justin stepped forward and enveloped her in a hug, whispering, “I’m so relieved you’re safe.”
Soren just watched, as though he were a spectator at a sporting event, curious about the next play. His eyes followed Elle, narrowing slightly as if trying to decipher an unspoken riddle.
As Elle hugged Justin back, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. Her smile, her posture, her entire demeanor—they were flawless, textbook perfect. But her eyes, those eyes looked furious, even if the rest of her face contradicted it.
“I’m tired. We’ll talk more in the morning,” she finally said, pulling away from Justin.
Caleb, not one to mince words, interjected, “You can’t just take off like that, Elle. Where were you?”
She turned toward all of us, her gaze sweeping the room. “Thank you for your concern; I’m flattered. But right now, I’m exhausted.”
Then she left, her exit as dramatic and baffling as her entrance, leaving us all to ponder just what version of Elle had returned. What “business” had she needed to take care of that was so important it couldn’t wait? And why did I get the feeling that the real story was something none of us were prepared to handle? I looked at Harper, whose face was a mix of relief and confusion, and I knew that whatever had happened, things were far from being alright.
Justin made a move to follow her, but I stopped him with a hand on his arm.
“I’ll handle it,” I said, releasing his arm and heading up the stairs before anyone else could protest. When I reached her room, I barged in without knocking.
Elle was standing in the middle of the room, slipping her dress over her head and leaving her in just a bra and underwear. She whirled around, but once she realized it was me, she relaxed. “What are you doing here?”
I refused to let myself feel embarrassed. But I didn’t want to look anywhere but her face, either. “Put something on, for God’s sake.”
Elle rolled her eyes but did as I asked, slipping into a robe that was hanging on the back of her door. “What do you want? Why did you come up?”
“Frankly, I didn’t want to,” I shot back. “But Harper seemed really upset when you disappeared, and now you’re back, acting like everything is fine when it clearly isn’t.”
She laughed, a bitter sound. “I love how honest you are, Damien. You’ve always been brutal. It’s refreshing. But when I’m honest, I’m a bitch, right?”
“What are you talking about?”
“You’re not here because you’re worried about me. You’re worried about Harper. Everyone always is. And that’s fine; Harper deserves all the love in the world. But let’s not pretend we’re friends here, or that we even like each other.”
She had a point, as much as I hated to admit it. I was concerned about Harper, and by extension, her sister.
“So where were you?” I pressed, choosing to sidestep her observation about our non-relationship.
She stepped closer, her eyes meeting mine. “I’ll make you a promise. I’ll get out of your hair soon enough. Harper won’t have to worry, and neither will you. Happy now?”
Her smile was perfect, almost too perfect. It was like a well-rehearsed act, devoid of any real emotion.
“I won’t be a problem anymore,” she added. “Now, get out of my room.”
I stared at her for a moment, grappling with a storm of emotions I didn’t fully understand. Then, without another word, I turned and left, the door clicking shut behind me.
As I walked back downstairs, her final words echoed in my mind. She wouldn’t be a “problem” anymore. But the question that gnawed at me was, what did that mean for Elle? And what had happened to her to make her put on such a convincing facade? The Elle standing in that room wasn’t the Elle any of us knew, but a shell—perfectly crafted, yet hollow inside.