Betrayed by My Ex, Marked by His Alpha Emperor Brother novel Chapter 152

Chapter 152: Chapter 152

Elara’s POV

The morning air bit through my thin jacket like a warning.

I stood on the Morrisons’ front porch, gripping the strap of my small travel bag so hard my knuckles ached. The wood beneath my boots was worn smooth from countless footsteps—family footsteps, real ones. The kind that belonged to people who stayed.

I was not one of those people.

The memory wouldn’t stop replaying. Valerius at the academy. That pulse of recognition rippling through the air like a stone dropped into still water. He’d felt me. My son had sensed my presence, and for a terrible, beautiful moment, I’d felt him reach back.

I had to go. Now. Before he came looking.

The screen door creaked behind me.

"You’re really leaving." Margaret’s voice was soft. Not a question.

I turned. She stood in the doorway holding a chipped ceramic mug, steam curling from the coffee inside. Flour dusted her apron—she’d already been baking. Of course she had. That was what Margaret Morrison did when she couldn’t fix something. She baked. The faint scent of vanilla and warm butter clung to her like a second skin.

"I have to," I said. My voice came out steadier than I expected. A small mercy.

"No, darling." She stepped onto the porch and set her mug on the railing. "You don’t have to do anything. You could stay. Right here. This room is yours as long as you want it."

The kindness in her words was a knife. Gentle and precise.

"Margaret—"

"You’re my precious baby girl. You know that." Her eyes glistened. She reached for my hand and squeezed it between both of hers. Her palms were warm and rough from a lifetime of kneading dough. "Whatever trouble is chasing you, we can face it together."

I almost broke right there. Almost dropped the bag and let her pull me inside and pour me coffee and pretend I was someone who deserved this.

But I wasn’t.

I was a woman who had abandoned her child. A coward dressed in borrowed clothes, hiding behind a borrowed name.

"I can’t stay," I whispered. "If I do, the people looking for me will come here. I won’t put your family in danger."

Margaret’s lips pressed together. She didn’t argue. She understood danger—she’d lived near the border long enough to recognize it in someone’s eyes. But understanding didn’t make the letting go easier.

Heavy footsteps sounded in the hall. Robert appeared behind his wife, one hand resting on her shoulder. He looked older this morning. Tired in a way that had nothing to do with sleep. The lines around his eyes had deepened overnight, and his jaw worked silently for a moment before he spoke.

"You take care of yourself out there, little sweetheart." His voice was gruff. Thick. "And you remember—this is your home. Always. Doesn’t matter how far you go or how long you’re gone. Door’s always open."

Something cracked inside my chest. I nodded quickly because if I opened my mouth I would sob, and if I started sobbing I would never stop.

Robert pulled me into a hug. Brief. Firm. The kind of embrace a father gives. I wouldn’t know—I’d never had one. But I imagined this was it.

Margaret kissed my cheek. Her tears were warm against my skin.

I pulled away before I could change my mind.

---

Finnian was already waiting by the wagon, the horses stamping impatiently in the cold. He didn’t say anything when I climbed up beside him. Just flicked the reins and guided us down the dirt road toward the station.

The silence between us was heavy. Full of all the things neither of us wanted to say.

We were halfway there before he spoke.

"Have you figured out where you’re going?"

I stared at the road ahead. Trees lined both sides, their bare branches clawing at a pale grey sky. "West," I said. "Somewhere big enough to disappear."

He was quiet for a moment. "There’s a coach that leaves at half past nine. Goes to Portland. From there you can transfer to just about anywhere."

Portland. I turned the name over in my mind. Far enough. Anonymous enough. A city where one more stranger wouldn’t draw a second glance.

"That works," I said.

Finnian’s jaw tightened. His hands flexed on the reins.

"Ela." His voice dropped. "You don’t have to do this alone."

"Yes, I do."

He looked at me then—really looked—and I saw it in his eyes. The same helpless frustration I’d seen in his mother’s. The wanting to fix something unfixable.

"I’ll be fine," I lied.

He didn’t believe me. But he nodded.

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