Betrayed by My Ex, Marked by His Alpha Emperor Brother novel Chapter 171

Chapter 171: Chapter 171

Elara’s POV

Three years later.

Three years of silence, sweat, and survival. And I’d built something. Not much. But mine.

At half-past three in the afternoon, I was sitting cross-legged on the secondhand couch in my apartment, eating oatmeal out of a chipped bowl, when the communication crystal on the windowsill flared to life. A warm amber glow pulsed through the glass, and I nearly choked on a mouthful of oats.

I set the bowl down. Wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. Stared at the crystal like it might bite me.

It pulsed again. Insistent.

I reached over and pressed my palm against the smooth surface. The warmth spread through my fingers, and then his voice filled the room—steady, unhurried, infuriatingly calm.

"Ela."

My stomach clenched. "Finnian."

"There she is. My favorite city girl."

I leaned back against the cushion and crossed my arms, even though he couldn’t see me. "I’m not your anything."

"Debatable. How are you?"

"Fine." The word came out too fast. I softened it. "Good, actually. I’m good."

"Yeah?" There was a smile in his voice. Patient. Warm. The kind of warmth that made something behind my ribs ache if I let it. "Tell me."

I looked around the apartment. Small. Clean. The furniture didn’t match, but it was solid—bought with coin I’d earned myself, fight by fight. A proper table. A bookshelf with actual books on it. Curtains that weren’t stained.

"I’ve got steady work. Good pay. Saved enough to buy real furniture. Got a rug." I paused. "Killed a cactus last month, though."

"A cactus."

"Don’t judge me. Those things are harder than people think."

He laughed. Low and genuine. It curled through the crystal like smoke, filling the silence of my apartment with something I hadn’t realized I’d been missing.

Then his tone shifted. Just slightly. The way a breeze changes direction before a storm.

"You’re still fighting, then. In the pits."

My jaw tightened. "It’s not ’the pits.’ It’s a sanctioned arena."

"Ela—"

"Don’t." The word came out sharp. Harder than I intended. I sat forward, spine rigid. "Don’t do that. Don’t use that voice like you’re worried about me. I’m not the same mess who showed up on your doorstep with nothing but a belly and a death wish, Finnian. I can take care of myself."

Silence. Long enough that I heard my own breathing.

Then, quietly: "I know you can."

The gentleness in it cracked something. I pressed my lips together until the sting behind my eyes faded.

"I’m sorry," I said. "That was... I’m sorry."

"Don’t be." No hurt in his voice. No reproach. Just that steady, unshakable patience that had always made me feel like the worst person alive for running from it. "You don’t owe me soft words, Ela. Never have."

I swallowed. Pulled my knees up to my chest. "Why are you calling?"

A beat of hesitation. Then: "Mother’s turning sixty next week."

The air left my lungs.

"We’re throwing her a party. Saturday evening. The whole household. Some neighbors. Music, food, the works." He paused. "She wants you there."

Panic hit me like a wall of ice water. My fingers curled into the fabric of my pants.

"Finnian—"

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