Please Come Back, My Love novel Chapter 246

Julian:POV

I’d left Nancy standing in the penthouse, her fake vulnerability finally cracking to reveal something colder underneath.

I couldn’t stay there another second–not with her, not with the ghost of Elena I’d been using her to chase for three goddamn years.

So I’d walked out into the London night.

And walked.

And walked, letting the rain soak through my shirt until I was shivering, until the cold started to numb something deeper than my

skin.

It was past midnight when I finally pushed through the heavy door of O’Malley’s, a dive bar tucked into a side street in Southwark–the kind of place where nobody knew my name or gave a damn about Sterling Conglomerate.

The smell of stale beer and cigarettes washed over me.

The bar was nearly empty, just a couple of regulars hunched over their drinks at the far end, and a bartender who looked like he’d seen every kind of human misery there was to see.

I slid onto a cracked leather stool and gestured for whiskey.

The bartender poured without asking questions, sliding the glass across the scarred wood.

I downed it in one burning gulp, welcoming the fire that scorched down my throat.

It didn’t help. Nothing was going to help.

“Another,” I muttered, pushing the glass forward.

Elena was alive.

Elena had a child.

Elena was with Alexander.

Elena didn’t remember me.

The thoughts circled in my head like vultures, each one tearing off another piece of my sanity.

I needed to talk to someone before I completely lost it.

My fingers found my phone, the screen too bright in the dim bar.

I scrolled through contacts until I landed on Lucas’s name.

The line connected after two rings.

Chapter 246.

fuck

Lucas’s voice was breathic: strained

A feminine gasp cut through the background noise, followed by the unmistakable sound of skm on skin. I’m busy. Call you later.”

The line went dead.

I stared at the phone, a bitter laugh escaping me.

Of course.

Lucas was with Sophia Cruz–Elena’s best friend, now his secret lover in some twisted game he’d convinced himself was revenge.

I’d seen them together two weeks ago at that gallery opening, the way his hand had lingered on her lower back, possessive and territorial.

He claimed he was going to destroy her, make her pay for her family’s betrayal when the Reynolds empire collapsed three years ago.

“I’m going to ruin her the way her family ruined mine, he’d said over drinks, his eyes cold and hard.

“I’m going to make sure she can never leave me, but she’ll have to remain my secret.”

But I’d caught the look on his face when she’d laughed at something someone said, when she’d turned away from him for just a moment.

That wasn’t calculated cruelty.

That was raw, desperate need–the same kind of obsession I’d felt for Elena.

Was he really punishing Sophia, or was this just his fucked–up way of keeping her close?

Did he even know which it was anymore?

Or had his heart already fallen back into the same trap he swore he’d escaped?

I shook my head and scrolled to Blake’s number, hitting dial before I could second–guess myself.

The call connected to chaos–engines roaring, announcements echoing over loudspeakers, he general cacophony of an airport terminal.

*Julian? Blake’s voice cut through the noise, sharp with concern.

‘It’s one in the morning. What’s wrong?”

“I saw Elena.”

Long silence.

The airport noise seemed to fade into white static.

Then: “That’s impossible.”

Blake’s voice dropped to something harder, more careful.

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Chapter 246

“Elian, you’ve been searching for her for so many years without finding her? How could she just appear out of thin air like this? You absolutely certain you didn’t just see someone who looks like-

“Not Nancy.”

I gripped the glass tighter, knuckles going white.

‘Elena. The real one. I saw her this afternoon at Harrods. She’s alive, Blake.”

“Jesus Christ.”

I could hear him moving, probably stepping away from the crowd.

“Where are you right now? Actually, scratch that–I can hear bar noise. Where the hell are you?”

‘O’Malley’s. Southwark. Near the river.”

#

I took another drink, slower this time. “Where are you? It sounds like you’re in the middle of a war zone.”

“Just landed at Heathrow about an hour ago. I’m in London doing due diligence on a medical device acquisition for Hammond Investment–some surgical robotics startup in Shoreditch. I was heading to my hotel when you called.”

I could practically hear him thinking, recalculating.

“Give me the address. I’ll grab a car and be there in forty–five minutes, maybe less if traffic’s light.”

“Blake, you don’t have to-*

“Address. Now.”

I rattled it off.

Then I ordered another drink.

And another.

By the time Blake walked through the door–his Burberry coat damp from London’s persistent drizzle, his tie loosened and his expression a mix of concern and exasperation–I’d lost count of how many glasses the bartender had refilled.

“Christ, you look like hell,” Blake said, sliding into the booth across from me.

He waved away the bartender’s questioning look and turned his full attention on me.

“Start talking. And I’m ordering coffee, because one of us needs to stay sober enough to get you home.”

He signaled the bartender, then leaned forward, his eyes sharp despite the late hour.

‘Now. You really saw Elena? You’re absolutely certain it was her?”

“It was her.” He met his gaze, letting him see the certainty there.

10:47 am

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