A cold wave of panic tightened
Elara's chest. She forced herself not to flinch under Julian's scrutiny,
masking her fear with a drowsy facade. Rubbing her eyes with deliberate
slowness, she offered a weak smile. "It's nothing, really. Last night... I just
lost track of time celebrating. Ended up crashing at the hotel. Guess I didn't
sleep well." Her voice sounded brittle even to her own ears. My eyes are
killing me, she added silently, the lie like ash on her tongue.
Bitterness flooded her.
Irony's a bitch, she thought. Me, who despises liars, spinning tales without
blinking. The self-loathing was a physical ache.
Julian wasn't supposed to be
here. His crucial business trip had been her grim justification for his
absence. To him, Elara was still the meticulously obedient girl who never
stayed out without permission. The dependable, predictable Elara.
Now, his unexpected presence
shattered her fragile composure. Escape? Cowardice? The labels didn't matter.
His sudden arrival left her reeling, utterly unprepared to face him. How could
she explain the impossible? How could she meet his eyes knowing another man's
touch still burned on her skin – a touch that made her feel filthy?
The terror coiled tighter. Not
just fear of his anger, but the crushing dread of seeing the warmth in his eyes
turn to ice. The paralysing terror that even Julian, her last anchor, might
finally walk away.
Elara's heart
hammered. Focus. Just get through this. Forcing herself to ignore the lingering
ache deep inside, she plastered on a smile, her voice unnaturally bright.
"What about you?" she asked, desperate to shift his attention.
"Didn't you say you wouldn't be back until late tonight?"
A slow,
devastatingly handsome smile curved Julian's lips, chasing away the sternness
that had been there a moment before. His hand lifted, brushing a stray strand
of hair from her temple. The casual intimacy sent a jolt of pure agony through
her. "Finished early," he murmured, his voice a low rumble.
"Wanted to surprise you... maybe finally see that famous graduation
glow."
He sighed, a
hint of playful frustration in his tone. "Pity I missed the actual party
last night. Tried calling when I landed, but your phone was dead. Then Alex and
the crew ambushed me. Dragged me into their never-ending bridge marathon
upstairs." He gestured vaguely upwards. "Just crawled out. The rest
are still at it, probably buried under poker chips."
Elara's nails
dug into the soft leather of her bag, knuckles turning bone-white. Every gentle
word, every tender look was a shard of glass scraping her raw insides. He came
back early for me. For me. The guilt was a crushing weight, suffocating. A
sudden sting hit the back of her eyes. She dropped her gaze, focusing on a
speck of dust on the floor, her voice barely a whisper. "Oh."
It was
plausible. Alex Westbrook and Julian's other high-society friends treated the
Meridian's suite like a second home, notorious for their marathon card games. Without
her there to Paul him away early… he must have gotten swept up.
Ding
The elevator
doors slid shut. Before Elara could register the escape closing, Julian's hand
settled possessively on the small of her back, guiding her firmly out into the
lobby. His touch, usually a comfort, now sent a jolt of icy dread down her
spine. Her skin crawled where his fingers pressed, a stark reminder of the
violation she desperately needed to scrub away.
"I'll
drive you home," he stated, leaving no room for argument. That warmth in
his tone only made her muscles lock tighter.
"No!"
The word came out sharper than intended. She forced herself to soften,
clutching her bag like a shield. "Please, Julian. I'll take a taxi. Your
place is completely out of the way, and you must be exhausted after playing all
night. Just... go rest."
And let me
get away. Let me wash him off me.
"You—"
Julian began, a flicker of concern crossing his face as he turned. But the
sentence.
Click-clack.
Click-clack.
The sharp
rhythm of stilettos echoed behind them. The air thickened with an overpowering
wave of cloying perfume. A figure glided past Julian's shoulder – close, too
close. Elara caught a flash of crimson nails as slender fingers deliberately
hooked around Julian's wrist, tugging his hand away from Elara's back with
intimate familiarity.
Julian went
rigid. Elara saw his knuckles whiten, his fingers curling into a tight fist at
his side before forcibly relaxing. His gaze, lifting from the woman's hand,
wasn't just cool – it was glacial, fixed on the back as she confidently stepped
in front of them.
"...Well
then," Julian's voice was suddenly flat, directed at the woman. "I'll
walk you to the car."
The woman
paused, turning just enough. She wore a pristine white cashmere coat, cinched
tightly to accentuate a willowy, alluring figure. Her walk was a calculated
sway. Enchanting. Delicate. Radiating absolute ownership as her fingers
remained looped around Julian's wrist. Serena Vance.
Was she in
the elevator? The thought barely formed.
At the hotel
entrance, Julian bent to speak low to the taxi driver. Straightening, he
carefully adjusted Elara's coat collar. A soft kiss brushed her forehead.
"Call me when you get home," he murmured, his breath warm. "Get
some rest. I'll pick you up for dinner tonight."
His
gentleness was a crushing weight. A hard lump formed in her throat. She nodded
mutely, turning to slide into the taxi. The movement pulled sharply at her
inner thighs, igniting a deep, throbbing ache low in her core. A small gasp
escaped her as she sank onto the seat.
