Chapter Fourteen: The Line He Crosses
The breakfast table was already set when Elena walked in—perfectly laid out like always. Coffee. Fresh bread, sausages,eggs,cream and a fruit bowl.A glass of orange juice she hadn't poured.
Aiden was there, half-distracted, scrolling through something on his phone.
"Elena," he said, like it was normal. Like this was how mornings went.
She sat down slowly. Poured her own coffee. Waited.
"I had Ashley set something up for you," he said after a moment. "Stylist downtown. Noon."
She looked up. "For what?"
He paused. "Thought you might want something new for the gala next week."
"You thought I might want that," she repeated.
"Yes."He said simply
She took a sip of coffee. Let the silence stretch.
"Did you ask me?"
His eyes flicked to hers.
"No," he said.
She nodded once. "Noted."
Then she cut a piece of toast. Ate it. Didn't speak again.
Aiden watched her. Said nothing.
---
The stylist's studio was clean, clinical, expensive. The kind of place where everyone spoke in hushed tones and no one looked surprised, no matter who walked in.
Elena stepped inside because she wanted to see. Not because she was obeying him—but because she wasn't afraid of the space he tried to build around her.
The woman at the desk smiled. "Mrs. Black. Right this way."
She followed. Quiet heels, polished floors, too much glass.
Inside, the stylist was waiting. Young. Beautiful. Quick to flatter.
"We've pulled some things for you. Mr. Black said you'd want to make a statement."
Elena raised an eyebrow. "Did he?"
The woman hesitated. "Yes. I mean—he thought—"
"I know what he thought," Elena said softly.
She walked past the rack. Ran a hand over the fabric.
Expensive. Showy. Not her.
"Is there something you don't like?" the stylist asked carefully.
Elena turned to her. "I didn't come here to dress for him."
The woman blinked.
"I came here to see what kind of woman he thought I was."
Then Elena picked up her bag. Walked out,leaving them dumbfounded.
---
Back at the penthouse, she found Aiden in his office. She didn't knock.
He looked up. "You didn't stay long."
"I wasn't in the mood to be dressed like someone's idea of a wife."
His jaw tensed. "It wasn't about that."
"Wasn't it?" she asked
She crossed her arms. Not defensive—just done.
"I don't need a costume to play a part I never auditioned for."
He stood. "It was a gesture."
"No," she said. "It was a move."
He came closer. Not menacing. Just deliberate.
"You're reading into this," he said.
"No," she said again. "I'm finally reading it right."
He looked away. She saw the flicker of frustration—then restraint.
"You didn't like the gesture," he said.
She met his eyes. "A gesture without respect isn't a gift. It's bait."
The room went still.
"You think I'm trying to trap you?" he asked, low.
She shook her head. "I think you're trying to win. And you still don't realize I'm not playing your game."
Then she walked out.
Again.
---
AIDEN'S POV
He didn't expect that.
He thought she'd be cold. Distant. Maybe unimpressed.
But she'd seen through him.
It wasn't about the dress. Or the event. Or even control.
It was about dignity. And he hadn't offered it.
She hadn't raised her voice. Hadn't thrown anything. But her words hit like glass breaking.
He poured himself another drink.
He didn't touch it.
---
ELENA'S POV
She stood by the window, watching the city sink into dusk.
He still thought everything was a transaction.
Still thought she could be managed.
But the truth was, every time he pushed, he gave her more clarity.
This wasn't about surviving anymore.
This was about choosing.
And she was starting to remember how.
.