"Really, Christian," Elena admonishes, smiling at me. How did I never notice her teeth seem to have been sharpened almost to the point that they look like fangs? "Is that any way to greet an old friend?"

"Perhaps not," I agree coolly, "but as you and I are no longer friends, I feel it was an appropriate response, so I'll repeat myself: What the fuck do you want?"

Elena's eyes darken and I watch as she straightens her posture, squaring her shoulders and standing taller—I used to find this intimidating and beyond arousing, but as I've finally begun to see her the way Anastasia and my mother do, I find her pathetic. For the first time in probably ever, she isn't as put together as she normally is. The blood red polish on her fingernails is chipped. Her hair isn't plastered down by her usual can of hairspray, and she seems to be missing an earring. A few months ago, this would have been cause for concern for her wellbeing. Now, though, I see right through her ploy. If she looks as though she needs my help, surely I'll give in like I always have when she's involved. But she doesn't know me nearly as well as she likes to think she does. Not anymore, anyway.

"Cut the shit, Elena," I growl. "I'm not in the mood. You got what you wanted; I'm out of Seattle, so why don't you tell me exactly what this is about." For a moment, I consider alerting Ryan and Reynolds, and having them drag her out of this hotel, but I shelf that thought for now. This is an opportunity to find out what the fuck Elena is up to and I'd be a fool to let it slip away. Besides, I'm bigger than she is and I would have no trouble overpowering her if it gets to that point.

"Aren't you going to invite me in?" she asks tartly, frowning in disapproval over my lack of manners.

I sigh. "No, Elena, I'm not. I have no desire to be behind closed doors with you now or anytime in the future."

She smirks. "What's the matter, Christian? Afraid I'll remind you of what you're missing out on with that mousy little thing you have at home? The one who couldn't handle your needs the way..." Her smirk widens and her eyes darken, this time in lust rather than anger. It's nauseating. "Well, the way some others could."

Of course she's referring to herself and offering herself up to me, expecting me to take the bait she left out so often for me in the past. Well, times change. "First of all, I've told you before: you and I are over—that includes professionally and especially personally. Next, I'm not missing out on a fucking thing. It took my whole life to figure out that there is more to my existence than the sick shit you showed me. You made me think I couldn't love anybody and that nobody would or could love me because of my fucked up past. And maybe that wasn't entirely a bad thing—I had believed differently when I was younger, I might have met somebody and missed out on meeting Anastasia entirely. That's something I wouldn't trade for anything in the world.

"Which brings me to my last point..." I take a deep breath, letting it out slowly in an attempt to control the rage building up inside me. "I've asked you numerous times—trying to be nice about it because we were friends. When that didn't work, I pleaded and threatened. Yet you still don't fucking get it, do you? I don't know what your endgame with Linc is, but it's over, Elena. He's in jail and he's not fucking going anywhere. But in the spirit of old times, I'll say this once more and I suggest you listen for a change: I love Anastasia and I love my son, and they love me. I will do whatever it takes to keep them safe. If that means taking out anyone who stands in my way, I will do it without a second thought. Is that clear?"

"Love?" she scoffs in disgust. I roll my eyes over the fact that she ignored every other thing I said to her. "What could you possibly know about love, Christian? It's a fool's emotion."

"Maybe it is. And before Ana, I knew nothing about it," I answer honestly, "and I'm still not convinced I'm doing it right a lot of the time, but there is no doubt in my mind I know a fuck load more about it than you ever will."

For a second, she just stares at me as though I've slapped her, then the expression is gone, replaced by a coldness I'm not accustomed to from Elena. "You're making a mistake, Christian," she sneers.

"Am I?" I mutter dismissively. "I'll take my chances. I'm done playing the nice guy, Elena, trying to appease the people in my life who don't actually give a shit about me. This will be the last time I see you. I don't want you calling, texting, e-mailing, sending messages through other people. I don't want to see you or hear about you. And if you come near me or any member of my family again, I will not be responsible for my actions."

Again, she doesn't seem fazed by my words. "That's mighty big of you, Christian. Let's talk some more about your little Anastasia; how do you think she'll react if she finds out about our little... indiscretion last year?"

I frown. "What the fuck are you talking about?" I ask.

Her smile returns, making her look predatory. "Oh, you don't remember, do you?" she asks, sounding delighted. "I'd be offended if I didn't recall how drunk you were that night..."

"What night?" I snap.

"The night you came to me, of course," she says huskily. She tries to take a step forward, to reach out and touch me, but I step backwards, making it clear I don't want her anywhere near me. "Oh, you were desperate to forget all about the girl who broke your heart. You cried on my shoulder for quite some time, and then you kissed me."

I freeze. "Bullshit," I whisper, horrified. I search my brain for any inkling that what she's telling me is the truth and I come up with nothing. But there is no fucking way that happened.

