Chapter 5

Instead of staying home, Julianne put on her highest heels-despite her throbbing ankle-and went to a loud, crowded bar in the Meatpacking District. She drank. A lot. The alcohol blurred the world into a manageable haze.

Leaning against the bar, she vaguely heard a conversation from a nearby booth. She recognized the voices of Demetrius's friends, other artists she had sponsored over the years.

"So is the wedding really off?" one of them asked.

"Looks like it," another replied. "Demetrius is probably celebrating. He told me last week he couldn't stand Julianne anymore. Said she was a cold, controlling bitch."

The words hit her, but they felt distant, like they were about someone else.

"He's always been in love with Cayla, you know," the first voice said. "He was just using Julianne for her money. Can't say I blame him. The woman's impossible."

Julianne stood frozen, the glass in her hand trembling slightly. She had known it, of course. But hearing it spoken so casually, so cruelly, was something else entirely.

She turned and left the bar without a word, walking out into the cool night air. She didn't go home. She went to another bar, and then another.

She was so drunk she could barely stand when a tall man with dark hair approached her. In the dim light, he looked like Craig.

"Craig?" she whispered, her voice slurring.

The man looked confused but smiled. "I can be Craig if you want me to be."

Before he could say anything else, he was violently shoved aside. Demetrius stood there, his face a mask of thunderous rage. He grabbed the stranger by the collar and slammed him against the wall.

"Get away from her!" Demetrius roared.

"Hey, man, what's your problem?" the stranger gasped.

Julianne stumbled forward, trying to pull Demetrius off. "Stop it! I was the one who talked to him!"

Demetrius let the man go and turned to her, his eyes blazing. The raw intensity in his stare was so familiar it sent a jolt of their old connection through her, followed instantly by a sharp sting of guilt.

"I can talk to whomever I want," she said, trying to sound defiant. "In fact, I was thinking of getting a new... project. He looks promising, don't you think?"

"You think this is a joke?" Demetrius snarled, his voice low and dangerous.

"Isn't it?" she shot back, her voice rising. "What are we, Demetrius? I buy your time, your art, your presence. This is a transaction. I'm just looking for a new investment."

"Shut up," he said, his voice shaking with a fury she didn't understand.

"Why? Because it's the truth?" she taunted, driven by a cocktail of alcohol and pain. "You know why I chose you, don't you? It's the eyes. You have his eyes."

She reached up and traced the line of his jaw, a gesture she had done countless times, a gesture that was never meant for him. "You were always just a substitute, Demetrius. A very expensive, very convincing substitute for a dead man."

The words hung in the air, brutal and final. The look on his face was one of profound shock, as if she had physically struck him.

Just then, a car pulled up to the curb. Cayla got out, her face etched with worry. "Demetrius? I was so worried. You weren't answering your phone."

The tension broke. Demetrius's rage seemed to drain away, replaced by a weary exhaustion. He took Julianne's arm, his grip firm. "We're leaving."

He half-dragged, half-carried her to Cayla's car. Cayla got behind the wheel, shooting Julianne a venomous look.

"What were you doing with him at a bar?" Cayla asked Demetrius, her voice sharp with jealousy.

"It's none of your business," Demetrius snapped, his attention still on Julianne, who had slumped against the window, her eyes closed.

"She's a manipulative user, Demetrius!" Cayla's voice grew louder, more hysterical. "She's trying to ruin us! She's always been jealous of what we have!"

"Cayla, just drive," he said, his voice tight.

"She's probably laughing at you right now! She thinks she can buy anyone, do anything!"

"I said, drive!" Demetrius roared.

Startled by his shout, Cayla jerked the wheel. For a split second, time seemed to slow down. The screech of tires, the blare of a horn, the sickening crunch of metal on metal.

The world went black.