Chapter 3

Elara Vance POV:

That night, I took the red-eye back to the city. I didn't pack. I just left.

The moment my plane landed, I called my agency. I told my contact that my client, Julian Davenport, wished to terminate the contract early. I reasoned that his multiple dismissals of me constituted a clear directive. It was a flimsy excuse, but it was all I had.

The person on the other end was quiet for a moment too long. "Dr. Vance... perhaps you should come into the office as soon as you can. There' s something we need to discuss."

A cold dread trickled down my spine. This was more than just an early termination.

The feeling intensified the moment I stepped into the agency. Colleagues who usually greeted me with warm smiles now averted their eyes, whispering behind their hands as I passed. Even my mentor, Dr. Albright, a woman who had guided me since I was an intern, had a stern, disappointed look on her face when she called me into her office.

My heart pounded in my chest. I knew, with a sick certainty, that this had to do with Julian and Chandler.

"Elara," Dr. Albright said, her voice devoid of its usual warmth. She gestured to her computer screen. "Can you please explain your relationship with Mr. Davenport?"

"He' s my patient," I answered, my voice tight. "That' s all he has ever been."

She sighed, a heavy, weary sound that made my stomach clench. "Then you need to see this."

She turned the monitor towards me. It was an email, sent to the entire agency-wide listserv. The subject line made my blood run cold: Unethical Conduct of Dr. Elara Vance.

The email, written anonymously, accused me of seducing my high-profile patient, of using my position to try and sabotage his relationship with his fiancée, and of being an opportunistic homewrecker. Attached was a video file.

With trembling hands, I clicked play.

It was security footage from the hotel hallway the night before. Muted. It showed me standing outside Julian and Chandler' s door for a long time. It showed the door opening, Chandler slapping me, and then dragging me inside. A few moments later, it showed me stumbling out, my hand pressed to my bleeding forehead.

Without context, without sound, it looked damning. Combined with the email' s narrative, it painted a picture of a jealous woman trying to confront her lover and his fiancée, only to be rightfully thrown out.

Chandler. It had to be her.

"Dr. Albright, I can explain-" I started, my voice desperate.

"It' s too late for explanations, Elara," she cut me off, her face grim. "This email has been sent to every major psychological association in the country. The video is already circulating online. The damage is done."

She told me that, to manage the fallout, the agency had no choice but to suspend all of my cases pending a full investigation.

The words felt like a physical blow. Suspension. Investigation. My career, the one thing I had built with my own blood, sweat, and tears, was crumbling. I had clawed my way up from nothing, earned my degrees with scholarships and relentless work, and built a reputation for impeccable ethics. Now, one baseless, malicious email was threatening to destroy it all.

All my explanations died in my throat. What was the point? The verdict had already been passed.

I felt a surge of white-hot anger. Why? Why was this happening? Why should my entire life' s work be negated by the petty jealousy of a spoiled socialite?

I walked out of the agency in a daze, the sympathetic and scornful looks of my colleagues burning into my back. Just then, my phone buzzed. A text from Julian.

Come back to the penthouse. We need to talk.

Yes, we did. I wasn't going to let them destroy me without a fight.

I took a cab straight to his building. When the elevator doors opened to his private floor, I saw them. They were sitting on the couch, and projected onto the massive screen on the wall was the same silent video I had just seen in Dr. Albright' s office.

Chandler saw me first, a cruel smile playing on her lips. "Look what the cat dragged in. Come to beg for forgiveness?"

The dam of my composure finally broke. "Forgiveness for what?" I shot back, my voice shaking with rage. "For doing exactly what you told me to do? I have never, not for one second, been interested in your fiancé." I looked her up and down, a dismissive sneer on my face. "Frankly, I think you have too much time on your hands."

Her face flushed with anger, and she raised her hand to slap me again. This time, I was ready. I sidestepped her easily. I was done being their punching bag. My career was on the line. I had nothing left to lose.

"That' s enough," Julian' s voice cut in, low and dangerous. He wasn' t looking at me; he was looking at Chandler.

A bitter laugh escaped me. Of course. He was defending her. To them, my career, my reputation, my entire life-it was all just a meaningless little game. But then I realized something. As much as this hurt me, it could hurt him more.

"You should be worried, Julian," I said, my voice cold and steady. "My professional reputation might be in the toilet, but if this blows up, everyone will know the CEO of Davenport Industries has severe PTSD and needs a live-in psychologist. How do you think your board of directors will react to that?"

He looked at me then, his eyes narrowing. I had him.

He turned to Chandler, his voice softening. "Go wait in the bedroom, darling. I need to speak with Dr. Vance alone."

After she flounced off, I walked past him into the room we had used for our sessions. It was a place of supposed trust and healing. Now it felt like a cage.

He followed me in, closing the door behind him. The old dynamic fell back into place for a moment; him the patient, me the doctor.

Then he stepped behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling my back against his chest. His chin rested on my shoulder, his breath warm against my ear.

I went rigid, my entire body recoiling.

"I' m sorry," he whispered, his voice a low rumble. "I haven' t been sleeping well since you left. Just... let me hold you for a minute."