"Afraid not," she replies briskly. "So perhaps we should see just how strong this love really is; will Anastasia still love you if she knows you were all over me?"

"Even if it were true, yes, Ana would still love me," I say certainly.

"You think so?" Elena asks thoughtfully. "And the submissives you contracted while she was away? Does she know about them."

"Yes. She also knows nothing happened with them."

Elena actually laughs. "And she believed that?" she says incredulously. "God, Christian, how naïve is this girl?"

I've never been the slightest bit inclined to hit a woman outside of my playroom or a scene, but right now, that's the only outcome I see to this. "Fuck you," I say coldly. "Leave, Elena. I'm not asking again."

In an example of perfect timing, the door beside my room opens. Reynolds steps out and freezes, looking between Elena and me uncertainly. "Reynolds, would you please escort Mrs. Lincoln downstairs? She's worn out her welcome."

As the elevator doors close on Elena and Reynolds, and Elena gives me one last smirk, my mind is reeling. What the fuck was she talking about? I have no recollection of kissing her; even if I was blind drunk, you'd think I'd remember something. Maybe she's fucking with my head, bluffing. She's played enough games over the years that I wouldn't put it past her. Either way, I know I have to warn Anastasia in case Elena makes good on announcing this alleged indiscretion.

Right on time, my phone rings and I smile at the little picture of Ana and Caleb I have set to display when she calls me. "Hi, baby," I murmur, closing my room door and heading to sit on the couch. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm okay," she answers. "Restless and eager to get out of here, though."

I chuckle. "I can imagine," I say sympathetically. "I miss you."

"You've barely been gone a day," she teases. I can hear her grinning at me. "But I miss you, too."

"Glad to hear it."

We're quiet for a minute while I try to think of the best way to tell her what just happened. "How did it go with Leila?" she asks reluctantly. "Did you find out anything?"

I sigh. "Nothing particularly useful," I answer honestly. "But something has come from this trip."

"Oh?"

I close my eyes tightly, pinching the skin between my eyebrows to help ward off a headache. "Ana, there's no easy way to say it, but Elena was just here. At my hotel room."

The shocked silence goes on for so long that I think she might have hung up on me. "What did she want?" she breathes with trepidation.

"I didn't let her in," I reassure her quietly. "She was in the hall the whole time. As for what she wanted... Well, honestly, I'm not entirely sure. My best guess is psychological warfare. She wanted to fuck with my head. And unfortunately, I think she got exactly what she wanted."

"How so?" Ana asks. Her tone is calm, but I can almost feel the tension through the phone line.

Sighing heavily, I lean back on the couch, staring straight up to the ceiling. "Look, there's one thing she said to me before I told Reynolds to get rid of her and I honestly don't know if it's the truth or another lie. If it's the former, I swear to you, I have no recollection of it happening. I would have told you..."

"Told me what?" she whispers fearfully.

I swallow hard, desperately hoping this conversation doesn't set us back another hundred steps—not when things were starting to look up again. "Elena claims that I kissed her at some point in the last year. She says I was drunk and showed up at her house, and made a move on her." I say it as quickly as possible, thinking it might sound better that way. It doesn't. "I really don't remember that happening, Ana," I whisper when she doesn't reply. "Baby, please, say something."

"Why would she say that if it wasn't true?" she asks.

Fuck... "To make things worse," I say, my voice cracking. "To make you doubt me."

She doesn't speak, doesn't make even the slightest sound, and I'm starting to get terrified. Finally, she takes a deep breath. "I trust you," she whispers. "Even if it's true, it's not like we were together when it happened, right? And if you were drunk..." She trails off. I can almost see her shaking her head. "It doesn't matter. I know you were telling the truth about your submissives and I don't believe you'd have slept with... her if you didn't with them."

"You believe me?" I ask incredulously. "Really?"

"Yes, Christian, really. We've been through too much for me to not believe you."

If I were standing right now, my knees would have buckled and I would be on the floor. "Thank you," I whisper. "Ana, I'm coming home and we're going to forget this entire mess."

"I'd like that," she replies.

I've got a stupid grin on my face at the tentative eagerness in her voice. "Me, too, baby. How are our babies?"

Just like that, the tension is lifted—certainly not forgotten, but pushed aside for the moment. We talk for a few minutes until I hear her falling asleep. I smile softly at her murmured I love you and manage to return the words just before the line goes dead.

