Chapter 2

"Are you sure, Elara?" her father's voice was gentle through the phone. "You love Juilliard."

"I'm sure, Dad," Elara said, her voice flat. The vibrant dream of New York had shattered. All she felt was a desperate need to escape.

Her mother got on the line. "Honey, is everything alright with you and Julian? You sounded... upset."

The question hung in the air. Elara pictured Julian's smirking face, heard his cruel laughter.

"There is no me and Julian," Elara stated, each word a cold, hard stone. The love she'd felt, so pure and deep, had curdled into something bitter and corrosive. The memories of his touch, his kisses, now made her skin crawl. She would never forget the image of her blood, her life force, discarded like trash.

She hung up and took a cab to the Greenwich Village apartment Julian had insisted they get together. Their "love nest," he'd called it. Now, the words mocked her. It was just another stage for his deceptions, another way to control her, to isolate her. The rent was astronomical, paid by Thorne money, of course.

Elara walked through the rooms, a bitter taste in her mouth. She remembered Julian carrying her over the threshold, promising forever. She'd believed him. She'd imagined filling this space with music, with love, with their future. Now, every corner held a phantom, a lie.

She went to the bedroom, her heart a leaden weight. The closet was full of clothes Julian had bought her, dresses for galas, casual wear for weekends in the Hamptons. Gifts. All part of the charade. She pulled out a garbage bag from under the sink and began to fill it. Every dress, every scarf, every piece of jewelry, every handwritten note professing his undying love. Each item felt like a betrayal, a testament to her own naivety.

The door opened. Julian. He looked surprised to see her there, surrounded by bags.

"Elara? What are you doing? Spring cleaning?" He smiled, that charming, disarming smile that used to make her heart melt. Now, it was just a mask.

"Getting rid of things I don't need anymore," Elara said, her voice devoid of emotion. She continued stuffing a silk blouse into the bag, a blouse he'd said made her eyes sparkle.

He frowned, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. "You've been distant. Are you still feeling weak from the... donation?"

"I'm fine," she said, her tone clipped.

He stepped closer, reaching out to touch her arm. "We were supposed to go to that new gallery opening tonight. Seraphina's mother is one of the patrons."

Elara pulled her arm away as if burned. "I'm not going."

The easy affection he usually displayed felt like poison now, a calculated move in his long game.