The darkness wasn't peaceful. It was a suffocating blanket, thick with the smells of rust and stale water. I was back in the chair, the ropes burning into my wrists. The ski mask man stood over me, but his blank wool face melted and reformed, becoming Liam's—handsome, cold, and utterly indifferent.
"You're embarrassing yourself," Liam said, his voice a perfect mimicry of that night on the balcony. He raised his hand, and it held not a cloth, but a single, pristine white lily.
Then the scene shifted. I was falling, the wind screaming in my ears. But this time, I wasn't falling alone. I could see Diana on the balcony above, a serene smile on her face.
A gunshot echoed, not from the warehouse, but from the past. A sharp, sickening CRUNCH of bone.
I jolted awake with a strangled gasp, my body drenched in a cold sweat. The movement sent a lance of white-hot pain through my abdomen, and I cried out, curling around the wound.
"Elara."
He was there instantly. Not in the chair, but on the edge of the bed. The lamp was on, casting long, dramatic shadows. Kaelen's face was etched with a concern so stark it looked alien on his features. His hand hovered over me, unsure where to land that wouldn't cause more pain.
"You're safe," he said, the words a low, firm anchor. "It was a dream."
But it wasn't just a dream. It was a collage of every betrayal, old and new. I was trembling uncontrollably, the thin silk of the shirt I wore—his shirt—sticking to my damp skin. I tried to speak, to tell him it was fine, but all that came out was a ragged sob.
He didn't try to shush me. He didn't tell me to be strong. Slowly, giving me every chance to pull away, he gathered me into his arms. He was careful to avoid my stomach, simply pulling me against his chest, one hand cradling the back of my head, tucking my face into the hollow of his neck.
"Breathe," he murmured into my hair. His own heart was hammering against my ear. "Just breathe. I've got you."
I clung to him, my fingers fisting in the soft cotton of his t-shirt. The scent of him—sandalwood, clean skin, and the faint, lingering hint of the night's violence—was the only real thing in the world. The solid reality of him slowly pushed the ghosts back.
Minutes passed. When my trembling finally subsided to faint shivers, he spoke again, his voice a raw whisper.
"Seeing you in that warehouse... I have never felt such a... fundamental failure."
"It wasn't your failure," I whispered, my voice hoarse. "It was their crime."
His gaze was dark. "Come on," he said, his tone shifting to something practical, grounding. "Since you're awake, let's get you something to eat."
He helped me to the table, his support firm. He sat me on the sofa and brought me a bowl of simple congee. We ate in a silence thick with unspoken plans. The warm food was an anchor.
As I finished, my eyes drifted to the large television screen. "The launch," I said, my voice stronger now. "Was it okay? I need to see it."
Kaelen's jaw tightened. "Elara, perhaps you should rest—"
"Please, Kaelen."
He studied me, then silently picked up the remote.
The screen flickered to life. The news was on, a glossy, triumphant report on the Island Residence launch.
The camera panned over the stunning model apartment, the glittering crowd. And then it found the podium.
Standing there, microphone in hand, was Diana.
She was impeccable in a power suit of cobalt blue, her smile radiant. The chyron at the bottom of the screen read: "Diana Sterling, Interim Head of PR for Sterling Group, hails Island Residence launch a 'triumph of family vision.'"
My blood ran cold. All my work. Every late night, every strategic decision. It had all been a scaffold. And Diana had simply climbed it and taken the crown. I held to the side of the table, my knuckles white.
Then the scene shifted to a pre-recorded interview clip. A journalist, holding a microphone, stood with Liam. My "fiancé to be." He looked the picture of handsome concern.
"Mr. Liam Vancourt, with Miss Elara Sterling taking a sudden medical leave, there's been speculation about stability at the helm of Sterling's PR. What are your thoughts on Diana Sterling stepping into the role?"
Liam offered a practiced, sympathetic smile that made my stomach churn. "My primary concern is, of course, for Elara's health and full recovery. The pressures of the Island Residence launch have been immense," he said, his tone dripping with faux worry. "It's a lot for anyone to handle. We're all just grateful that Diana was willing to step up during this difficult time. Her experience has been a stabilizing force for everyone."
The camera cut to the audience. There, beaming with pride, was Chloe, clapping enthusiastically. She looked like a queen witnessing her mother's coronation.
I sat perfectly still. The congee in my stomach turned to stone. The physical pain was nothing compared to this new, exquisite agony.
He didn't just stand by. He didn't just let it happen.
He validated it.
He went on television and painted me as too fragile, too weak to handle the pressure I had meticulously managed for months. He threw me under the bus with a smile, using concern as a weapon, and handed my title to the woman who tried to have me killed. He called her a "stabilizing force."
Kaelen was watching me, not the screen. He saw the color drain from my face, saw my hands clench into white-knuckled fists.
"Turn it off, please," I said, my voice dangerously quiet.
The screen went black.
But the silence wasn't peace — it was suffocation.
I could still see them, smiling, poised, beautiful — like nothing had happened. Like I hadn't happened.
My throat burned. "He said it so easily."
Kaelen said nothing, watching me carefully, as if I might break again.
"He looked straight at the camera," I went on, voice shaking. "And told the world I couldn't handle pressure. After everything I've done. After everything—"
The words cracked apart. I pressed a shaking hand to my mouth, but the sob still broke through.
Kaelen crossed the space between us in two strides, catching my wrists before I hurt myself. His grip was firm, grounding.
"Breathe," he said again, softer this time. "Let them talk. Let them think they've won. We'll use it."
I met his gaze through the blur of tears. "You think this is something I can use?"
He didn't flinch. "I think you can turn it into something that burns them alive."
The tremor in my hands stilled. He was right. I could still burn them.
But a smaller, more pathetic question clawed its way up, the last gasp of the girl I used to be. My voice was barely a whisper. "Was he... did he ever even try to find me?"
The question hung in the air, naked and vulnerable.
Kaelen's expression didn't change, but his eyes deepened with a truth he clearly didn't want to deliver. "He was probably preoccupied with the launch..."
The confirmation was a final, quiet severance. It wasn't a surprise, not really. But hearing it, having the last fragile thread of hope snipped so cleanly, was its own unique kind of pain. It wasn't the sharp agony of the warehouse; it was a hollow, settling cold.
I nodded slowly, absorbing the chill. Let it freeze the last of my tears. Let it harden the last soft part of me.
"Good," I said, and my voice was steady now, devoid of all emotion. "That makes everything so much simpler."
I looked back at the dark screen, then at Kaelen. The grief was gone. In its place was a clarity as sharp as broken glass.
"Let me know if you people find out anything. I want to know everything."