The more I think about it, the more I'm beginning to wonder if Elena was telling the truth about our supposed kiss last year. There were times I was so drunk I couldn't remember my name, let alone anything I did during those times. Drinking hasn't been something I've done in excess since I was a teenager. It had a tendency to make me unpredictable and sometimes volatile—one of the reasons Elena was so adamant in getting me to quit. But when Ana left, I stopped caring; all I wanted to do was forget and numb the pain, and that was the best way to do it at the time. I also know there were times when I sought comfort or just a distraction from Elena, and just about every time, we discussed Anastasia in some manner. The only time I can think of when something could have happened is when I was at my very lowest point, right before I dragged myself back to my therapy sessions with Flynn and tried to regain control over myself and my life.

Unbidden as I stare up at the ceiling, a thought crosses my mind, though it feels more like a dream. It wouldn't have been the first time I dreamed of Ana after she left, doing all the things with her I wanted to do, reliving some of our more memorable times. I can remember sitting with Ana, telling her how much I missed her and wanted her back, but every time I looked at her, she was fading away before my eyes. I took the opportunity before she disappeared completely, and leaned in to kiss her deeply, but I woke up in the middle of it and Elena was the one sitting beside me. Could it be possible that I was so drunk that I somehow mistook Elena for Anastasia? I remember thinking Ana tasted different, felt different than I remembered, and I said her name just before the scene changed. I also remember being sick, quite possibly all over Elena, her couch, and a very expensive rug under our feet.

Well, if it was real, at least there's a bright side to it. Whatever happens, I've finally gotten it through my head that I can't keep things from Ana. It's better for her if she hears things directly from me rather than somebody else. Vaguely, I wonder if there will ever come a time when something in my past doesn't come back to bite me in the ass.

I still don't know quite what to do about Elena. After my call with Ana, I contacted my lawyer who then contacted Seattle PD who has been looking for Elena since Joe Battaglia made good on his word to turn in whatever evidence he possessed that proved Elena to be one of Linc's accomplices. They're involving the local police department here to locate her, but I don't have high hopes. Elena got what she wanted from Connecticut—she got my attention—and now that's done, she'll probably head back to Seattle to see how much trouble she can cause.

More reason to get home as soon as possible...

Nothing eventful happens by the time I board my plane for the flight home. I spoke with Ana on the way, warned her of the possibility Elena might not be done harassing us, and she took it much better than I expected. Perhaps that reaction was a result of me also telling her there is something we need to talk about. I didn't want to be on the other side of the country when I told her about the memory or dream or whatever it was regarding Elena. I need to be with her, to see her reaction and to keep her from possibly running if she takes it as badly as I fear she might.

It's not until we land in Seattle in the early evening that all hell breaks loose. I managed to keep myself distracted during the flight with work and I'm organizing all my paperwork and laptop in my bag when Ryan approaches me with a grim expression.

"What is it?" I ask warily.

"Sir, there's been an incident at the hospital," he says quietly, glancing down at his cell phone as it pings with an incoming message. Immediately I'm on high alert. "I don't have all the details just yet, but..."

"Ana?" I ask sharply. "Caleb?"

He's reluctant to answer, but that's all I need to know. "Reynolds is on the phone with Taylor now." He gestures towards the front of the plane as the door is opened.

I nod, grabbing my things and chasing after Reynolds.

"ETA around fifteen minutes, T," Reynolds says, ending his call when I reach him.

"Well?"

"A shooting," Reynolds says, leading the way down the stairs to where a car is waiting for us. "Outside the hospital in the parking lot. One dead; the suspect slipped away before anyone could apprehend him. Taylor is in the process of pulling CCTV footage to get a better idea of what happened."

Once in the car, I dial Ana's cell phone, but it goes straight to voicemail. Cursing, I try the direct number to her hospital room, getting a busy signal. "Fuck!" I exclaim, trying Taylor next. Thankfully he picks up on the first ring. "What the fuck is going on! Why can't I reach Ana?"

Taylor sighs on the other end. "She's safe, Mr. Grey," he assures me. "She and Caleb both. The moment I got word, I sent her to your parents' home in Bellevue with your mother and brother. I didn't even have the opportunity to tell her what was going on."

My entire body relaxes significantly. "The shooting in the parking lot... Was it related?" I ask briskly.

"Yes. But for once, I don't think your family was the primary target."

"The victim?"

I can hear the hesitation in his silence. "The victim was Elena Lincoln, sir," he says quietly.

I nearly drop my phone in the shock. "What?" I gasp incredulously. "How the fuck is that even possible? She was in Connecticut last night!"

"Still working to sort out the details, but I'm going to take my chances and say she caught a flight back to Seattle shortly after leaving you," Taylor says. "She was twice shot in the chest—one bullet hit her heart—and she was dead before hitting the ground."

How am I supposed to respond to that? I wanted her out of our lives and I would have gone to extreme lengths to keep her out, but I never actually wished her dead. "Is there an identity on the suspect yet?" I ask quietly, processing.

"We're waiting on confirmation, but early reports and eye witness descriptions suggest it may have been Joe Battaglia."