Betrayed by My Ex, Marked by His Alpha Emperor Brother

Chapter 171

Elara’s POV

Three years later.

Three years of silence, sweat, and survival. And I’d built something. Not much. But mine.

At half-past three in the afternoon, I was sitting cross-legged on the secondhand couch in my apartment, eating oatmeal out of a chipped bowl, when the communication crystal on the windowsill flared to life. A warm amber glow pulsed through the glass, and I nearly choked on a mouthful of oats.

I set the bowl down. Wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. Stared at the crystal like it might bite me.

It pulsed again. Insistent.

I reached over and pressed my palm against the smooth surface. The warmth spread through my fingers, and then his voice filled the room—steady, unhurried, infuriatingly calm.

"Ela."

My stomach clenched. "Finnian."

"There she is. My favorite city girl."

I leaned back against the cushion and crossed my arms, even though he couldn’t see me. "I’m not your anything."

"Debatable. How are you?"

"Fine." The word came out too fast. I softened it. "Good, actually. I’m good."

"Yeah?" There was a smile in his voice. Patient. Warm. The kind of warmth that made something behind my ribs ache if I let it. "Tell me."

I looked around the apartment. Small. Clean. The furniture didn’t match, but it was solid—bought with coin I’d earned myself, fight by fight. A proper table. A bookshelf with actual books on it. Curtains that weren’t stained.

"I’ve got steady work. Good pay. Saved enough to buy real furniture. Got a rug." I paused. "Killed a cactus last month, though."

"A cactus."

"Don’t judge me. Those things are harder than people think."

He laughed. Low and genuine. It curled through the crystal like smoke, filling the silence of my apartment with something I hadn’t realized I’d been missing.

Then his tone shifted. Just slightly. The way a breeze changes direction before a storm.

"You’re still fighting, then. In the pits."

My jaw tightened. "It’s not ’the pits.’ It’s a sanctioned arena."

"Ela—"

"Don’t." The word came out sharp. Harder than I intended. I sat forward, spine rigid. "Don’t do that. Don’t use that voice like you’re worried about me. I’m not the same mess who showed up on your doorstep with nothing but a belly and a death wish, Finnian. I can take care of myself."

Silence. Long enough that I heard my own breathing.

Then, quietly: "I know you can."

The gentleness in it cracked something. I pressed my lips together until the sting behind my eyes faded.

"I’m sorry," I said. "That was... I’m sorry."

"Don’t be." No hurt in his voice. No reproach. Just that steady, unshakable patience that had always made me feel like the worst person alive for running from it. "You don’t owe me soft words, Ela. Never have."

I swallowed. Pulled my knees up to my chest. "Why are you calling?"

A beat of hesitation. Then: "Mother’s turning sixty next week."

The air left my lungs.

"We’re throwing her a party. Saturday evening. The whole household. Some neighbors. Music, food, the works." He paused. "She wants you there."

Panic hit me like a wall of ice water. My fingers curled into the fabric of my pants.

"Finnian—"

"Before you say no—"

"I can’t just—"

"One weekend." His voice was firm now. Gentle, but firm. "Take a carriage out Saturday morning. Stay through the evening. Leave Sunday if you want. That’s it. One weekend."

My throat was closing. I pressed my forehead against my knees.

Going back meant roads I recognized. Smells I remembered. The edge of the forest where I’d once sat with my hand on my swollen belly, wondering if I’d made the worst mistake of my life. The kitchen table where his mother had set a plate in front of me without being asked. Without conditions.

"Who’s going to be there?" My voice came out smaller than I wanted.

"Neighbors. Farm folk. A few merchants from the trading post. Brenna said she’d try to come if she could get away."

"I mean—" I stopped. Pressed my teeth together. Then forced the words out. "Any noble families? Any... wolves from the capital?"

"No." His answer was immediate. Certain. "No one from any of the great houses. No one from the Empire’s inner circle. Just humans and border folk, Ela. You know us."

Relief flooded through me so fast it made me dizzy.

And then—right behind it, crawling up from somewhere I didn’t want to examine—a thread of something else. Something that felt shamefully, horribly like disappointment.

No one from Kaelen’s world.

No connection. No bridge. No accidental collision with the life I’d left behind.

Good, I told myself. That’s good. That’s what I want.

But the disappointment sat in my chest like a stone, and no amount of logic could dissolve it. I hated myself for feeling it. Hated that after everything—after the betrayal, the humiliation, the image of another woman in his chambers that I still couldn’t scrub from my mind—some sick, broken part of me still ached for even the shadow of his world.

"Ela? You still there?"

"Yeah." I cleared my throat. "Yeah, I’m here."

"She asks about you." Finnian’s voice dropped. Softer now. Almost careful. "Every time I visit. Every single time. She asks if you’re eating enough. If you’re safe. If you’re warm."

Don’t.

"She kept your room the way you left it. Washed the sheets regularly, just in case."

Stop.

"Three years, Ela. She never stopped setting a place for you at holidays."

The tears came without warning.

Not the quiet, dignified kind. The ugly kind. The kind that ripped out of my chest in a single, wretched sob that I couldn’t muffle fast enough. I clamped my hand over my mouth, but the damage was done.

Three years. I’d hidden for three years. From the people who’d taken me in when I was pregnant and penniless and terrified. Who’d fed me and sheltered me and never once asked for anything in return. Who’d helped me through the worst nights of my life and then watched me leave—again—without a word of explanation.

And his mother had kept my room ready. Washed the sheets. Set a place at the table.

I couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe through the wreckage in my throat.

"Come home," Finnian said. Not a demand. A door held open. "Just for the weekend. Let her see your face. Let her know you’re alive and whole."

I wiped my eyes with the heel of my palm. Drew a shaking breath.

"Okay." It came out broken. Barely a whisper. "Okay. I’ll come."

The silence on the other end stretched for a heartbeat. Then two.

"She’s going to cry, you know." His voice was thick. Rough around the edges. Like maybe he wasn’t as composed as he’d been pretending. "She’s going to cry and then she’s going to hug you so hard your ribs crack. And then she’s going to force-feed you until you can’t move."

A laugh escaped me. Wet and ragged and real.

"I can handle that."

"Saturday morning, Ela. Don’t you dare be late."