She shut the
door, her face twisting in a silent grimace. As the car pulled away, the dam
broke. Elara bowed her head, hands flying to cover her face as choked, ragged
sobs finally tore loose.
Lost in her
anguish, she missed Julian's thoughtful stare hardening as the taxi vanished.
She missed him pivot, his movements suddenly predatory, towards the woman in
the pristine white coat – her makeup perfect, a stark contrast to Elara's
devastation.
Serena Vance's crimson lips
curved into a smirk as she purred, "Did you think Elara saw me in the
lift, Julian?" She moved to hook her arm possessively through his.
He didn't just shake her off.
His hand shot out – cracking against her cheek with brutal force. The slap
echoed in the morning air, snapping her head sideways. Julian's voice dropped
to a lethal whisper, colder than ice: "Be grateful she didn't recognise
you." He leaned in, eyes burning with contempt. "Or you'd regret ever
crawling into my bed."
Serena stumbled back, a choked
gasp escaping. One hand flew to her reddening cheek, the other pressed to her
mouth. Tears welled instantly, making her eyes glisten with frightening,
bloodshot intensity. She cringed, dropping her gaze to the pavement, her entire
frame trembling from the venom in his threat.
Taxi.
The cab's stale air closed
around Elara like a shroud. After the sobs subsided, a cold, brittle calm
settled. She wiped fiercely at tear tracks. Focus. She needed answers.
Fumbling in her bag, her
fingers closed around her phone. Battery. She remembered: 25% before Bianca's
drink. It hadn't died. She jabbed the power button.
The screen flickered to life.
24%. Confirmation slammed into her gut like ice. No automatic shutdown.
Something else happened after that drink. The memory loss wasn't just
drunkenness. It was deliberate. Bianca. The name echoed like a warning bell in
her fractured mind. She needs to figure this out. Now.
The Hayes family villa loomed
at seven a.m., its grandeur wrapped in an unnerving silence. No bustling staff,
no family chatter. Just the oppressive hush of a tomb. Perfect, Elara thought
bitterly. Everyone blissfully asleep, untouched by the wreckage of her night.
She slipped through the ornate
front doors like a ghost, her movements automatic, years of practice keeping
her steps silent on the marble floor. Halfway across the cavernous foyer,
aiming for the stairs, a voice sliced through the stillness.
"So sleepy…" Bianca's whine cut through the air, thick with false
concern. "Mum, Elara's still not back. And not a word from Mr. Porter. Is he
even reliable? I haven't slept all night waiting for news!"
Elara froze. Her heart hammered.
Porter! The name echoed in her mind—that greasy, bald creep from last night.
Claire Hayes's voice, smooth as poisoned honey, drifted from the sitting room:
"Patience, darling. No news is good news. They were… exhausted." A rustle of
silk. "Probably still tangled in bed, hm?"
"Oh!" Bianca's gasp was pure
venomous delight. "Imagine it—everyone thinks she's so pure. Wait until the
whole world sees those photos! Who'll want ruined goods?" Elara's nails bit
into her palm. Behind the plush sofa, unseen, her eyes burned with icy fury.
They set me up. They sent that
monster.
The truth crashed over her: last
night was a trap.
"...The Thorne family is old money. Centuries of power.
How could an orphan ever be worthy of their Crown Prince?" Bianca's voice
dripped glee. "Even if Julian is obsessed with her, Old Madam Thorne would
never let trash stain their bloodline."
She leaned closer to Claire, eyes glittering with malice.
"But with those recordings? We force Porter to marry her. Lock her down.
Even if Grandfather left her that stupid property share, we control it through
her pathetic husband." A cruel laugh escaped her. "Honestly,
Grandfather must be senile! Her father was a disowned deadbeat! Why does his
bastard spawn deserve a single cent of Hayes fortune? We fed her! Housed her!
And this is her gratitude? Trying to steal what's mine?"
"Bianca, enough," Claire hissed, a flicker of
caution in her cold eyes. "Lower your voice. Your father is
sleeping."
Bianca slammed her hand down, defiant. "Why? It's true!
Everything the Hayes family owns belongs to me! She's a leech! A parasite we
were charitable enough not to throw out! And now she dares reach for my
inheritance?" Her voice dropped to a venomous whisper. "I'll destroy
her first."
Behind them, Elara trembled. Not with fear, but with a
volcano of rage. Twelve years. Twelve years she'd lived in this gilded cage,
swallowing Bianca's cruelty, shrinking herself to avoid causing Uncle Hayes
pain. For what? To hear them plot her ruin? Spit on her dead parents? Try to
sell her to a monster like Porter? All for money she hadn't even known existed?
Julian's face flashed in her mind – his trust, his love –
shattered by their scheme. The betrayal wasn't just against her; it was against
the one pure thing she'd had.
The last thread snapped.
"Bianca."
The name cracked through the room like a whip. Ice-cold.
Deadly.
Bianca shrieked, whirling around. Her eyes widened in
genuine terror, reflecting Elara's burning gaze – eyes red-rimmed, not with
tears, but with pure, incinerating fury. And the hand already slicing through
the air towards her cheek.