Chapter 247: The Real Problem
Giselle knew why Naomi had become the most likely answer.
After Elias left the Blackwood residence, he had gone to Naomi’s place. The timing alone made her impossible to ignore. It did not prove anything, but it gave Giselle enough reason to wonder.
Wondering was not proof.
Giselle had no intention of accusing someone based only on a possibility, especially not someone she had known for years. So she had approached Naomi under the pretense of an ordinary conversation. She had kept her voice casual. Let Naomi talk. Let the topic drift. Then, without warning, she asked about Elias.
Naomi’s face had not changed.
Her answer had come too smoothly. She had looked like someone who knew nothing at all.
That should have been enough to end it.
But Giselle had noticed one thing.
Whenever Naomi lied, she curled her thumb into her fist.
It was tiny. Nearly invisible. The kind of habit nobody would catch unless they had spent years beside her, watched her in classrooms, parties, family dinners, arguments, and all the small careless moments when people forgot to control their bodies.
Naomi had done it when Giselle asked.
That was why Giselle had come here.
Her fingers tightened around Naomi’s clothes until the knuckles of her hand went pale.
"Tell me."
Naomi’s eyes narrowed.
Of all things, that was the detail Giselle had caught?
She could lie with a straight face to almost anyone. She could make a roomful of people believe whatever version of herself she needed them to see. Yet Giselle had noticed the smallest movement of her hand and followed it like a trail.
Naomi almost wanted to call her pathetic.
Giselle could detect the tiniest crack in Naomi’s behavior, but when it came to Elias, she looked as though someone had shut off the sensible part of her brain. One boy cried in front of her and suddenly Giselle was ready to punch through walls.
Naomi wanted to say it.
She did not.
Giselle’s ability to find that tiny tell came from years of knowing her. Under the anger, Naomi still did not want to destroy their relationship beyond repair.
That did not mean she was going to be polite.
"I told you already," Naomi snapped. "I don’t know. I don’t know, and I don’t know. Are you hard of hearing? If you are, get it checked."
Her lip hurt when she spoke, but she did not care.
"And are you blind too?" Naomi continued. "Elias is standing right there. Why are you afraid to look at him? If I were you, I would stop dragging this out and ask the actual person involved."
Elias’s opinion of Naomi rose immediately.
She had been useful before, when she transferred him five hundred thousand dollars. Now she was offering support at exactly the right moment.
Excellent.
The next time she called, he would not decline it on sight.
Giselle did not react to Naomi’s words.
That was the problem.
Since Elias entered the room, she had not looked at him even once.
Her eyes had remained on Naomi. Her shoulders stayed turned toward Naomi. She had spoken about Elias as if he were somewhere else, even while he stood only a few feet away.
Elias was not invisible.
Giselle was avoiding him.
Not him exactly.
Something connected to him.
Something she did not want to face.
At last, Giselle released Naomi’s clothes.
Naomi stumbled backward, caught herself, and immediately kicked Giselle in the lower stomach.
The move came so fast that even Sloane only realized what happened after the impact.
Giselle’s face twisted.
Not much. Just enough to show that the kick had hurt.
Naomi lifted her chin.
Giselle had hit her. Naomi had hit her back.
Fair.
That was how it worked.
Giselle stepped toward her again.
The look in her eyes changed from cold to dangerous.
"Oh, no," Sloane muttered.
She moved before the next hit could land, wrapping both arms around Naomi from behind.
"Stop fighting!"
Sloane did not dare grab Giselle. That would be useless. Giselle was stronger, faster, and frighteningly calm whenever a fight turned physical. Sloane would not be able to hold her for more than a second.
Naomi was the more realistic option.
Naomi struggled against her grip, still glaring at Giselle.
"Now we’re even," she said. "Touch me again, and I’ll hit you back twice as hard."
Elias almost laughed.
The two of them looked like children fighting over who had started it first.
He did not laugh.
Instead, he watched Giselle.
She still would not look at him.
Was it disgust?
Was it guilt?
Elias could guess all night, but guessing was boring. There was a faster way to find out.
"Enough."
His voice was quiet.
It was not loud enough to fill the suite. It did not need to be.
The room stopped.
Naomi stopped struggling. Sloane loosened her hold. Even Giselle’s next step stalled before it reached the floor.
Elias stared at Giselle’s turned face.
A sad smile touched his mouth.
"What does it matter if you know who it was?"
Giselle’s fingers curled at her side.
Elias continued before she could answer.
