Chapter 4

Elara POV:

The first thing I did was open my social media settings and disable all notifications for Dante's account. It was a small, petty act of self-preservation, a digital severing. I would no longer allow his life to flicker at the edges of mine.

It didn't stop Sofia, of course. A message from her popped up hours later. It was a photo.

Dante, looking impossibly handsome in a tuxedo, was fastening a diamond necklace around her neck. His head was bent, his focus entirely on her. The caption was simple: He has the best taste.

My fingers felt like ice as I typed a single-word reply: Congratulations.

I set the phone face-down. My heart didn't even flutter. It was just... quiet. A flat, dead calm.

Later that evening, a notification buzzed from a high school alumni group chat. Someone had posted an old photo from prom.

Dante and I. He hadn't been my date, of course-he was my guardian, there to "supervise"-but he'd agreed to a picture with me.

In the photo, he was looking down at me with an expression so soft it still made my breath catch.

A classmate commented under the photo: Remember when we all thought they were a couple? He was so sweet to her.

The memory was a cold, bitter irony. I typed a quick, dismissive reply: That was a long time ago. I had no desire to explain, to dredge up a past that was no longer mine.

That night, I dreamed of the first time I met him.

I was eight years old, a small, terrified child standing alone in the grand foyer of his mansion.

In my dream, he walked right past me, his face a cold, indifferent mask. He never took my hand. He never offered a word of comfort.

I woke with a hollow ache in my chest, wondering if it would have been better if he'd just left me alone from the very beginning.

The feeling of loss was a phantom limb, an ache for something that was no longer there.

My gaze swept across the room, landing on the few items I hadn't yet packed into the "goodbye" suitcase.

A silver music box he'd given me for my thirteenth birthday. A sketchbook filled with my drawings of him.

I couldn't live with these ghosts.

I spent the entire morning gathering every last trace of him-every gift, every memento. I piled them all into a cardboard box.

The sketchbook was last. I flipped through it one last time, the charcoal portraits of his face a stark testament to my obsession. His sharp jaw, the intensity in his eyes, the rare, fleeting smile I'd worked so hard to capture.

With a final, decisive snap, I closed the sketchbook and placed it on top of the pile. I was going to throw it all away.

Just as I was dragging the box toward the door, I heard the crunch of tires on the gravel drive. His car. A moment later, the front door opened, and he and Sofia walked in.

Dante's gaze went straight to the suitcase and box by the door. His expression darkened.

"What is this?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

"Just some things I don't need anymore," I said, my voice surprisingly steady. "I'm moving into the dorms." The lie felt smooth on my tongue, a necessary shield. "It's just useless stuff."

His eyes narrowed, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths.

Before I could even process it, he strode to the door, hefted the entire suitcase-the one filled with every gift he'd ever given me-and carried it to the large donation bin by the service entrance.

He tossed it inside without a second glance. The final thud echoed in the silent hall.

My heart seized in my chest. He didn't even care what was inside. It was all just "useless stuff" to him, too.

"You're not moving into any dorm," he said, turning back to me, his authority absolute. "You will stay here."

He was caging me again, trying to keep me under his thumb.

A cold wave of clarity washed over me. I didn't argue. I didn't fight. I simply met his gaze, my own completely empty, then turned and walked back up the stairs to my room.

There was no point in fighting a man who thought he owned you.

I heard his voice drift up from the foyer as he spoke to Sofia. "She's growing up," he said, a note of detached coolness in his tone. "She needs to learn a little independence, but she's not ready to be on her own."

He didn't understand. He didn't see me at all.

Inside my room, I shut the door and leaned against the cool wood. "I am an adult," I whispered to the empty space. "I will walk my own path." I was no longer his little bird in a gilded cage.

I pulled out my phone again. Methodically, I went through my social media accounts-Instagram, Facebook, Twitter. One by one, I deactivated them all.

I was erasing myself from the world he knew, severing every digital tie that could lead him back to me.

My thumb hovered over the final confirmation button. This was it. A complete digital disappearance.

I pressed it without hesitation.