Chapter 2

Julianne looked at Demetrius, her expression unreadable. She had always been the one in control, the patroness, the powerful woman who had built his career from nothing. He was used to her moods, but this calm was new. It was unnerving.

"Yes," she said, her voice flat. "I heard."

She took a slow sip of her wine, her eyes never leaving his.

"It was just talk, Julianne," he said, taking off his jacket and tossing it onto a chair. It was a familiar, casual gesture he had performed a thousand times in this apartment. "Cayla gets emotional. You know how she is."

He walked over to the bar, his movements relaxed. He thought this was another one of her tests, a moment of drama before the wedding. He thought she was playing games, pouting. He poured himself a whiskey, the ice clinking against the glass.

"I smoothed it over. Everything is fine," he said, turning back to her. "We're still getting married tomorrow."

"No, we're not," she replied.

He finally seemed to register the seriousness in her tone. He walked over to her, his brow furrowed. "What do you mean? Don't be like this, Julianne. It' s the night before our wedding."

He reached for her, a move that usually soothed her. She flinched away from his touch. It was a small movement, but it was as definitive as a door slamming shut.

He stopped, his hand hovering in the air. "What's wrong with you?"

"I don't want you sleeping here tonight," she said, standing up. "You can use the guest room."

He stared at her, completely baffled. In their four years together, she had never denied him her bed. She was possessive, demanding his presence every night. It was part of their arrangement.

"The guest room?" he repeated, a hint of disbelief in his voice. "Are you serious?"

"Didn't you tell your family you felt controlled?" she asked, her voice laced with a faint, sharp irony. "That being with me was like being in a gilded cage? Consider this a moment of freedom."

His face hardened. He felt a familiar surge of resentment. He hated when she threw his own words back at him. He hated that she always seemed to know what he was thinking.

"Fine," he said, his voice cold. He turned and walked towards the guest room without another word. He still believed this was a temporary storm, that by morning, she would be back to her usual, clinging self.

Julianne watched him go. For the first time, she felt a sense of release.

The next morning, Julianne was up before the sun. She dressed in a simple, elegant pantsuit, a stark contrast to the elaborate wedding gown hanging in her closet.

The butler informed her that Demetrius had left an hour ago.

"Did he say where he was going, Robert?" she asked.

"No, Miss Lancaster. He just left."

"Good," she said. "We won't be waiting for him."

She spent the morning at City Hall, finalizing her name change back to Lancaster on all official documents and updating her passport. It was a small, administrative task, but it felt monumental. It was the first step in reclaiming her life.

Afterward, she went to a small café in Greenwich Village, a place Craig had loved. She sat by the window, sipping her coffee, watching the city wake up. She felt a strange sense of peace.

And then she saw him.

Demetrius was walking down the street, and he wasn't alone. Cayla was with him, her arm linked through his. They were laughing, their heads close together.

He stopped at a street vendor and bought a hot pretzel, breaking it in half and giving a piece to Cayla. He knew she liked them extra salty. He then wiped a smudge of mustard from the corner of her mouth with his thumb, a gesture so natural and tender it made Julianne' s chest ache.

They window-shopped, pointing at things in store displays, looking like any other couple in love on a Saturday morning. He wasn' t the resentful, conflicted artist he was with her. He was relaxed, happy, and completely himself.

With her, he was always performing, always playing the part of the grateful protégé. He was a beautiful, hollow echo of the man she had lost. But with Cayla, he was real.

Julianne watched them, a profound understanding settling over her. She saw the chasm between being loved and being tolerated. It was a gap that all the money in the world could not bridge.

She finally understood. He had never been hers. He had just been borrowing a life she had paid for, and now the lease was up.