Elon turned back to face her.
Victoria's shoulders eased slightly, but not from relief. It was the kind of stillness that came when something inside her simply… gave up.
Because she knew.
She couldn't say it.
She couldn't defend herself.
She couldn't tell him that her sister's hands were stained with their father's blood, or that she had stood there and helped bury what should never have been hidden. She couldn't explain that this marriage was nothing more than a contract signed out of desperation, a bargain made to protect what little she had left of her family. She couldn't tell him that everything he had just witnessed inside—the elegance, the affection, the vows—was carefully constructed, a performance she was now trapped in.
She couldn't give him the truth.
So she lowered her gaze.
Her eyes fixed somewhere near his feet, because if she looked at him properly, if she allowed herself even a second of that familiarity, that history, that love—She would break.
Everything she had forced down over the past week pressed violently against her chest. The love she had for him, the trust, the certainty she used to feel when she was with him, all of it suffocated beneath the weight of the choice she had made.
Breaking up with him had not been easy.
But it had been necessary.
At the time, she had been drowning—debt piling up, her father's abuse tightening around their home like a noose, responsibilities stacking faster than she could carry them. She had convinced herself that cutting him off was the only way to keep him from being dragged into it.
And now he was here.
Standing right in front of her.
And she couldn't even say a word.
"Victoria." Her name came out softer from his lips this time.
She tried to lift her gaze, but it stopped at his chest, her courage failing before it could reach his eyes.
Elon tilted his head slightly, studying her, his own composure cracking in a way she had never seen before. Tears had already begun to fall, though his voice came out low, rough around the edges.
"What the fuck is going on?"
Victoria stilled.
Her mind moved too fast, thoughts colliding into each other, every possible lie rising at once—only to be crushed by the reality standing behind her.
The contract.
The consequences.
Martin.
Her lips parted.
And the only thing that came out was, "I-… I owe you no explanation."
Elon's brows lifted sharply. "Excuse me?"
Victoria drew in a deeper breath, forcing steadiness into her voice with the last bit of strength she could gather.
"I broke up with you because I wanted to." The words burned on their way out.
Slowly, she lifted her eyes and met his.
"So I owe you no explanation," she continued, her voice stern now, though her hands trembled at her sides. "You have no say in my life, and no involvement in the decisions I make."
Tears slipped down her face as she spoke, uninvited and impossible to hide.
"I ended things. That should be enough."
Her lips trembled slightly, but she didn't stop.
"It's over between us, Elon," she said. "So I don't owe you any explanation about who I marry or why I did it."
The silence between them stretched, heavy and suffocating.
Victoria swallowed, quickly brushing at her tears with the back of her hand before adding, "I must be on my way now..."
Her voice almost failed her on the last sentence.
"My husband is waiting for me."
She turned before he could respond, moving past him with hurried steps, her chest tightening with every second she stayed within reach of him.
But she saw it.
Even without looking directly, she saw it.
The way something in his expression shattered as she passed.
And just as she thought she could escape—His hand caught her wrist.
Firm.
Victoria stopped.
She didn't turn back.
She couldn't.
She felt his gaze on her, heavy and piercing on the back of her head. He was desperate.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then, quietly, Elon said, "No."
Her breath hitched.
"You're lying." His voice was certain.
Her eyes widened slightly.
Elon's grip tightened, unyielding.
"I know you," he continued, his voice lower and strained. "Better than anyone. There's something you're not telling me."
And God, she wanted to turn.
She wanted to face him, to grab him, to bury herself in his chest and say everything she had been holding in. To tell him the truth, to let him see her, to let him understand.
Her body almost moved.
Almost.
But the image of the contract flashed in her mind. And the soulless eyes of Martin buried deep in her memory.
The weight of everything she had chosen and the consequences of breaking it.
So instead—She pulled her hand free.
"Good night."
Her voice was weak but final.
And before he could stop her again, she walked away, her steps quick, almost unsteady as she headed back toward the house.
But instead of the ballroom, she headed to the staircase.
Anywhere but there.
Behind her, Elon remained where he stood, the shock still settling, the pain catching up in uneven waves. Confusion, anger, disbelief, all of it colliding into something he couldn't quite hold together.
He lifted his head slowly to gaze at the glass walls.
Then he saw him.
Martin stood on the other side, composed as ever, a glass of wine in his hand, gently swirling the liquid as though none of this concerned him.
Their eyes met.
Martin took a slow sip then turned to walk away.
Elon's brows scrunched.
• • •
Victoria remained seated at the dressing table, her shoulders trembling slightly as she tried to steady her breathing, though it never quite settled into anything close to calm. Her fingers rested on the edge of the table, gripping it faintly as if it was the only solid thing in the room.
The reflection in the mirror looked back at her in fragments of ruin—smudged makeup, tear tracks, hair slightly undone, a version of herself she no longer had the strength to fix.
The door opened behind her.
She didn't turn.
Martin stepped in quietly, closing the door with the same controlled ease he always carried, as though nothing in the world had the power to rush him. His gaze moved to her reflection first, then to her still figure seated at the table.
"Victoria?" he called calmly.
She didn't respond.
Silence stretched between them.
He exhaled softly, as if already deciding the direction of the moment.
"Very well then… I will come back when you're more composed," he said evenly, turning slightly toward the door.
The words barely finished leaving him when her voice cut through the room.
"Why?"
Martin paused with his hand resting on the doorknob.
For a moment, he didn't turn. "Pardon?"
The silence that followed was cold.
CLASH!
The sound of glass and wood breaking erupted behind him.
Martin turned sharply.
The dressing table had been cleared in a single violent sweep. Cosmetics, glass, and neatly arranged items now lay scattered across the floor in broken fragments.
Victoria was on her feet, breathing heavily, her hands still trembling from the force of what she had just done. Her nails pressed into the white wood of the table as though she needed it to stop herself from shaking apart completely. Her hair had fallen loose around her face, framing the rawness she could no longer hide.
The room felt different now. Smaller…
"Answer me," she said.
Her voice was low, but calm in a way that didn't match the chaos around her. She slowly straightened, her shoulders rising as she forced herself into stillness, though her chest still moved unevenly.
"Why did you?…"
Martin didn't answer immediately.
He simply stood there, his expression unchanged with eyes fixed on her as though trying to measure the exact point where control had slipped from her hands into emotion.
Victoria finally turned fully to face him.
Her makeup was ruined now, streaked and uneven, but she didn't seem to care anymore.
The silence between them stretched again.
Martin remained where he stood, observing her without a single visible shift in expression.
She looked him dead in the eyes. "Why did you bring Elon here tonight?"