Bound by Secrets and Longing

Chapter 1

Six years ago, Elena Winterbourne became a surrogate mother out of necessity, supporting herself through a challenging financial situation. In this tangled narrative, Bastian White emerged as the central figure, unwittingly caught in someone else's trap.
Two years ago, fate brought Elena face to face with her daughter, revealing that the child's father was a man she had secretly adored for years. What she didn't realize was that Bastian held deep-seated prejudices against her choice to be a surrogate, treating her with a chilling indifference.
Despite the passing years, the rift between them remained as vast as ever. Bastian's heart was still tethered to his first love, missing for six long years, while Elena’s feelings for him had never wavered.
Everything changed when a man who genuinely loved Elena entered her life, stirring Bastian’s desire to possess her. In a cold voice, he remarked, “Elena Winterbourne, let’s get married. I can give you everything you want.”
But how much love did Elena need to withstand the pain he often inflicted?
Their relationship wasn’t just marked by emotional distance; it felt as if an entire world stood between them. What would it take for Elena to reach his heart?
Once, Elena had a "lost" daughter, and through a twist of fate, she was reunited with her. This brought her into contact with the stoic man from her past.
Yet Bastian continued to harbor resentment toward her. One fateful day, he suddenly stated, “Elena Winterbourne, let’s marry. Stop flirting with other men. I can give you everything you want.”
How much love could withstand the repeated wounds he brought? This is not just Elena's painful history of unrequited love, but also a gripping account of Bastian's tumultuous transformation.
Everyone believed Bastian's affections for her were genuine, but Elena knew the truth—the whole thing was a facade. This tale truly reflects a woman playing with fire, risking her own heart in the process.

Chapter 2

The evening sky was dimming, and the motion-sensor lights in the dimly lit hallway had long since broken, casting a blurred shadow across the sparse space. Elena Winterbourne clutched several grocery bags in her hands as she cautiously navigated her way up the staircase, keeping close to the wall, her heart racing with each step.
This old apartment building was set to be demolished, and most of the residents had already moved out. The eerie quiet enveloped her as she made her way to the sixth floor, where she paused to rummage through her bag for the keys. Just then, she abruptly collided with something solid and warm—another person.
The scent of strong tobacco filled her nostrils, and she gasped, barely managing to stifle her surprise.
Her heart raced wildly, and she could hear her own breath quickening in her ears. Instinctively, she took a half-step back.
A soft click broke the silence, and a flickering light momentarily illuminated the area. In that fleeting glow, she recognized his familiar piercing gaze—sharp, dark eyes filled with impatience and agitation.
It was him...
Elena tightened her grip on the grocery bags, her fingers digging into the soft flesh of her palms. She took a deep breath and finally asked, “Can I help you?”
The man’s lighter had already gone out, and they stood in silence at the threshold, the darkness swallowing them whole. After a moment of contemplation, he simply said, “Unlock the door.”
Elena felt as if she had come to her senses all at once. Flustered, she hurried to find her keys, but the more anxious she became, the more her hands trembled.
Before she could collect herself, a long arm reached around her waist, the solid weight of his chest pressing closer. Her breath caught in her throat as her wide eyes locked onto the shadowy figure before her. He was too close—she could feel the warmth radiating off him, and for a moment, the heat spread like wildfire in her chest, igniting a strange pain.
He stood behind her silently, one hand reaching into her tote bag.
Though she knew he was only looking for the keys and not intending any harm, a sense of discomfort filled her. Tears threatened to spill from her eyes, a wave of vulnerability she couldn’t quite control.
His steady breathing echoed in her ears, coupled with the metallic jingle of the keys. Stunned, she remained frozen in front of him, instinctively blocking his path. Impatiently, he murmured, “Step aside.”
With a delayed reaction, she moved aside, quietly waiting in the dim corridor, afraid to breathe too loudly as if to preserve the fragile tranquility.
The door creaked open, revealing a blinding light that momentarily stung her eyes. She shut them instinctively, and when she finally opened them again, she blinked to adjust her sight. Standing in the doorway was his handsome face, calm yet radiating an almost overpowering energy.
Elena's heart raced as she averted her gaze, fumbling to place her groceries on the round table inside the apartment. Once she released the bags, she exhaled a sigh of relief, but the presence of the man behind her sent her heart racing anew.
Turning around, she found herself at a loss for words, “Would you like something to drink?”
Bastian White examined the neglected state of the apartment; Oakenburg was known for its rainy weather, and a musty odor lingered in the air. His brow furrowed in disdain, his impatience evident. Instead of answering her question, he bluntly stated, “Mabel is sick. She’s been asking for you.”
Elena froze, her cheeks flushed and quickly drained of color. She stepped closer, directly meeting his gaze, not noticing the flicker of disdain that crossed his features. Breathless, she asked, “Is it serious? The weather has been changing a lot lately—why aren’t you taking better care of her?”
A mocking smirk crept onto Bastian’s lips, and he said nothing as he continued to observe her.
Realizing she had overstepped, Elena took a step back, her fingers tightening nervously. She dropped her gaze, feeling regretful. “I’m sorry.”
Bastian turned his head away, his irritation bubbling beneath the surface every time he saw her attempt to appear fragile. No one knew better than him how venomous her heart could be.
“She wants the soup you make. Go prepare it.”

