Please Come Back, My Love Chapter 88

Elena: POV

"That man who—" She sucked in a breath. "The one who drugged you?"

"Yeah." I turned to look out the window. Palm trees blurred past. "Alexander got there in time. Called the ambulance. Stayed until Julian showed up."

Mom's hands gripped the steering wheel harder. Her knuckles went white.

"Elena." Her voice dropped low. "I need you to listen to me very carefully."

Something in her tone made my stomach clench.

"What?"

"Mr. Alexander..." She paused, choosing her words like they might explode. "He's not someone you should get close to."

I almost laughed. "Mom, I barely know the guy. We've met twice. That's it."

"Good." She nodded, more to herself than me. "Keep it that way."

"Why? He seemed nice. Respectful. Way more respectful than most of the Sterling family ever was."

"I know he seems that way." Mom's voice carried a weight I didn't understand. "But there are things about him... His background is complicated."

*Complicated.* That word again. Everything in my life was fucking complicated.

"What kind of complicated?"

She hesitated. The silence stretched between us, thick and uncomfortable.

"I shouldn't speak out of turn," she finally said. "But there are rumors. About his business dealings. About the people he associates with."

"What people?"

"Elena." She glanced at me, her face drawn. "They say he has connections to... to people who operate outside the law. Dangerous people. Black market connections, maybe worse."

I stared at her. "You're saying Alexander is involved with organized crime?"

"I'm saying I don't know for certain." Her voice shook slightly. "But when I worked at the estate, I heard things. Whispers about the other branch of the Sterling family. About how they made their real money."

*The other branch.* I'd never thought much about it. Julian had mentioned relatives in Europe, but never with much detail.

"So what?" I crossed my arms. "Even if it's true, it's not like I'm planning to hang out with him. I just said thank you for helping me. That's it."

"I know." Mom's shoulders relaxed a fraction. "I just... I don't want you mixed up with that family anymore. Any part of that family."

"Trust me." The words came out bitter. **"I'm done with the Sterlings. All of them."**

I meant it. I was done with Julian, done with the estate, done with the whole goddamn world they lived in. Alexander might be polite, might seem kind, but he was still part of that world. Still connected to the family that had destroyed me.

"Good." Mom nodded again. Then, softer: "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I don't mean to sound paranoid. I just want you safe."

"I know."

We drove in silence for a while. The Florida sun beat down on the windshield, bright and relentless.

"There was something else," I said, still staring out the window.

"What?"

"The way he looked at me." I frowned, trying to put it into words. "It was weird. Like he was seeing someone else. Like he was looking *through* me at another person."

Mom's breath caught. Just for a second, but I heard it.

"Did you notice that too?" I asked.

"I..." She trailed off. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"Mom." I turned to face her fully. "What aren't you telling me?"

Her face was pale. She kept her eyes on the road, jaw tight.

"I don't know much," she said quietly. "Just old rumors. Things I overheard years ago."

"Tell me."

She sighed, long and weary. "There was a woman. Someone Mr. Alexander loved deeply. This was before you were born, when I first started at the estate."

I waited.

"She was married," Mom continued. "To someone in their social circle. The family didn't approve of Alexander's feelings for her. They forbade him from seeing her."

"Who was she?"

"I never knew her name." Mom shook her head. "It was all hushed up. Very private. But the staff talked. They said Alexander never got over her. That he's been looking for her—or someone like her—ever since."

*Someone like her.*

A chill ran down my spine. Was that why he looked at me that way? Did I remind him of this mystery woman?

"That's creepy as hell," I muttered.

"I don't know if it's true," Mom said quickly. "It could all be gossip. But I thought you should know. In case..."

"In case what?"

"In case he tries to get close to you."

I laughed, harsh and short. "Mom, look at me." I held up my bandaged wrist. "I'm a disaster. I just lost a baby. I just divorced. I can barely get out of bed most days. No one is trying to get close to me. Especially not some rich European businessman with mob connections and a dead-woman fixation."

Mom flinched. "Elena—"

"I'm serious." I cut her off. "Alexander was just being polite. That's all. He's not interested in me."

*And even if he was,* I thought darkly, *I have nothing left to give.*

We pulled into Mom's driveway. The little house looked peaceful, quiet. Safe.

"I'm starving," I said, changing the subject. My stomach had been empty for hours. "Do you have anything to eat?"

"Of course." Mom's face brightened, grateful for the shift. "I'll make you something. Come inside."

---

The kitchen smelled like lemon cleaner and old wood. Mom moved around with practiced ease, pulling out a pot, filling it with water.

"Pasta okay?" she asked.

"Perfect."

I sat at the small table, watching her. She looked so small in this kitchen. So different from the woman who used to manage the entire Sterling estate staff.

She turned on the stove, reaching for the salt shaker. Her hand trembled.

Then her knees buckled.

"Mom!" I shot up, the chair screeching behind me.

She caught herself on the counter, barely. Her face had gone ashen, lips pressed into a thin line.

I rushed over, grabbing her arm. "What's wrong? What happened?"

"Nothing." Her voice was faint. "Just... dizzy."

"Sit down." I guided her to the nearest chair. "Now."

She sank into it, her breathing shallow. I knelt beside her, heart pounding.

"This isn't nothing," I said. My voice shook. "You almost collapsed."

"I'm fine." She tried to wave me off. "Just stood up too fast."

"Bullshit."

I looked at her—really looked. It all came together in a sickening rush—the hollow cheeks, the yellow tint to her eyes, the way her clothes hung loose on her shrinking frame. Her hair was almost completely gray now, when just months ago it had still held traces of brown. This wasn't just aging. This was something terrible.

"You're not fine," I whispered. "You're sick."

"Elena—"

"Don't lie to me." Tears burned my eyes. "Please. Don't lie."

She met my gaze. For a moment, I saw it—the fear, the exhaustion, the resignation.

Then she looked away.

"I'm just old," she said quietly. "Getting old. Not as strong as I used to be."

My throat closed up. I wanted to scream. To shake her. To demand the truth.

But I could see it in the set of her shoulders. She wasn't going to tell me. Not yet.

"Let me cook," I said, my voice hoarse. I stood up, gently pushing her back when she tried to rise. "Sit. Rest."

"You don't have to—"

"Mom." I looked down at her. At this woman who'd raised me, who'd sacrificed everything for the Sterling family, who was now wasting away in front of my eyes. "I'll do it. Please."