Please Come Back, My Love Chapter 21

Elena: POV

My heart hammered against my ribs as I stared at the spot where Lucas had dragged Sophia away. The karaoke bar suddenly felt suffocating—the neon lights too bright, the music too loud, the walls closing in.

Julian was coming.

I should leave. Run. Disappear into the Manhattan night before he got here.

But my feet wouldn't move.

*What the hell is wrong with me?*

I hadn't done anything wrong tonight. I'd come to a bar with my best friend. Sung some songs. Rejected creepy guys. That was it.

So why did I feel guilty? Why did my stomach twist with this irrational panic, like I was some cheating wife caught red-handed?

*Because that's what he does to you,* a bitter voice in my head whispered. *He makes you feel guilty for existing. For breathing. For daring to have a life outside of his control.*

I grabbed my purse, my hands shaking. The bartender glanced at me as I stood there frozen, probably wondering why I looked like I'd seen a ghost.

I couldn't stay here. Couldn't just sit and wait like some obedient wife for my husband to collect me like a lost piece of luggage.

My feet finally cooperated. I pushed through the crowd, heading for the exit, my breath coming in short gasps.

The bass from the speakers vibrated through my chest as I weaved between drunk college kids and groups of friends laughing too loud.

*Just get outside. Just get to the street. Figure out the rest later.*

The October air hit my face as I burst through the door onto Bleecker Street. Cold. Sharp. Real.

I took two steps forward, gulping in the night air—

And froze.

Julian stood directly in front of me, maybe ten feet away, his tall frame blocking my path on the sidewalk.

He was still in his Armani suit from work, slightly rumpled now, his tie loosened. His hair was disheveled like he'd been running his hands through it. Those gray eyes locked onto me with an intensity that made my breath catch in my throat.

For a split second, we just stared at each other.

Behind me, the muffled thump of music from the bar. Around us, the usual Manhattan chaos—cars honking, people walking past, the distant wail of a siren. But it all felt far away, like we were in our own bubble of tension.

"Elena." His voice was low, controlled, but I could hear the edge underneath. "Going somewhere?"

My mind raced. *Run? Where? He's faster than me. Stronger. And where the hell would I even go?*

"I—" My voice came out shakier than I wanted. "I was just getting some air."

His eyes narrowed slightly.

He took a step forward. I took a step back, my shoulders hitting the brick wall beside the bar.

"Lucas called me," Julian said quietly, still moving closer."Told me about the situation inside. The drunk assholes who thought they could put their hands on my wife."

*My wife.* The possessiveness in those two words made my skin prickle.

"We handled it," I said, trying to sound confident. "Sophia and I were fine. Lucas stepped in, and—"

"And you were about to run." His gaze flicked to my purse clutched in my white-knuckled grip, to my tense posture. "Weren't you?"

I opened my mouth to deny it, but what was the point?

"Why didn't you wait for me like I told you to?" His voice was still quiet, but there was something dangerous underneath now. Something that made my pulse spike.

"I think," I said, forcing myself to meet his eyes, "that you use any excuse to control where I go and who I see. And I'm done with it."

His free hand moved to my waist. The touch sent an unwanted shiver through me.

"You're done?" he repeated softly. "You were going to just walk away? Leave without a word?"

Before I could answer, he stepped back abruptly, his hand dropping from the wall. For a second, I thought he was going to let me go, just turn around and leave.

Instead, in one smooth motion, he bent down, wrapped his arm around my waist, and threw me over his shoulder like I weighed nothing.

"Julian!" I gasped, my hands immediately pushing at his back. "What the fuck—put me down!"

He ignored me, striding toward where his Bentley was parked at the curb, engine still running. Lucas must have dropped him off and waited.

"Put me down!" I hissed, acutely aware of the pedestrians stopping to stare, phones probably already out to record this insanity. "People are watching! This is ridiculous—"

"Should've thought of that before you tried to run off," he said calmly, like he was discussing the weather and not literally carrying me through the streets of Manhattan like some caveman.

"I can walk, you asshole!"

He reached the car, opened the back door with one hand while still holding me, and deposited me inside with surprising gentleness despite the manhandling.

Then he climbed in beside me, slamming the door shut.

"Drive," he said to Lucas in the front seat, his voice clipped.

The car pulled smoothly into traffic. I scooted to the far side of the seat, as far from Julian as possible in the confined space, my heart still racing from the adrenaline and humiliation.

He watched me with those unreadable gray eyes, his jaw tight, one hand resting on his thigh in a white-knuckled fist.

The silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating.

Finally, he spoke. "Lucas told me what happened. About the guys at the bar."

I didn't respond, just stared out the window at the passing city lights.

"He said they were drunk. Aggressive." His hand clenched tighter. "That they propositioned you and Sophia. Suggested taking you to a hotel."

"We handled it," I said flatly, still not looking at him.

"Because Lucas stepped in." His voice was cold now. "What if he hadn't been there?"

My head snapped around. "Then I would have broken that asshole's nose. I know Krav Maga, Julian. I'm not helpless."

Something flashed across his face—surprise, maybe—but it was gone too quickly to read.

"Don't go to places like that anymore," he said quietly.

I stared at him. "Excuse me?"

"Dive bars. Karaoke lounges. Places where drunk assholes think they can—"

"Are you seriously trying to control where I go?"

"I'm trying to keep you safe—"

"Bullshit." I leaned forward, my voice rising despite myself. "You're trying to control me. Again. Like you always do."

"Elena—"

"I'm an adult, Julian. I can go wherever the fuck I want. I don't need your permission. I don't need your protection. I can make my own decisions about where I go and what I do!"

His jaw clenched. "Is that what you think this is about?"

"Isn't it?" I shot back. "You want to lock me away in that mansion. Control every aspect of my life. Well, I won't live like that."

Silence fell again, heavier this time.

Then his voice, quieter now but somehow more dangerous: "And you should spend less time with Sophia."

The words hit me like a physical blow.

"What?"

"Sophia Cruz." His voice was cold now, detached, like he was discussing a business problem. "She's reckless. A bad influence. You need to keep your distance."

I demanded. "It sounds like you're trying to isolate me. Cut me off from the one person who actually gives a damn about me. I'm not listening to you."