Chapter 3

Bastian White muttered to himself as he settled into the plush couch at Elena's Shop. Just as he got comfortable, he crushed an unfamiliar object beneath him. Frowning, he picked it up and was surprised to find a large yellow rubber duck.
He recognized it instantly; Mabel had several toys like this, but this one was much bigger—probably the mother of her collection.
"That's their mother," Elena Winterbourne said, biting her lip as she approached to take the duck from his hands, carefully tucking it away in a nearby drawer like it was a treasured object.
Bastian's expression hardened as he watched her movements. A cold laugh escaped him. "What? Are you hoping that one day it will reunite with those kids?"
Elena turned her back to him, a bitter smile stretching across her lips. "No, I just... keep it so I can look at it when I miss Mabel."
Bastian shot her a puzzled look, but she didn’t give him a chance to ask more. Instead, she grabbed food ingredients from the table and disappeared into the kitchen.
Inside, it felt like a fire was roaring in his chest, but he had nowhere to direct his frustration. He pulled out his cigarette pack, searching for an ashtray, but after a fruitless glance around her room, he had to drag the nearby trash can closer.
Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a pill bottle peeking out of the trash. He stared at it for a moment before quickly looking away.
Why was he concerned about her? Had he gone mad?
---
The sound of rushing water came from the kitchen, indicating she was washing up. Having spent the entire night at the hospital with his daughter, Mabel, exhaustion was weighing heavily on Bastian. He took just two puffs from his cigarette before his eyes drooped shut.
Elena placed a pot on the stove and added half an ear of corn to the chicken soup before drying her hands and stepping into the living room.
As she entered, she found Bastian sprawled across the narrow couch, limbs long and robust, clearly uncomfortable in his slumber. His brow was furrowed as he twisted in his sleep, a half-burned cigarette still clutched between his fingers. As she tiptoed closer, cautious not to wake him, she noticed that he seemed to be in a deep sleep, likely even oblivious to her presence.
Looking at his familiar face stirred something within her. An impulse prompted her hand to reach out, hovering just a hair’s breadth above his forehead.
He had often told her not to touch him, saying it was disgusting.
Elena's gaze darkened, and her outstretched fingers curled downwards, memories flooding her mind like flickering black-and-white reels, leaving a painful ache in her chest.
Suddenly, the man on the couch opened his eyes wide, dark and stormy. His gaze fell heavily on the hand that lingered near his face.
Feeling the rush of embarrassment, Elena slipped backward, landing awkwardly on the floor. "I… there’s something on your face."
Bastian remained silent, his expression icy as he studied her. Elena gulped, the urge to flee washing over her. "I’ll check on the soup—"
“Elena Winterbourne,” he called out, his tone sharp and cold.
Elena clenched her fingers hard enough to hurt, bracing herself for what came next. True to form, Bastian spoke slowly, deliberately, each word a chilling warning. “Don’t get any ideas about things that don’t belong to you. Remember your place. You’ll always be Elena Winterbourne.”
Something inside her shattered at his words, but oddly enough, it didn’t hurt. She closed her eyes briefly, surrendering with a nod. “I know. I’ve always known. You don’t have to remind me.”
As if he didn't understand how she felt, Bastian continued to stare at her, the silence thick with unresolved tension.
---
Elena moved quickly, and when Bastian brought her to the hospital, Mabel was anxiously awaiting by the entrance to her room. Upon seeing Elena, the little girl nearly jumped out of her bed, eyes bright. “Auntie!”
Elena rushed over and scooped her up tightly, feeling the warmth radiating from Mabel’s small frame. It was concerning how hot she felt; the fever must have been severe.
She gently pressed her forehead against Mabel's. “Are you still feeling sick?”
Mabel shook her head with a smile, her chubby arms wrapping around Elena's neck. “I thought you didn’t want me anymore since you haven’t visited!”
Elena's heart clenched painfully, her throat tightening. She shook her head, holding a thermos enticingly in front of Mabel. “Auntie brought you some new soup!”
At the mention of food, Mabel’s small face lit up, eyes sparkling like crystal as she tilted her head and snuggled closer. The sweetness of her smile tugged at Elena’s heart.
Bastian stood in the doorway, unable to bear the sight of his daughter comfortably nestled in Elena's arms. A sense of anger boiled inside him. He turned on his heel and stormed away, heading to the stairwell where he lit a cigarette to quell the rising frustration within.
Meanwhile, Mabel remained blissfully unaware of her father’s turmoil, too busy enjoying the comfort of Elena’s embrace as she was gently fed. “Daddy’s so silly whenever I’m sick. Auntie, where’s my mommy? Daddy says she’s gone. Where’d she go?”
Elena’s heart sank. She lowered her gaze, locking eyes with Mabel’s clear ones. Her hand shook slightly as she held the spoon, and she could only manage a whisper, “Auntie... doesn’t know.”
Mabel frowned, sensing the heavy atmosphere, but noticing Elena’s troubled face, the child kept silent, her head hanging low.
Unable to bear seeing the little girl upset, Elena set the bowl aside, hugging Mabel tightly against her chest. She whispered softly, “If you’re good, your mommy will definitely come back for you.”
Mabel sniffled, clutching onto the corner of Elena’s shirt. It took a moment before she murmured so softly, it was almost a breath. “Mommy must smell just like Auntie. I wish Auntie could be Mommy.”
Elena didn’t hear her words; her gaze was lost outside the window, lost in a world of thoughts as the branches swayed in the gentle breeze, rustling with a soft sound.
Another summer had arrived.

