Chapter 3

Alistair kept Elara on his lap for what felt like an eternity. His hand rested possessively on her waist, occasionally tightening its grip. He continued his conversation with his guests, acting as if this was the most natural thing in the world. Elara sat rigid, staring at a point on the opposite wall, trying to disappear. Each glance from the other guests, a mixture of curiosity, pity, and contempt, felt like a physical blow.

Diana watched, her eyes glittering with a venomous rage she barely concealed. Alistair would occasionally glance at Diana, a smirk playing on his lips, clearly enjoying her discomfort.

"Elara, pour Mr. Henderson more wine," Alistair commanded, his voice smooth.

She had to lean awkwardly, reaching for the bottle, her body pressed against his. The humiliation was absolute. She wasn't a person to him, just an object, a means to an end – the end being Diana's torment and his own assertion of power. When the dinner finally ended, and the guests began to depart, Alistair finally released her. She stumbled slightly as she stood, her legs numb. He didn't even look at her. She felt debased, utterly worthless.

Later that night, Elara couldn't sleep. The shame of the dinner party consumed her. She slipped out of her small room, needing air, needing to escape the oppressive atmosphere of the house. The large, ornate swimming pool shimmered under the moonlight, deserted. She walked to the edge, staring into the dark water.

A sudden, violent shove from behind sent her sprawling into the cold water. She gasped, swallowing a mouthful of chlorinated water as she went under. Panic seized her. She wasn't a strong swimmer.

She struggled to the surface, coughing, disoriented. Diana stood at the edge of the pool, her face a mask of fury in the dim light.

"You think you can take him from me?" Diana shrieked, her voice distorted. "You worthless little servant!"

Elara tried to swim towards the steps, but Diana grabbed a long pool skimmer and jabbed it at her, pushing her head under the water. Elara thrashed, desperate for air. Diana was trying to drown her. The depth of her sister's malice was terrifying. Air. She needed air. Her lungs burned. Black spots danced before her eyes.

Just as Elara felt her strength failing, a shout echoed across the pool area. A security guard, alerted by the noise, was running towards them.

Diana immediately let go of the skimmer. She looked around wildly, then, with shocking speed, she grabbed a sharp decorative stone from a nearby planter and scraped it hard across her own arm, drawing blood. She then threw herself to the ground, sobbing.

By the time the guard reached them, and Alistair, alerted by the commotion, arrived moments later, Elara had managed to pull herself, coughing and shivering, from the pool.

Diana was on the ground, cradling her bleeding arm, tears streaming down her face.

"She attacked me!" Diana wailed, pointing at Elara. "Alistair, she tried to kill me! She pushed me, and when I fought back, she... she did this to my arm!"

Elara stared in disbelief, water dripping from her hair, her body trembling from cold and shock. Diana's performance was sickeningly convincing.

Alistair looked from Diana's dramatic display to Elara's soaked, shivering form. Elara opened her mouth to speak, to tell him the truth, but he cut her off.

"Enough," Alistair said, his voice like steel. His eyes, however, were fixed on Diana's bleeding arm, a flicker of something – concern? Old loyalty? – in their depths.

"Elara, you will go to your room. Now."

"But Senator, she..."

"Now!" he roared.

Defeated, Elara turned and walked away, her wet clothes clinging to her, each step an agony of injustice.

Later, Mr. Davies came to her room. His face was grim.

"The Senator is... displeased," Davies said. "Miss Diana's injury is... unfortunate. You are confined to your room for a week. No duties. Your meals will be brought to you."

"She lied! She tried to drown me!" Elara cried, desperation in her voice.

Davies' expression didn't change. "Miss Diana is an old... acquaintance of the Senator. He has made his decision."

The punishment was swift, brutal in its unfairness. Alistair had believed Diana. Or, at least, he had chosen to believe her. It was a clear message. Diana, despite everything, still held some sway, some claim on his loyalties. Elara felt a profound despair. There was no justice for her here.

Two days into her confinement, Elara developed a hacking cough and a fever from the near-drowning and the cold. She lay in bed, miserable and weak.

