Elara's smile was a razor-thin curve of irony. "Doesn't
it feel like one big sick joke now? Back then, I was shaking so badly I barely
registered the woman hanging off your arm. But Vivian? The pattern's crystal
clear now." Her voice dropped, cold and precise as shattering ice.
"How many others, Julian? How many times did you gut me while smiling
right to my face? You were so busy covering your tracks, hiding your little…
indiscretions, you didn't even notice something was terribly wrong with
me."
A shaky breath escaped her, the memory a physical weight. "That
night? While you were cozy in your hotel room with Alex Westbrook and… whoever
the woman is… I was in the same hotel. Same night. Same goddamn hour." A
harsh, humourless laugh scraped her throat. "Difference is, you chose to
cheat. I was drugged."
Julian swayed like he'd been hit. Blood drained from his
face, replaced by a churning horror and rage that crimsoned his vision. His
knuckles whitened, tendons straining in his neck. "Who. Did. This?" The
words tore out, raw and guttural – less concern, more primal fury.
"It stopped being your business," Elara stated,
icy detachment frosting every word, "the second you first touched someone
else."
"We are not broken!" Julian surged forward,
desperation cracking his polished veneer. "I don't give a damn about that
night! We'll leave – today! Anywhere you want. Just us. No one else.
Ever." He reached for her, his hand trembling.
Elara recoiled as if scalded. "But I care," she
hissed, her eyes glacial shards. "You're rotten, Julian. Inside and out.
Every time you touched me after touching them…" She shuddered visibly. "It
makes my skin crawl." The venom hit him like a physical blow.
Julian flinched, the raw pain in his eyes warring with a
dawning mania. His voice thickened, hoarse with unshed tears. "Elara…
please. I know I destroyed everything. I was a fool, sick in the head, thinking
I could keep that vile part of me hidden from you. But I can change. We can
start over." He took a ragged breath. "Don't do this. Don't leave
me."
"What's broken stays broken," Elara said, her tone
flat and absolute. "Go. Your presence only deepens my disgust." She
turned away—a dismissal as final as a slamming door.
Julian stood frozen. Shame and fury warred against the
glacial emptiness her words carved inside him. Watching her retreat, the
crushing pain in his chest hardened into something dark and lethal. He'd
find the bastard who touched her. Shred him to pieces. Then he'd deal with
Vivian Grays and the bastard child she carried. Only when those stains were
erased would Elara see him clearly. Only then would she forgive. He stumbled
away, his world narrowed to a single, bloody purpose.
Elara's fist stayed clenched, knuckles white, long after
Julian's car vanished down the drive. Only when the last echo of the engine
died did her fingers finally relax. Stepping back into the Hayes mansion was
like diving into ice water—that same heavy, suffocating silence instantly
wrapped around her.
Bianca's shrill whisper sliced through the quiet. "See,
Dad? I told you she'd ruin it. Master Julian crawls back, and she treats him
like dirt? She thinks she's so special." A cruel smirk twisted her lips. "Just
wait. He'll get bored and dump her for good this time. Where's her precious
pride gonna be then?"
Elara didn't flinch. She met Bianca's spiteful gaze head-on,
a cold smile touching her lips. "How touching. You're so invested in my
relationship." Her voice sharpened like a honed blade. "Funny. You
weren't nearly this concerned the night you paid someone to drug me. Too busy
calculating how his dumping me would play right into your hands?"
Bianca gaped, momentarily speechless, her face flushing beet
red. Claire grabbed her daughter's arm, shooting her a warning glance before
turning a saccharine smile towards Robert. "Elara, darling, losing Julian
is obviously tearing you apart. But don't lash out at poor Bianca with wild
accusations."
Robert watched Elara, his expression unreadable, but a
faint, unsettling curve touched his lips. Elara ignored Claire completely, her
voice flat and cold as she addressed Robert. "Uncle Rob, Julian and I are
finished. Claire, Bianca – you got your wish. Consider me out of your twisted
games." She moved towards the stairs, leaving Bianca smirking
triumphantly.
Bianca leaned into Claire, her stage-whisper dripping venom.
"See? Told you Master Julian would ditch her. Especially now that his
father's back from Oakhaven?" A cruel smirk twisted her lips. "Old
Man Thorne would never let his heir marry gutter trash like her. She was flying
so high, she forgot she crawled out of the dirt. Pathetic."
Claire murmured agreement, but her eyes were glued to
Robert. His gaze followed Elara's ascent, that unsettling ghost of a smile
still haunting his lips. Claire's own face drained of colour. Her fingers
twisted together, knuckles turning bone-white. Pure, icy hatred twisted in her
gut.
Elara shoved open her bedroom door – untouched for ten days.
The room was unnervingly perfect: laptop shut, book splayed spine-up on the
nightstand. A prickle of dread shot down her spine. She crossed to the bed,
hefted the heavy mattress, and scraped her fingers along the seam near the
headboard. Cold metal. The key. Heart hammering against her ribs, she
dropped to her knees at the desk, jammed the key into the bottom drawer, and
yanked it open.
Empty.
The small, intricately carved wooden box – her only physical
tether to her parents, the fragile keeper of her last real happiness – was
gone. Ice-cold panic flooded her veins. Bianca. The name exploded in her mind
like a gunshot. She was out the door and flying down the stairs before thought
could catch up.
Bianca was halfway up when Elara descended like an avenging
fury. "BIANCA!" Elara's voice cracked like a whip. She slammed her
cousin hard against the wall, fingers twisting viciously in the silk of her
blouse. "Give. It. Back. NOW!"
Bianca shrieked, raking nails at Elara's hands. "Get
OFF me, you psycho! What's your damage? I haven't touched your junk!"
Claire launched off the sofa like a missile. "ELARA
HAYES! LET HER GO! Have you completely lost it?!"
Robert smoothly manoeuvred his wheelchair closer, his voice
a calm, chilling counterpoint to the shrieking. "Elara, my dear, control
yourself. What's missing? If Bianca has something of yours, I will personally
see it returned." His gaze was steady, unnerving.
Elara let Claire wrench her back, but her burning eyes
stayed locked on Bianca, who crumpled against her mother in loud, fake sobs.
"The box," Elara stated, her voice trembling with suppressed fury. "The
wooden box from my locked drawer. Hand it over, Bianca, and maybe I won't bury
you. Now."
Bianca sniffled, eyes wide with theatrical innocence.
"What stupid box? I haven't been anywhere near your room! You've got no
proof! You're just lashing out because Julian dumped you!"
"Elara," Claire cut in, her voice thick with
venomous concern, "if you misplaced something, look properly. Don't
assault your cousin with baseless slander. Is this how you repay us? After
everything?" Her hand tightened possessively on Bianca's shoulder.
Robert nodded sagely. "Indeed. Accusations require
evidence, Elara. If Bianca took it, she will return it and face consequences. But
you cannot resort to violence on a hunch."
Elara took a deep, steadying breath. The initial storm of
panic had passed, replaced by a chilling resolve. She'd seen it – the genuine
flicker of fear in Bianca's eyes when Robert spoke. "You're absolutely
right, Uncle Robert. I have no concrete proof it was Bianca." She locked
eyes with her cousin, who flinched slightly. "Which is why I'm calling the
police. Let them investigate. Search every room. Check every alibi." A
cold, determined calm settled over her. "If the investigation clears
Bianca, I will apologise. Publicly. But until then?" She pulled out her
phone, thumb hovering over the screen, the silent threat echoing in the sudden,
deafening silence. "That box comes back to me. Whatever it takes."