POV: Brielle
The taxi driver keeps looking at me in the rearview mirror.
I don't blame him. I probably look insane—mascara running down my face, shaking so hard I can barely hold my phone, clutching a suitcase like it's the only thing keeping me alive.
"You okay, miss?" he asks softly.
"Fine," I lie. "Just... bad breakup."
He nods and stops asking questions.
My phone won't stop buzzing. Fifteen missed calls from my father. Twenty texts from my mother. And one message from Thane that makes my stomach twist:
Please. Just tell me you're safe.
I stare at those words. Part of me—the stupid, weak part—wants to respond. Wants to believe he actually cares.
But then I remember his voice in the garden: Business obligation, nothing more.
I delete the message and turn off my phone completely. No more connections to that life. To those people. To the girl I used to be.
The airport is busy even at two in the morning. I pay the driver with cash—can't risk credit card traces—and drag my suitcase inside.
My hands won't stop shaking as I approach the ticket counter. What if they call my parents? What if there's some kind of alert out for me? I'm twenty-five, not a kid, but my family has connections everywhere.
"Next!" the agent calls.
I step forward, trying to look calm. Normal. Like I'm not running away from my entire life.
"I need a ticket. First class. Next flight to anywhere in Europe."
The agent types on her computer. "We have a flight to Milan leaving in ninety minutes. First class has two seats available."
Milan. Fashion capital. Big enough to disappear in. Perfect.
"I'll take it."
"Name?"
I freeze. If I use my real name, they can track me. But I haven't set up my fake identity yet. I still need my passport to leave the country.
"Brielle SaintClair," I say quietly, hating how the name tastes in my mouth now.
She processes the ticket. Hands it over. "Gate 47. Boarding starts in an hour."
I make it through security with my real passport, then lock myself in an airport bathroom stall and finally let myself break down.
I cry so hard I can't breathe. Sob until my throat hurts and my chest aches and there's nothing left inside me except emptiness.
When I'm done, I wash my face with cold water and stare at myself in the mirror.
This is the last time I'll see Brielle SaintClair. The naive princess who believed in fairy tales. The stupid girl who thought three boys loved her when they only saw her as a burden.
Tomorrow, I'll be someone else. Someone stronger. Someone who doesn't need anyone.
I pull out my laptop in a quiet corner of the terminal and start planning.
First: money. I log into the account my grandmother mentioned. The one she told me about a week before she died, making me promise not to tell anyone.
"For emergencies," she'd said, squeezing my hand. "For when you need to fly, little bird."
I thought she was being dramatic. Grandmother was always dramatic.
Now I realize she knew. She knew my family would try to control me. Knew I might need an escape route.
The account balance loads: $50,000,000.
I stare at the number until it blurs. Fifty million dollars. More than enough to disappear forever. To build a whole new life.
Thank you, Grandmother. Thank you for seeing this coming.
Second: destination. Milan works perfectly. Fashion capital. International city. Millions of people. Easy to get lost in.
Third: new identity. I can't be Brielle SaintClair anymore. That name belongs to a dead girl. The one who believed in love and family and happy endings.
I need something simple. Memorable but not too unique.
Elle. Short for Brielle, but different enough. And Winters... because I feel frozen inside. Like winter came and killed everything warm in me.
Elle Winters. That's who I'll be.
I spend the next hour researching how to disappear. How to create a new identity in Europe. How to start over with no connections to my past.
By the time boarding starts, I have a plan.
I'm the first one on the plane. I sink into my first-class seat and finally, finally, let myself breathe.
The flight attendant brings champagne. I don't usually drink, but tonight I down the whole glass in three gulps.
More passengers board. Business people. Tourists. A family with two kids who won't stop crying.
I close my eyes and wait for takeoff.
The plane starts moving. Taxiing to the runway. My heart pounds harder with each second.
This is real. I'm actually doing this. Leaving everything behind. My family. My friends. The three men who broke my heart without even knowing it.
The engines roar. We're accelerating. Faster and faster.
And then—liftoff.
I open my eyes and watch through the window as New York gets smaller and smaller below me. The lights. The buildings. The life I'm leaving behind.
I should feel sad. Scared. Something.
Instead, I feel... free.
For the first time in my entire life, nobody's telling me what to do. Who to be. Who to marry. I'm completely alone.
And it's terrifying.
And it's perfect.
I pull out my phone—still off—and stare at it. Should I send one final message? Let them know I'm okay?
No. They don't deserve that. They made their choice in that garden. Now I'm making mine.
I delete every contact. Every photo. Every trace of Brielle SaintClair from this phone.
Then I open my notes app and type:
*Rules for Elle Winters:
Never trust anyone completelyNever let anyone make you feel smallNever fall in love againBuild your own empireNever look back*
I read them twice. Memorize them. These are my new commandments.
The flight attendant appears. "Can I get you anything, Miss SaintClair?"
I flinch at the name. "Actually, can you call me Elle? I'm... trying out a nickname."
She smiles. "Of course, Elle. Anything you need?"
"Just some water. And maybe privacy for the rest of the flight."
She nods and disappears.
I recline my seat and close my eyes. I'm exhausted—haven't slept in over twenty-four hours—but my mind won't stop racing.
What will they do when they find my note? Will they even care that I'm gone? Or will they just be relieved they don't have to go through with the charade tomorrow?
Maybe Vivienne will finally get what she wants. Maybe she'll swoop in and comfort Thane. Maybe they'll all move on like I never mattered.
The thought should hurt. But I'm too numb to feel anything anymore.
I must fall asleep eventually because when I wake up, the captain is announcing our descent into Milan.
I look out the window. The sun is rising over Italy, painting everything gold and pink.
A new day. A new country. A new life.
I am Elle Winters now. And Elle doesn't cry over boys who never wanted her.
We land smoothly. I grab my suitcase and head through customs.
"Passport, please," the officer says.
I hand over my real passport—Brielle SaintClair—one last time.
He stamps it without really looking at me. "Welcome to Italy."
I walk through the arrivals gate and into Milan's busy airport. Nobody knows me here. Nobody expects anything from me.
I'm completely, utterly alone.
And it feels like flying.
I find a quiet cafe and order an espresso—when in Italy, right?—and pull out my laptop.
Time to become Elle Winters officially. Time to build a new identity. A new life.
I'm typing furiously, researching Italian lawyers who can help with paperwork, when my phone buzzes.
I froze. I turned it off hours ago. How is it...?
Then I remember. The emergency feature. The one that lets certain contacts reach you even when your phone is off.
Only three people have that access: my parents and Thane.
The screen lights up with a message from a number I don't recognize:
I know you're in Milan. I know about the money. I know about Elle Winters. And I know why you ran. But you don't know the truth about that night, Brielle. You don't know what really happened. Call me before you do something you'll regret. - V
My blood runs cold.
V.
Vivienne.
How does she know where I am? How does she know about Elle Winters? I haven't even used that name yet!
Unless...
Unless she's been tracking me this whole time.
My hands shake as I stare at the message. This isn't over. Whatever game Vivienne's playing, she's not done yet.
And apparently, neither am I.