"Someone like me is not worth fighting over."
His voice began to thin with exhaustion.
"Just let it go."
His eyes left Giselle’s face. They drifted toward the far wall, then the carpet, then nowhere at all.
"I want to go home."
Naomi looked at him, stunned.
Here he went again.
The performance.
She could see the angle now. Elias had been playing everyone from the beginning. The garage scene, the crying, the line about another woman, the entire disaster had been designed to push Giselle and Serena into exactly the emotional positions he wanted.
And yet, even knowing that, Naomi could not tell whether the fragile look on his face was fully fake.
Sloane did not have Naomi’s suspicion.
Her anger scattered.
The words sank in differently for her.
Maybe it had happened.
Maybe Elias really had been with someone else after Serena threw him out. Maybe every time people pushed him to explain, he had to relive something he wanted to forget. Maybe that was why he had not wanted to come here. Every question was another reminder. Every accusation was another way of turning him into the subject of a story he had no control over.
Sloane’s mouth opened.
Then closed.
She did not know where to direct the anger anymore.
At Naomi?
At Giselle?
At Elias?
If he had truly been hurt, then he was the person caught in the middle of all of this. She had dragged him here and demanded an answer, as if clearing up her friends’ mess mattered more than whether he could bear to talk about it.
"Stay here tonight," Sloane said at last. "It’s late."
Elias looked at her.
"Thank you."
The smile he gave her was small and heartbreakingly soft. It made him look like a stray cat that had been left outside too long and had finally stopped expecting anyone to open the door.
"But I want to go home."
Home.
When people were truly hurt, they wanted home. Not a private suite at The Pinnacle Club. Not a friend’s guest room. Not a beautiful place with someone offering concern.
Home.
Sloane’s brow pulled together.
"Then... I can drive you."
Elias hesitated as if he were considering whether he deserved the offer.
Then he nodded.
"Thank you."
"You don’t have to thank me." Sloane exhaled. "Seriously."
She headed for the door to get her keys.
The more he thanked her, the worse she felt. Thank you made the distance between them obvious. It made her realize how little she actually knew about the boy she had been talking to, how easy it had been to treat him like the cause of everyone else’s trouble.
Naomi watched Sloane leave.
Then she looked back at Elias.
Her expression slowly changed.
This was insane.
Sloane too?
Elias had managed to pull Sloane into his orbit with a few soft words and a wounded smile. He had not even needed to try very hard. One moment Sloane was furious at everyone in the room, and the next she was offering to drive him home and feeling guilty for asking questions.
Elias glanced at Giselle.
She still had not looked at him.
He turned toward Naomi and gave her a quick wink.
It carried the irresponsibility of a man who had started a fire, watched everyone panic, and then smiled as if he had nothing to do with the smoke.
The message was clear enough.
Fall for me if you want.
It will end badly.
Naomi stared at him.
Fortunately, she was normal.
She was not Liora. She did not see one wink and begin collecting private feelings. She only felt a deep, almost spiritual level of disbelief.
What was he?
An actual incubus?
Then her thoughts caught up with the situation.
Elias had never slept with a long line of women.
Yvonne was the only one who had actually touched him.
And even then, Elias had been the one who went to her. He had approached her first. He had set the scene and led her exactly where he wanted her to go.
So he had known from the start.
He knew who was involved.
He knew Naomi had nothing to do with it.
He had watched Giselle suspect Naomi, watched the argument turn into a fight, watched them batter each other across Sloane’s suite, and said nothing until the timing became useful.
Naomi pressed her lips together.
Her right shoe scraped hard against the carpet.
She wanted to punch herself in the head until the last hour disappeared.
She had not been fighting Giselle.
They had both been performing in a circus, and Elias had been standing nearby selling tickets.
She wanted to die.
Sloane returned with her keys in hand.
She looked at Giselle, who was still standing with her head lowered.
"Giselle," she said quietly, "you should take him home."
The tension in the room shifted.
Sloane understood now that the real issue was not Naomi. It was between Giselle and Elias. Whatever Giselle had learned, whatever she believed about him, whatever disgust or hurt kept her from looking in his direction, it would not be solved with Sloane driving him away.
They needed to speak without everyone else making it worse.
Before Giselle could answer, Elias let out a quiet laugh.
"No."
Sloane looked at him.
"I’ll go by myself," Elias said.
His eyes flicked toward Giselle.
"She won’t take me home."
The unspoken words hung heavier than anything he had said aloud.
She thinks I’m dirty.