Chapter 4

Mabel was tucked away in the Pediatric Ward, where the bed was tiny and the only other furniture consisted of a small couch and a single armchair. Once Bastian White returned to the room, he casually sprawled out across the couch, completely ignoring her, his arm draped over his forehead as he dozed off.
Elena Winterbourne had just finished feeding the little one her soup and was now reading a storybook. She hadn’t even gotten through half of it when the child fell asleep, her tiny hand clutching tightly to Elena's sleeve.
A smile crept into Elena's eyes as she gently laid the child’s arm back under the thin blanket, tucking her in. Only then did she look over at the man on the couch.
Bastian White's actions seemed to suggest he was okay with her staying by Mabel's side for the night, a luxury she deeply cherished. It had been over two months since she’d seen Mabel, and she couldn’t help but wonder how long it would be until she saw her again after this night.
The child occasionally mumbled in her sleep, and upon leaning down to listen closely, Elena could make out the word “Mommy” slipping from her lips. Mabel’s small face was etched with a touch of sadness.
Mabel had asked her more than once why her mom didn’t want her anymore.
Feeling a wave of emotion, Elena shut her eyes and pressed her lips gently to Mabel's sweaty forehead, tenderly caressing the furrow between the girl’s brows. Mabel sighed contentedly, snuggling deeper into her dreams.
Leaning back against the chair, sleep eluded her. In the stillness of the room, she remembered she hadn’t eaten dinner; she had been brought here by Bastian the moment she got home. Glancing around, she noted the snacks and treats piled up on the cabinet, yet she forced herself to shut her eyes again.
The night dragged on, and Mabel woke several times, crying out for her mother. Bastian couldn't soothe her, and each time, the child reached out, insisting on being held by Elena. She hesitated by the side, waiting for Bastian's glance of indifference before she dared to lift Mabel into her arms.
“Auntie,” Mabel whimpered as she nestled into Elena's embrace, “it hurts.”
“Let me see, sweetheart.”
Elena took her time to massage Mabel’s shoulders and limbs, offering just the right pressure. It wasn’t long before the small girl’s eyes began to droop, her head slowly resting against Elena’s shoulder.
Holding the child in her arms felt like a gift that she didn’t want to relinquish, but just then, Bastian’s cold voice sliced through the silence.
“If you keep holding her like that, she’s not going to sleep well,” he remarked, his tone ominous, as if lightning had struck, tearing through the bubble of comfort she’d constructed.
Elena bit her lip and gently placed the child back onto the hospital bed. She felt the sweat pooling on her skin, particularly where Mabel had rested against her. Her shirt was damp and clung to her, making her feel exposed and uncomfortable.
Bastian adjusted Mabel’s blanket and, noticing her flustered expression, couldn't help but sneer, “Don't worry. I'm fully aware of what's going on. Some mistakes won’t happen twice.”
Elena’s face turned crimson, feelings of humiliation washing over her. Mabel was asleep now, leaving just the two of them in an awkward silence.
Lowering her head, she sat quietly in the armchair. Suddenly, a packet of cookies appeared before her, extending from Bastian’s steady hand, his icy expression unchanged.
“Thanks,” she replied, taking the cookies and gripping the packet tightly.
Bastian shrugged off his coat and resumed his position on the couch, dismissing her with an air of disinterest. After a beat, he added, “You never make bad deals. Take good care of Mabel. If she’s happy, I’ll make sure you are, too.”
Elena bit her lip so hard it almost drew blood. Tears threatened to spill from her eyes, the pressure building, but she fiercely held them back. Crying wouldn’t help; it would only make her all the more disliked.

