Chapter 4

Ember no longer felt love for Julian. The feeling had been beaten out of her in a filthy alley and had bled out on a cold hospital floor. What remained was a hollow echo, a scar on her soul that matched the ones on her skin.

In the days that followed, Julian devoted himself to Estelle. He hired a private security team for her. He used the Copeland family' s immense power to scrub the internet of any negative press about her, painting her as the innocent victim of a vicious media cycle. They were inseparable, a constant feature in gossip columns, their "deep friendship" a public spectacle.

Ember, meanwhile, was packing. She folded her few remaining clothes into a single suitcase. Her art supplies, once her most prized possessions, were already in storage. She was erasing herself from this life, just as she had erased him from the apartment.

She was taping a box shut when the front door opened. Julian walked in, looking haggard. For the first time, Estelle was with him, clinging to his arm.

"Ember," Julian said, his voice strained. "We need to talk."

He looked from the packed boxes to her face. "The press is hounding Estelle. They' re saying she' s a homewrecker. You wouldn' t have anything to do with leaking those stories, would you?"

The accusation was so absurd, so deeply unfair, that Ember could only laugh. It was a dry, bitter sound. The man she had saved, the man she had dedicated her life to, thought she was capable of such petty revenge.

"Of course not, Julian," she said, her voice dripping with a sarcasm he was too self-absorbed to notice.

Estelle burst into tears on cue. "I' m so sorry, Ember! I never meant for any of this to happen! It' s all my fault!"

Julian' s face softened as he looked at her. "It' s not your fault, Stel." His hand, however, stopped midway as he went to comfort her. A flicker of something-doubt? guilt?-crossed his face.

He turned back to Ember, his expression hardening again. "She' s been through enough. She' s getting death threats. She can' t stay alone."

Ember waited for the inevitable.

"She' s going to stay here with us for a while. Until things calm down."

It wasn' t a request. It was a command. He was bringing his mistress into their home.

Ember' s face must have gone pale, but she just nodded. "Okay."

Her easy agreement seemed to surprise him. She walked over to a matching set of designer couple' s shirts hanging in the now-empty closet. She had bought them for their honeymoon. Without a word, she took them down and dropped them into a trash bag.

"What are you doing?" Julian asked, frowning.

"Cleaning," she said simply.

She remembered showing them to him, her face full of excitement. He had smiled and said, "I can't wait to wear these with you." Another empty promise, another forgotten memory.

She turned to leave the room, but he grabbed her wrist. His grip was tight.

"What is wrong with you, Ember? I' m trying to manage a crisis here. I know your reputation before you met me wasn' t exactly... pristine. The last thing I need is for you to cause more drama."

Her reputation. He was throwing her past in her face. The wild, artistic, fiercely independent woman she had been before him. The woman he once claimed to admire for her spirit. The woman she had killed to become his perfect, devoted caretaker.

The pain was so sharp it felt like she couldn' t breathe. He used to trace the scars on her back and whisper how brave she was, how he would never let anyone hurt her again. Now he was the one hurting her, more deeply than any fire ever could.

She pulled her wrist from his grasp. "I understand, Julian," she said, her voice dangerously calm. "You have to protect your image. And Estelle' s."

His face clouded with confusion at her placid response. "I' ll get her settled in the guest room. I' ll send her away as soon as it' s safe. I promise."

Ember just smiled a thin, tired smile and said nothing.

He walked away, relieved. Later that evening, she heard noises from the kitchen. Julian was cooking. He rarely cooked, but when he did, it was an event. She walked towards the sound.

Estelle was there, perched on a stool, laughing as Julian showed her how to chop vegetables. He was smiling, a genuine, happy smile that Ember hadn' t seen in years. He was patient, his hands guiding Estelle' s, their bodies close. It was an intimate, domestic scene.

A scene she was not a part of. He was so engrossed with Estelle, so enchanted by her performance of helpless femininity, that he had completely forgotten Ember was even in the same apartment.