Please Come Back, My Love Chapter 110

Julian: POV

The helicopter blades slowed to a dull thrum as we touched down in the parking lot of some backwater Georgia state park.

I didn't wait for the pilot's signal—I was out before the skids fully settled, ducking under the rotors, scanning the area like a goddamn hunting dog.

There. The white RV, parked near the treeline.

My chest tightened.

*Thirty-two days.* It had been thirty-two *fucking* days since I'd last seen her face. Thirty-two days of checking my phone every five minutes. Of waking up at 3 a.m. in that empty penthouse, sheets still smelling like vanilla and jasmine. Of sitting in my office staring at ultrasound photos I'd never shown her.

Three months. She'd planned to disappear for *three more months*.

Not anymore.

I strode across the gravel lot, ignoring the startled looks from tourists clutching their hiking maps and overpriced coffees. My hands were shaking. I shoved them in my pockets.

I was ten feet from the RV when the door swung open.

Elena.

*Fuck.*

She'd lost weight. Too much weight. The oversized sweater hung off her frame, and her face—God, her face looked hollowed out. Dark circles under her eyes. Cheekbones too sharp.

What the hell had the past month done to her?

She froze on the top step, one hand gripping the doorframe. For half a second, I saw it—the flicker of something raw in those amber eyes. Shock.

Then it vanished.

She backed up so fast she nearly tripped. "No."

The single word gutted me.

"Elena—"

"No." Her voice cracked. She stumbled down the steps, putting distance between us like I was contagious. "What the *fuck* are you doing here?"

I'd rehearsed this. On the jet. In the car to the helipad. I had a whole speech prepared—how I'd found the test results, how the baby was healthy, how I'd been a fucking coward and I was sorry, *so goddamn sorry*—

But standing here, watching her retreat from me like I was a monster, every word died in my throat.

Before I could force anything out, someone else emerged from the RV.

Josephine.

Elena's mother looked thinner than I remembered—fragile in a way that made my stomach twist. But her eyes were sharp. Cold.

She stepped between us.

"Mr. Julian Sterling." The formal address hit like a slap. "I don't believe you were invited."

I swallowed hard. "Mrs. Vance, I just need to talk to—"

"To my daughter?" Josephine's voice stayed soft, but every word landed like a blade. "The woman you tormented for three years? The one you accused of lying, cheating, scheming? The one you left bleeding in a hospital bed after she lost your child?"

Fuck. *Fuck.*

"I know I—"

"You know *nothing*." Josephine's hand found Elena's, pulling her closer. Protective. "My daughter has a boyfriend now. A good man. Someone who doesn't make her cry herself to sleep."

The words punched through my ribcage.

*Boyfriend.* One month, and she already had a *boyfriend*?

My head snapped up. "*What?*"

That's when I noticed him.

Tall. Dirty-blond hair. Wearing some bullshit hiking gear like he belonged in an REI catalog. Standing too close to the RV. Too close to *her*.

Recognition slammed into me.

"Ethan fucking Blackwell," I said slowly.

He stepped forward, jaw tight. "Julian."

"This is your grand plan?" I looked at Elena. She wouldn't meet my eyes. "Running off with your college professor?"

"Don't." Elena's voice shook. "Don't you *dare*—"

"The damage you've caused is irreversible," Ethan cut in, moving to stand beside Josephine. Creating a wall between me and Elena. "You had every chance to treat her right, and you threw it away. How the hell do you even have the *nerve* to show up here?"

Something in his tone—that self-righteous, possessive edge—made my vision blur red.

I'd spent thirty-two days in hell. Thirty-two days replaying every cruel word I'd ever said to her. Every time I'd chosen Victoria over her. Every moment I'd made her feel small and unwanted.

And this asshole thought he had the right to lecture *me*?

I stepped forward. "Get out of my way."

"Julian—" Elena started.

"You don't get to keep her from me." My eyes locked on Ethan. "You don't get to stand there and play hero when you've been sniffing around my *wife* since—"

"*Ex*-wife," Elena spat. "We're *divorced*, Julian. You signed the papers. You *wanted* this."

The word *divorced* hit harder than it should have. I'd signed those papers in a haze of grief and self-loathing, thinking I was setting her free. Thinking she'd be better off without me.

I'd been wrong.

I ignored her. Ignored all of them. I moved past Josephine, past Ethan's outstretched arm, until Elena was backed against the RV's metal siding.

Her eyes went wide. Panicked.

"Is it true?" My voice came out raw. Broken. "What your mother said. Are you really with him?"

"That's—" Her breath hitched. "That's none of your business."

"*Answer me.*"

"Why?" She tried to duck under my arm. I caged her in, palms flat against the RV on either side of her head. "Why does it matter, Julian? You didn't want me. You made that *abundantly* clear."

"I don't believe you moved on this fast." My face was inches from hers now. I could smell her—vanilla and something sharper. Fear. "I don't believe you stopped loving me."

Her jaw trembled. "You don't know what I feel."

"Then tell me." I leaned closer, drinking in every detail I'd been starved of for thirty-two days. The faint freckles across her nose. The way her pulse hammered in her throat. "Say you don't love me. Say you don't think about me every goddamn night. Say you don't still wear—"

My eyes dropped to her collarbone. To the faint outline of a chain under her shirt.

Something small and delicate. My heart hammered against my ribs.

*Please. Please let it be—*

"Admit it." My voice cracked. "Admit you still care about me. Say you still love me."

"Julian, *stop*—"

I kissed her.

Crushed my mouth to hers before she could finish the sentence. Before she could lie to my face again. She made a sound—shock or protest, I couldn't tell—but I didn't care. My hand slid into her hair, angling her head back, and I kissed her like I could erase the past thirty-two days. Like I could rewrite every fucked-up thing I'd said and done.

For one perfect second, she kissed me back.

Then she seemed to come to her senses, her hand cracking across my face with a vicious slap. "What makes you think I could ever love you again? I hate you—God, I hate you so much. Did you forget how our baby died?"

My hand shot out, fingers closing around the chain at her throat. I yanked it free from her sweater, desperate to see—

A small pendant fell into my palm. Silver. Engraved.

*A.M.H.*

Not our wedding ring. Not anything that connected her to me.

Someone else's initials.

The disappointment crashed through me like a physical blow, followed immediately by something darker. Something that made my vision tunnel.

"Whose are these?" My voice came out deadly quiet. "Whose fucking initials are on your neck, Elena?"

She tried to snatch the pendant back. I held it higher, out of reach.

"Give it back—"

"*Whose?*" I was losing it. Completely fucking losing it. "You're wearing another man's initials? Already?"

"It's not—it's complicated—"

"Complicated?" I laughed, but there was no humor in it. Pure madness. "You divorce me, run off with your professor, and now you're wearing some other bastard's name around your throat?"

"Julian, please—"

"Is it his?" I jerked my head toward Ethan. "Are those his initials?"

"No—"

"Then whose?" I was shouting now. Completely unhinged. "How many men are you fucking, Elena? How many—"

The second slap was harder than the first. Hard enough to snap my head to the side.

"You're insane," she whispered, tears streaming down her face. "You're completely fucking insane."

Our baby. That perfect, healthy little life, just... gone after Elena was attacked. I couldn't protect her. Couldn't protect either of them.