Elara's POV
The villa was silent, too silent.
I carried a porcelain teapot down the hall, its delicate handle trembling in my grip. Isabella had requested afternoon tea in the music room, her tone sugary sweet but her eyes sharp, daring me to refuse.
When I entered, she was lounging by the grand piano, a glass of wine already in her hand though it was barely past noon. Her silk gown spilled across the bench, a crimson river against ivory keys.
"Set it there," she instructed, gesturing carelessly to the low table. "And do try not to break anything. This set is worth more than your entire existence."
Her words stung, but I kept my head down, setting the teapot and cups carefully in place. My hands shook, though — I couldn't help it — and as I reached for the sugar bowl, the porcelain lid slipped.
It shattered against the marble floor.
The sound rang through the room like a gunshot.
My breath caught, horror freezing me in place.
Isabella rose slowly, her smile spreading like poison. "Clumsy little thing, aren't you? I warned Lucian about hiring stray girls from the streets. But men never listen when they're distracted by a pretty face."
My stomach twisted. "I didn't mean—"
"Didn't mean?" Her laughter was sharp, brittle. She stepped closer, her heels clicking with deliberate cruelty. "You don't belong here, Elara. And if you had any self-respect, you'd leave before you embarrass yourself further."
The tears I had fought for days finally broke free. I turned away, covering my face, shame burning through me like fire. The world blurred, the broken porcelain glittering at my feet like the pieces of my own pride.
I ran. Again. The only thing I seemed capable of in this gilded cage.
Lucian's POV
I found her in the service hall, pressed against the wall, her shoulders shaking.
"Elara."
She flinched at my voice, quickly swiping her tears, but I had already seen them.
I looked down at her trembling hands, at the faint red marks from burns and cuts she tried to hide, and something inside me snapped.
No more silence.
"No one has the right to speak to you like that," I said, my voice low but edged with fury. "Not even her."
Her eyes widened, her lips parting in shock. "But she's—"
"My fiancée," I finished for her. The word tasted like ash. "Yes. But that doesn't make her untouchable."
I stepped closer, close enough to catch the faint scent of flour and sugar that still clung to her. My hand lifted — this time I didn't stop myself. I brushed away a tear, my thumb lingering longer than it should have.
"Elara," I said quietly, almost like a vow. "Don't run from me."
Her breath hitched, and for a dangerous heartbeat, the world narrowed to just us — the billionaire bound by duty and the girl who should have been invisible.
But nothing about her was invisible to me anymore.