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CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

ELENA

The door shuts softly behind Conor, and I could kill him. Based on the look on Victoria’s face, she shares my sentiment. I can see the news headline now. Man survives three gunshots to the chest; brutally murdered by lovers two weeks later.

I stand from the table and dump the remnants of my coffee into the kitchen sink as Victoria sits near-motionless at the table. Her gaze is out the window, and her fingers are twisting the sash of her robe—only showcasing how uncharacteristically uncomfortable she is.

I don’t know how long we sit there, but it’s too long. I can’t bear it anymore. The tension in the room is so thick that I feel like I’m struggling to breathe. “Did I do something wrong?” The question spills from my lips without thought, the words escaping like a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

As the words fall from my tongue, Victoria blurts, “I’m so sorry, sweet girl.” Her apology is muttered, but in the silence of this apartment, it sounds like a scream. It’s the first time—in a really long time—I’ve heard her say those words. And it fucking hurts. They’re like a stabbing ache in my chest. I grip the counter, fighting between the urge to comfort her and the need to know what she’s apologizing for.

She takes a deep breath, like she’s bracing to shatter my world. “You didn’t do anything wrong, sweet girl.” I blink, trying to fully comprehend what she’s saying.

“Is it me and Conor? Just Conor?” My voice shakes because I’m terrified of her answer. “Is having him in our relationship the problem?”

Victoria looks at me—really looks at me—with a soft vulnerability behind her eyes. She breaks my stare, and her gaze drifts down to the table as she fidgets nervously with her robe again. “No,” she states firmly. “This is on me.”

She shifts in her seat for a moment before deciding to get up. She paces across the kitchen and into the adjoining living room space. Her back to me, she shakes her head as she painfully confesses, “I don’t know how to lead you. How to be your Domme. Not after you saw me so fucking broken that you had to bathe and feed me.”

She says it like it’s a weakness, like she’s ashamed. Her words slice through my heart, her raw emotion forming tears in my eyes. I didn’t know what was behind the distance between us and the walls she’s slowly been building. She’s been carrying her vulnerability like a burden, suffering under the weight of it alone.

“Vic…” My voice cracks with the pain I feel for her. “You can’t be strong all the time. No one can. That’s why you find people to love you… To care for you. When you falter, we’re there to catch you… To lift you up. I didn’t do anything that you or Conor wouldn’t have done for me.”

Her expression sours, and her brows furrow. I know she wants to argue that she should’ve been the one to take care of me. But she’s wrong…

“You’re human, Vic. You hurt like the rest of us. I can’t fault you for that. I would never fault you for that.” My thoughts pour out of me uncontrollably, like I can’t hold them back. “You’ve been building me up from my lowest for years. The least I could do was give you a few days of the same when you needed it most.”

I feel like I’m saying things I should’ve said earlier. Things that Conor shouldn’t have been the only one to speak up about. “Seeing you at your lowest changes nothing for me,” I exhale. My eyes lock onto hers from across the room as I slowly lower to my knees.

She’s struggling with my admission; it’s written across her face. She needs to know that it’s okay not to lead all the time. Sometimes, it’s okay to let go, let us in, and let us help.

“I’m still yours,” I whisper, my voice steady but full of emotion as I kneel for her. “You’re still my Madame. That hasn’t changed. I’d crawl across this city on my hands and knees if you told me to.” It’s the truth. I’d do anything she asked of me. But in this moment—as I stare up at her from the floor—I’m silently praying that she asks. That she takes this opportunity I’m giving her to find herself. To find us.

She stares back at me in silence, and for a second, I think she might not get what I’m offering. I’m about to push myself from the floor when her expressions shift and I catch a familiar glimmer in her dark, chestnut eyes.

“What about across the room?” she asks, her tone slightly hesitant but growing in strength with every word, giving me a glimpse of my Madame. She’s accepting my challenge… My invitation.

I hold her gaze, not willing to break this connection between us. Not now. Not when she’s finding herself again. “Is that what my Madame wants?” I teasingly brat.

Her back straightens, and she suddenly towers over me from across the room. She’s radiating that gorgeous natural poise of hers. A messy bun and Conor’s ratty T-shirt does nothing to hide her suddenly commanding presence. She moves closer, a subtle grace in her steps, as she makes her way to the center of the living room.

My Madame… She’s fucking radiant. Standing before me is a woman who knows what she wants. And what she wants right now… is me.

Statuesque, she curls her finger, inviting me toward her. “Crawl to me, sweet girl.” Her words are soft, but they hit me with a force that rattles me to my core. My heart races in anticipation as I drop onto all fours. Not once breaking eye contact, I take my time, slowly and deliberately, crawling to close the distance between us. I can feel the heat of her gaze on me—the power of her presence—and for the first time in days, everything feels right with us.

Reaching her, I stare up her body as she beams down at me with pride. “I’ve missed you, sweet girl.”