Chapter 3

Julianne left the café, a new resolve hardening inside her. She headed to Bergdorf Goodman. Retail therapy was a cliché, but today, she needed the distraction.

She was browsing the designer handbag section when a familiar voice cut through the quiet elegance of the store.

"I want that one."

It was Cayla. She was pointing at a limited-edition Chanel bag, the very one Julianne was examining. Demetrius stood beside her, looking uncomfortable.

Julianne didn't turn around. She spoke to the sales associate, her voice calm and clear. "I'll take this one, please."

"Excuse me," Cayla said, stepping forward. "I saw it first."

Julianne finally turned to face her. She gave Cayla a slow, deliberate look, her eyes scanning Cayla' s off-brand clothes. "This bag costs more than your entire wardrobe. I doubt you can afford it."

The sales associate, recognizing Julianne, stepped in smoothly. "Miss Lancaster is a valued client. The bag is hers."

Cayla's face flushed with humiliation and rage. She felt the eyes of other shoppers on her. "I can too afford it!" she hissed, digging in her purse and pulling out a credit card. It wasn't hers; it was a supplementary card from Demetrius, funded, of course, by Julianne.

Julianne merely watched, her expression one of bored amusement.

Demetrius, seeing Cayla's distress, finally intervened. He stepped between the two women, his body angled protectively towards Cayla.

"Julianne, that's enough," he said, his voice low and angry. "What's your problem?"

Cayla immediately started to cry, her shoulders shaking. "Demetrius, she's bullying me. She's always looked down on me."

"It's just a bag," Demetrius said, turning his anger on Julianne. "Let her have it. Why do you always have to make a scene?"

He then turned back to Cayla, his voice softening. "Don't cry. You can have any bag you want. Buy them all if you want."

The other shoppers murmured amongst themselves, their gazes shifting from pity for Cayla to disapproval for Julianne. They saw a generous man and his sweet girlfriend being tormented by a cold, wealthy woman.

"What a jerk," one woman whispered. "He's so good to her."

"That rich woman is probably his ex," another commented. "No wonder he left her."

Julianne felt a wave of disgust. She had no interest in the bag anymore. She had no interest in this pathetic drama.

"Keep it," she said, her voice dripping with disdain. "It will match the rest of your cheap accessories."

She turned to leave, but just as she did, a piercing fire alarm blared through the store.

Panic erupted. People started screaming, running for the exits. The crowd surged, creating a chaotic stampede.

In the confusion, someone shoved Julianne hard from behind. She lost her footing and fell, her ankle twisting painfully beneath her. A sharp pain shot up her leg. She cried out, but her voice was lost in the noise.

She looked up, her eyes desperately searching for Demetrius. She saw him through the panicked crowd. He had Cayla wrapped securely in his arms, shielding her from the pushing and shoving. He was moving towards the exit.

"Demetrius!" she screamed, her voice raw with desperation and pain. "Help me!"

He heard her. He stopped and looked back, his eyes meeting hers for a fleeting second. She saw a flash of hesitation, a flicker of conflict in his gaze.

Cayla sobbed against his chest, "Demetrius, I'm scared! Let's get out of here!"

He looked at Julianne on the floor, then at the crying woman in his arms. He made his choice.

He turned and carried Cayla out of the store, leaving Julianne behind in the chaos.

The last of her hope shattered. He had abandoned her.

Pain lanced through her ankle, but a deeper pain radiated from her chest. She grit her teeth, ignoring the people running past her. She pulled herself up, using a display counter for support, and hobbled towards the exit, every step an agony.

When she finally made it outside to the relative safety of the street, her leg gave out. She collapsed onto the pavement, gasping for breath, the world spinning around her.

She saw Demetrius a short distance away, anxiously looking for Cayla, who had apparently gotten separated from him in the final push to the doors. He paced back and forth, his face etched with worry.

Then he saw Julianne on the ground. He rushed over, his expression unreadable.

"Julianne, are you okay?"

She looked up at him, her eyes empty. The woman he had known for four years-the poised, controlling, demanding woman-was gone. In her place was a stranger, someone who looked at him without a trace of emotion, as if he were a piece of furniture. The connection between them was finally, irrevocably severed.