Chapter 7
Elara's new sculpture was a masterpiece, a testament to Julian's dark influence. It was no longer the fragmented, weeping figure from her sketches. Under his direction, it had transformed into something powerful and terrifying. A woman—strong, with a graceful but fierce curve to her body—was trapped within a cage of twisted thorns. The thorns were not a separate piece, but an extension of her own flesh, beautiful and painful, a self-inflicted prison. It was a perfect representation of her relationship with Julian: a beautiful trap she had willingly walked into, a cage she was helping him build.
The piece was for the mid-program exhibition, a prestigious event where the works of the most promising students were displayed. The night of the exhibition, the studio was transformed. Art critics, gallerists, and wealthy patrons mingled with the students, their voices a polite, murmuring tide. Elara stood by her sculpture, feeling more like a part of the exhibit than its creator. She wore a simple black dress, a stark contrast to the colorful gowns of the other attendees. She felt exposed, not just physically, but emotionally. Her soul was on display for the world to see, molded into clay.
Julian arrived late, a silent, imposing figure who commanded attention without effort. His eyes found her immediately across the crowded room, a possessive beacon. He didn't come to her right away, but stood back, watching as people approached her piece.
A renowned art critic, a woman with a sharp bob and an even sharper tongue, stopped in front of the sculpture. She circled it, her brow furrowed in concentration. Elara held her breath, waiting for the cutting dismissal. The critic paused, her eyes tracing the line of the thorns. "Extraordinary," she said, her voice surprisingly soft. "It has a fierce honesty. A raw, emotional power. Who is the artist?"
Elara stepped forward, her heart pounding. "I am."
The critic's face lit up with a genuine smile. "You are an astonishing talent, my dear. This piece is a work of genius."
The praise was intoxicating, a sweet, dizzying high. Elara felt a rush of pride, a brief, fleeting moment of triumph. But as she looked up, her eyes met Julian's, and the feeling soured. He was not smiling. His expression was a dark, unreadable mask. His eyes held a flicker of something possessive, a dangerous glint that said, she is mine. The praise wasn't just for her; it was for him. He had created the artist who had created the art. The genius was his.
He finally made his way through the crowd, stopping just inches from her. He leaned in, his voice a low rumble meant only for her. "They see the beauty," he murmured, his gaze sweeping over the piece. "They have no idea how much it cost you. They have no idea what it took for you to make it."
His words were both a compliment and a threat. They were a reminder of their shared secret, a brand seared into her skin. He wasn't praising her talent; he was reminding her of his control. He had pushed her into the pain, and now he was reaping the rewards. The praise of the critics felt hollow, a cheap substitute for the one person's approval she desperately craved.
Later that night, after the exhibition, Elara returned to the deserted studio. She walked over to her sculpture, running her hands over the cold, hard surface. The thorns felt real, a part of her now. A message was tucked under the base of the sculpture, a single, elegant business card for a prestigious gallery in New York, with a handwritten note on the back: "Call me."
For a moment, she felt a flicker of hope, a sense of vindication, of escape. She wasn't just Julian's puppet; she was an artist in her own right. She held the card, her heart racing with the possibilities. But then, a voice, Julian's voice, whispered in her ear: Don't let them distract you. Don't let anyone take you away.
The card felt heavy in her hand, not a key to her freedom, but a test. A test of her loyalty. A test of her commitment to him. She stood there in the silent studio, torn between the glittering promise of her own future and the dark, consuming passion that had become her whole world. And in the silence, she knew with a chilling certainty that the choice she was about to make would define her forever.