A maid brought her dinner tray. On it, beside the bland food, was a small bottle of expensive cough syrup and a box of fever reducers. Not the cheap kind from the staff first-aid. These were physician-grade.

"From the Senator," the maid said quietly, avoiding eye contact.

Elara stared at the medicine. Another of Alistair's ambiguous gestures. He punishes her unjustly, then sends medicine. Was it concern? Or just him maintaining his 'property'? Mrs. Gable's words about hate and obsession echoed in her mind, but brought no comfort, only more confusion. He was a monster, yet he sent medicine. It made no sense. It kept her perpetually off-balance, unable to understand him, unable to predict him. This, she realized, was another form of his control.

The week of confinement passed. The cough lingered. And then, a new, terrifying reality set in. Elara missed her period. Then another. A sickening dread filled her. The nights Alistair had forced himself on her...

She managed to get a pregnancy test from a sympathetic young maid, bribing her with one of the few small pieces of jewelry she had left.

The two pink lines appeared almost instantly.

Pregnant. With Alistair Sterling's child.

The world tilted. Shock, horror, and a strange, fierce protectiveness washed over her. A child. His child. Her child.

This changed everything. Her desire for freedom was no longer just for herself. It was for this unborn baby. She couldn't bring a child into this toxic, abusive world. She had to escape. The need was no longer a wish, but an urgent, desperate imperative.

Alistair found out. Perhaps the maid talked. Perhaps he noticed the subtle changes in her. He confronted her, his eyes narrowed, searching.

"You're pregnant," he stated, not a question.

Elara couldn't deny it. She nodded, her heart pounding.

His reaction was unreadable at first. A flicker of something – surprise? Intrigue? Then his face hardened.

"An heir," he mused, almost to himself. Then, louder, "This is... a complication."

His mother, the formidable matriarch of the Sterling clan, was informed. Her reaction was swift and brutal. There would be no illegitimate grandchild to tarnish the Sterling name, to threaten Alistair's political ambitions.

A "solution" was arranged.

A discreet clinic. Mr. Davies drove her. Elara pleaded, begged Alistair. "Please, it's your child."

He was unmoved. "This is necessary, Elara. For everyone."

The procedure was cold, clinical, and traumatic. She was awake, the pain a searing agony, both physical and emotional. They were taking her baby. Her only link to a future, however terrifying, was being forcibly severed. She cried silently, the tears hot on her face. Alistair wasn't there. He'd sent Davies to ensure it was done.

When it was over, she felt empty, hollowed out. The physical pain was immense, but the emotional devastation was worse. That day, something inside Elara broke. Or perhaps, something hardened. Her resolve to escape, to reclaim her life, to make Alistair pay for what he had done to her and her child, solidified into adamantium.

Diana, somehow, found out about the pregnancy and the forced abortion. Her jealousy and malice knew no bounds. She cornered Elara in a quiet corridor of the estate, a few days after the procedure. Elara was still weak, still bleeding, still grieving.

"So, you thought you could trap him with a baby?" Diana sneered, her eyes wild. "You pathetic little fool."

Before Elara could react, Diana attacked her, not with slaps this time, but with vicious, targeted blows to Elara's abdomen.

"I'll make sure you can never have another one!" Diana shrieked, her face contorted in a mask of pure hatred. "He's mine! He'll always be mine!"

Elara screamed, curling up to protect herself, but Diana was relentless. Kicking, punching. Excruciating pain ripped through Elara's already traumatized body. She felt a sickening tearing sensation inside. Then, darkness.

She woke up in her bed. The Sterling family doctor was there, his face grim. Alistair stood in the corner, watching, his expression unreadable.

The doctor spoke in hushed tones to Alistair. Words Elara couldn't quite make out. "Severe internal injuries... future fertility compromised..."

Diana had succeeded in her cruel aim. Elara stared blankly at the ceiling. The last vestiges of her hope seemed to drain away, leaving only a cold, burning rage and an unshakeable determination to survive and escape.