Chapter 249: Who’s the Clown?
Elias ran hard.
He did not look back. He did not slow down. He ran as if getting away from Giselle was the only thing that mattered, his footsteps breaking against the quiet grounds of The Pinnacle Club while the night gathered around him.
By the time Giselle came back to herself, he was already nearly swallowed by the dark.
Panic struck through her.
She went after him.
Giselle caught him quickly. Elias was fast, but Giselle had longer legs, stronger lungs, and the kind of physical certainty that made the distance between them disappear. Her hands closed around his shoulders. She spun him toward her before he could twist free.
Elias drew breath to fight her.
He had already braced to wrench away, to struggle hard enough that she would have to choose between holding him and hurting him.
Giselle kissed him.
It was not careful.
Her mouth met his with enough force to make him stumble, and there was no graceful hesitation in it. She was not trying to seduce him. She was trying to answer the look he had given her, the one that had left him standing under the lights with hurt on his face and the accusation he never spoke caught in his eyes.
You said you did not think I was dirty. Then why did you move away?
A tear slipped from the corner of Elias’s eye.
The kiss ended almost as quickly as it began.
Elias stared at Giselle.
He did not look devastated now. He looked stunned. The warmth of her mouth had vanished too fast to hold onto, but there was no mistaking it. Giselle had kissed him. Clumsy, abrupt, almost rough, but real.
His eyes remained red as he waited for her to say something.
For a second, neither of them seemed to know where to put their hands. Giselle had caught him like he might fall. Elias stood frozen between the instinct to flee and the proof she had just forced upon him. The night seemed too quiet around them, every distant car and rustling branch suddenly far away.
Giselle’s hand stayed on his shoulder.
"Elias," she said.
The use of his name softened the word in a way neither of them had expected.
"I don’t think you’re dirty."
She stopped, eyes dropping for the briefest moment. In the thin wash of landscape lights, a faint flush reached her face. When she looked back at him, her expression had steadied, though guilt remained plainly visible in her eyes.
"I just..." Her voice caught. "I just hate that you had to go through something like that."
Her mouth opened again.
"I should have..."
Elias lifted a finger and placed it gently against her lips.
"Don’t," he whispered.
His eyes had changed. The anguish he had worn a moment before had dissolved into something soft and wet, gentle enough to make Giselle’s heart ache.
"I understand."
Giselle looked at him for a long moment.
Relief came slowly, then all at once. Until seconds ago, she had thought she might lose him completely. She had watched him pull away, watched him run, and felt the terrifying certainty that there would be no way to catch him once he truly decided to leave.
That fear had forced her to kiss him.
She knew exactly what it meant. That knowledge had been part of why she had avoided looking at him in the suite. She had not known where the boundary was anymore, or why the thought of Elias being with someone else had felt like something tearing open inside her.
Yet when she had kissed him, she felt no disgust.
Nothing in her pulled back.
It had felt natural. As though some part of her had been waiting to do it long before she admitted it.
[Giselle Frost’s favorability has increased. Current value: 75%.]
Elias stepped closer.
Giselle had not removed her hands from his shoulders, so he slipped easily into the space between them. His arms wrapped around her waist, and he folded himself against her, resting his cheek over her chest.
"Giselle," he murmured. "You’re so good to me."
His voice was soft enough to turn the words into warmth.
"We’re besties forever, right?"
The question cooled the restless feeling in Giselle’s chest.
Of course.
The kiss had only proven that she did not think he was dirty. It had not meant anything else. She was his friend. His closest friend. There was no need to make the moment into something it was not.
Giselle held onto that explanation with both hands. It was clean. It was sensible. It did not require her to examine why the possibility of another woman touching him had driven her into a fight, or why she had chased him into the cold and kissed him without thinking. Friendship was enough. Friendship explained everything she was willing to face tonight.
Giselle lowered her hand to the back of his head. Her other arm slid around his waist and drew him closer.
It was a hold that belonged nowhere near ordinary friendship between a man and a woman. His body fit against hers with too much ease, and her palm lingered too carefully against his hair.
Neither of them commented on it.
Elias gave no sign that anything felt strange.