Chapter 5

Elena Winterbourne lay quietly, careful not to wake him. She forced herself to endure the night, drifting into a restless sleep filled with heavy dreams that pressed upon her like an iron weight, making it hard to breathe. In the fog of those dreams, she realized she was crying, a raw ache pulling at every nerve in her body.
The sound of a baby crying jolted her awake. Her heart raced as she blinked against the morning light streaming in through the window. It was dawn; the world outside began to stir. With a gentle movement, she leaned over to check on the little girl in the hospital bed. Mabel lay sprawled out, her chubby limbs forming a perfect "X" as she slept fitfully.
Glancing back toward Bastian White, she finally let out a small sigh of relief when she saw he was still asleep. Her fingers brushed against her cheek, and they came away damp with tears.
Her stomach growled loudly; she’d skipped dinner the night before, unable to eat the pack of cookies Bastian had given her. She always cherished those small gestures from him.
Tiptoeing out of the room, Elena was aware that it was still early. The hospital's breakfast offerings were usually disappointing, and the food outside wasn’t much better. Plus, Bastian had an intense aversion to anything perceived as unsanitary.
Once back at her apartment, Elena began to prepare breakfast for Mabel, her mind running through the checklist of tasks ahead, including remembering to call in sick to work. Just as she unlocked the door to the living room, something unexpected flew toward her.
It wasn't too forceful, more like a burst of frustration, but it startled her nonetheless. A glass shattered on the floor at her feet, the sound cutting through the morning silence. Finally shaken awake, she turned slowly to find Lyra Summerfield seated on the couch, his demeanor dull and heavy.
The sunlight streamed through the curtains in harsh beams, illuminating the imposing figure of the man who, at that moment, seemed utterly lost. A slight stubble shadowed his jaw, and dark circles under his eyes betrayed a night of sleeplessness.
In a rush, guilt washed over her—she hadn’t mentioned to Lyra that she'd be out late the previous night.
“What were you doing?” Lyra’s voice was almost icy, demanding an answer.
Without responding directly, Elena bent down to scoop up the shards of glass, tossing them into the trash can beside her.
In an explosive motion, Lyra shot up from the couch and stood close, grabbing Elena’s wrist with a grip that felt like a vice, propelling her back to her feet. She stumbled slightly, surprised by his intensity.
“Why won’t you answer me? You went to see him again, didn’t you?” His fierce gaze bore into her.
Elena gripped her insulated lunch container tightly, meeting his fiery eyes. “Yes, I went to see Mabel. She’s sick.”
“Mabel,” he echoed disdainfully, his grip tightening painfully. “And what does that have to do with you? Why do you act like her mother?”
Her face, already pale, drained further, feelings of ice-cold dread washing over her. Lyra knew how to hit her where it hurt, but he didn’t seem able to stop himself. Just thinking of her visiting that father and daughter felt like daggers in his heart.
“Keep your distance,” Elena said, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside. “You might cut yourself on the glass.”
The despair radiating from him was overwhelming—so helplessness surged through him. If only he could make her see how much her choices affected them both!
He raised his voice, unable to contain his rage. “Do you even realize what you’re doing, Elena Winterbourne?”
Caught off guard, Elena paused her cleanup and looked up, managing a calm smile that belied her worry. “Lyra, I’m just looking out for Mabel. That’s all."

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