Chapter 85

Eleanor's POV

I didn't think. Rage blazed through my veins as I lifted my leg, aiming straight for Evelyn's leg. Time seemed to slow as my heel rose higher, my body coiled with all the fury and hurt I'd been holding back.

But my foot never reached its target.

A familiar figure materialized between us, moving with the fluid grace I once knew so well. Before I could stop my momentum, my heel connected with Jace's shin instead of Evelyn's leg. The impact sent a jarring shock up my leg, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the way my heart seized in my chest.

"Jace..." The name escaped my lips before I could stop it, barely a whisper.

He didn't even look at me. Without a word, he scooped Evelyn into his arms as if she weighed nothing at all, his movements precise and protective. The sight of her in his embrace felt like a knife twisting in my gut. Her delicate fingers curled into his shirt, her expression a perfect blend of vulnerability and triumph as she gazed up at him.

*Don't cry. Don't you dare cry, Eleanor.*

I dug my nails into my palms, using the sharp sting to ground myself. I'd already wasted too many tears on Jace Gillard. Each one had been a mistake, and I refused to add to that collection of regrets.

He set Evelyn down a few feet away, his movements careful but distant. She immediately reached for his arm, her fingers wrapping around his sleeve with practiced familiarity.

"Director Gillard..." Her voice dripped with sugary sweetness that made my stomach turn.

I watched as confusion flickered across her face, her perfect mask cracking just slightly before she released his sleeve. Without another word, Jace turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing in the sudden silence.

My legs carried me back to my seat on autopilot. I smoothed my skirt with trembling hands, pretending to be fascinated by the nonexistent wrinkles in the fabric. The clicking of my heels against the floor seemed unnaturally loud in the heavy silence.

*It's fine. Everything's fine.*

I adjusted my posture, spine straight, chin lifted. I'd learned long ago that sometimes the only defense was to wear your dignity like armor. So what if he'd chosen to protect her? So what if seeing them together felt like having my heart ripped out all over again?

I had survived worse. I would survive this too.

The murmurs buzzed around me like persistent flies.

"Did you see how gentle Jace was with Evelyn just now?"

"They make such a perfect couple..."

I let out a quiet breath. A small, bitter smile played at the corners of my lips as I listened to their excited whispers. The irony wasn't lost on me - how they gushed about his gentleness as if it were some newfound trait.

The memories washed over me like a tide, unbidden and unstoppable. I was five when Grandfather brought Jace home. Ten years old, already carrying himself with that quiet dignity that would become his trademark. I remember trailing after him through the mansion's endless corridors, my small feet pattering against the hardwood floors.

"Uncle!" I'd call out, my childish voice echoing off the walls. He'd acknowledge me with the barest of nods, never breaking his stride. "Wait for me!"

But he never did. Not really. Even then, there was always that distance, that invisible wall I couldn't breach. I didn't understand it then - how could I? At five, everything seemed simple. If you loved someone enough, they had to love you back. That's how fairy tales worked.

The scene shifted in my mind to his college graduation. Spring air thick with possibility, cherry blossoms drifting like pink snow across the campus. I watched from the sidelines as girl after girl approached him, confession letters clutched in trembling hands. Each one walked away with the same polite rejection, yet my heart clenched every time.

That night, I waited by our front gates. The air was cool, carrying the scent of night-blooming jasmine from garden. My heart thundered in my chest, each beat a drum of anticipation.

When he finally appeared, there was the slight sway in his step that spoke of celebration drinks. His tie was loosened, jacket slung over one shoulder. No trace of perfume, just the clean smell of expensive scotch.

"What's wrong?" he asked, noticing me in the shadows. His voice held that same distant concern he'd always shown me.

I didn't answer. Instead, I stepped forward, years of bottled emotions finally spilling over. When my lips met his, they tasted of Highland single malt and unspoken words.

"I..." I started to speak. I wanted to confess my feelings. The words were right there, burning on my tongue. I couldn't wait any longer - the fear that someone else might claim him first was eating away at me. He was studying film directing, after all. He'd be surrounded by actresses in an industry where relationships formed and broke like waves.

But before I could continue, Jace leaned down and caught my lips with his. Then his tongue found mine, and thought became impossible.

His kiss was gentler than I'd imagined in all my daydreams. So tender that in that moment, I felt like the happiest woman in the world.

I never did manage to confess that night - my legs had turned to jelly from his kisses. In the end, he had to carry me back to my room. By then, I was too shy to say anything coherent.

Besides, after we'd both made moves like that, words seemed unnecessary. Everything between us felt natural, inevitable. Like water flowing downhill.

Later that night, I shared my happiness with Quinn, my best friend, giddy with the sweetness of it all.

"He actually kissed you?" Quinn's voice through my phone speaker was pure excitement. "By the gates? Like in some romance novel?"

I smiled, curling up in my window seat. "It wasn't exactly planned. He'd been at some corporate event, and I just... waited." The admission made me sound desperate, but Quinn wouldn't judge.

"And? What happened after?"

"Nothing. He just... left." I traced patterns on the cool glass. "But Quinn, the way he kissed me... it wasn't just some drunk mistake. I know it wasn't."

There was a pause before Quinn spoke again. "Eleanor, honey... just be careful, okay? Jace has a reputation with women. You know that."

I did know. But knowledge and feeling are different creatures entirely.

As evening settled in, I found myself back at the gates. The air had turned cooler, autumn making its presence known in the rustling leaves and early darkness. My phone showed 11:47 PM - late enough that my presence here was probably foolish. But last night had started this way too, hadn't it?

The sound of an approaching car made my heart leap. I recognized the sleek black Bentley immediately - Jace's preferred evening ride. But as it pulled up to the gates, I caught a glimpse of something that made my blood run cold. There was someone in the passenger seat.

I stepped back into the shadows of a large oak tree, its branches offering concealment. The car stopped. In the dim glow of the interior light, I could see them clearly - Jace and a woman I vaguely recognized from some streaming show. She was laughing at something he'd said, her hand resting casually on his arm.

Then he leaned over, and they were kissing. Not the hesitant, scotch-flavored kiss from last night. This was familiar, practiced - the kiss of people who knew exactly what they were doing.

Something in my chest cracked. I must have made a sound, because they suddenly broke apart, the woman's eyes wide as she spotted me.

"Eleanor?" Jace's voice held none of last night's warmth. "What are you doing out here so late?"

I stepped forward, grateful for the darkness hiding my expression. "I could ask you the same thing."

The woman was already gathering her things, mumbling something about calling an Uber. Jace didn't stop her as she slipped out of the car.

"Go home," he said once we were alone. "You're too young to understand-"

"Too young?" My voice came out steadier than I felt. "I was old enough last night when you kissed me."

He ran a hand through his hair - a gesture I'd always found endearing before. Now it just looked rehearsed. "I had too much to drink. Let's just forget about it."

"You weren't drunk." The words felt like glass in my throat. "I tasted the scotch, but you weren't drunk."

"Eleanor." He sighed my name like I was a child being difficult. "What happened last night... it was a mistake. I was feeling nostalgic, maybe. You're like family."

Family. The word hit like a slap. I wanted to scream, to rage, to demand explanations. Instead, I found myself oddly calm, watching him as if from a great distance.

"Right," I said finally. "Family."