So Giselle decided it was not strange.
[System Theta: ...]
System Theta had begun to suspect it had a defect.
The two of them looked sweet together.
That could not be right.
Inside the suite, Sloane paced from one end of the room to the other. She had tried sitting down. It lasted perhaps ten seconds before she stood again.
"They’ve been gone forever," she said. "Why aren’t they back?"
Naomi sat near the low table with a first-aid kit spread beside her. She dabbed antiseptic against the cut at her lip, then pressed gauze there with far more calm than she had possessed during the fight.
"I told you," Naomi said. "They’re a couple trying to talk. Why are you acting like somebody vanished?"
Sloane turned on her with a humorless smile. "If I had not involved myself, one of you would have ended this evening in an ambulance."
The reminder drained some of Naomi’s calm.
She glanced at the bruises on her knuckles, then coughed once into her fist. She had gone too far. So had Giselle. So had everyone, probably.
Before she could think of a reply, the door opened.
Elias and Giselle came back in.
Sloane exhaled in relief.
Then her eyes dropped.
Their hands were linked.
Not loosely, either. Giselle’s fingers were threaded through Elias’s as if letting go would take something important with it. Elias did not seem bothered. He looked tired, but the tense line across his shoulders had softened.
For several seconds, Sloane wondered if someone had hit her harder than she realized. Was this a concussion? Had she wandered into some alternate version of the night while she was trying to stop two heiresses from turning a private suite into a demolition site?
No one reconciled that quickly.
Naomi, on the other hand, only gave them one look and resumed tending to her injuries.
Of course they were holding hands.
That was practically restrained by their standards.
Giselle let go of Elias’s hand and walked toward Naomi.
"Naomi," she said, her voice clear and cool again. "I’m sorry. I was wrong to put my hands on you without knowing the truth."
Naomi stared.
This was enough to make even her forget the antiseptic in her hand.
Giselle Frost was apologizing?
She opened her mouth, shut it, opened it again, and found no words waiting for her. The shock on her face was almost funny.
Elias stood behind Giselle where Sloane could not see him clearly. He caught Naomi’s eye and gave her a small look.
Come on. Say the line.
Naomi blinked.
Then she understood.
A little color rose in her face. "I wasn’t innocent either," she said, each word sounding more awkward than the last. "I shouldn’t have lied just to provoke you."
Sloane finally recovered enough to intervene.
"Good. Great. The misunderstanding is cleared up. Nobody needs to make this worse."
Naomi turned slowly toward her.
Her entire expression said, Look at me. Does this look like no one got hurt?
Sloane refused to take the bait.
Instead, she looked at Elias. His face was gentler than before, the ragged pain absent. It was strange how quickly that expression had disappeared, but Sloane was too relieved to question it.
"Are you still going home?" she asked.
"No."
Giselle answered before Elias could.
"He’s staying here with me."
Sloane nodded automatically. This did not sound like a problem. Giselle and Elias had stayed in the same presidential suite before, each in a separate bedroom. It was late, emotions were high, and no one needed to send Elias back alone to the old house tonight.
"Fine. I’ll have someone get the suite ready."
Then she noticed the way Giselle was looking at Elias. The way Elias was standing close enough that their sleeves brushed. The quiet, untroubled way neither seemed inclined to explain themselves.
Sloane slowed.
"When you say staying with you..."
Giselle looked at her.
"You mean the same suite?"
"The same bed."
Sloane blinked.
Once.
Twice.
"Oh."
Apparently, she had been worrying too much.
She did not say anything else. She took a key card from the table, handed it to Giselle, and stepped aside so the two of them could leave.
Elias accepted Giselle’s hand again when she offered it.
The door closed behind them.
Sloane stood there for a moment, too tired to decide whether the evening had gone well or very badly. Then she dropped onto the sofa with a long exhale.
When she looked to the side, Naomi was watching her.
Naomi’s face carried the solemn disappointment of someone witnessing an avoidable disaster.
Sloane frowned. "What?"
Naomi lifted one hand and pointed at Sloane.
"You."
Then she pointed at herself.
"Me."
She brought her palms together with a sharp clap.
"Together, we’re the whole circus."