Chapter 32

Eliora's POV

The drive back to the villa was a blur of streetlights and the agonizing hum of my own heartbeat. Every time a car pulled up behind my car, I was convinced it was a nondescript vehicle filled with the shadows of the person who had sent that email. My phone felt like a live wire in my hand, heavy with the digital proof that my life was no longer mine.

When I reached the front door, my hands were shaking so violently that I struggled to fit the key into the lock. The metal scraped against the plate, a harsh, grating sound in the dead silence of the night. Finally, the bolt clicked, and I stepped into the foyer.

The house was swallowed in darkness. No hall light, no kitchen glow. I didn't reach for the switch. I didn't want to see my own reflection in the hallway mirrors. I looked like a ghost, and I felt like one, too.

I leaned my back against the door, closing my eyes and letting out a long, shuddering breath. The silk of my emerald dress felt like ice against my skin, a reminder of a dinner that had started in light and ended in terror.

"Where the hell have you been?"

I jumped, a small shriek escaping my throat as I nearly tripped over my own heels. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird.

"Zoey?" I gasped, squinting into the gloom. "Is that you?"

A lamp on the side table clicked on, its warm amber glow cutting through the dark like a knife. Zoey was sitting on the edge of the velvet armchair, her legs crossed, her face a mask of exhaustion and something much sharper.

"Why on earth didn't you turn the light on?" I asked, my voice high and brittle. I dropped my bag on the console table, trying to act normal, trying to hide the way my fingers were still twitching.

"That's not the question I asked, Eliora," she responded, her voice unusually flat. She didn't move. She just watched me with those sharp, observant eyes that had seen me through every heartbreak since we were fifteen. "Where have you been?"

I swallowed hard, the lie already forming on my tongue out of habit. "What do you mean? At work... Where else would I be?"

Zoey’s gaze swept over me, from my perfectly styled hair down to the shimmering silk of the wrap dress that hugged my curves in all the right places. The silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating.

"You were at work dressed like that?"

I took a quick look at myself, my face flushing. I looked like a woman who had been thoroughly courted, not a CEO who had spent the night over a spreadsheet. "What's wrong with my dressing? I had a... a late meeting with a potential investor. I had to look the part."

Zoey looked at me silently for what felt like an eternity. Then, she let out a long, heavy sigh that seemed to deflate her entire posture. Her shoulders slumped, and the anger in her eyes dissolved into something much more painful to look at: disappointment.

"Eliora," she said softly, her voice trembling just a fraction. "Did I do anything wrong?"

The question hit me harder than any of Kian’s demands or the stalker’s threats. It felt like a physical blow to my chest. "What?"

"You've been distant lately," she said, finally standing up and walking toward me. She stopped a few feet away, as if there was an invisible wall between us that she was afraid to touch. "You don't talk to me about anything anymore. You go missing for days—I had to hear from Elijah that you were stuck at Kian's—then you show up like nothing happened, acting like we're strangers."

"I went for work, Zoey," I said, stepping further into the living room, trying to move past her to escape the conversation. My throat felt tight, and the urge to break down and tell her everything—the birth certificate, the photos, the fear—was almost unbearable.

"And now you go on a date and not tell me?"

I stopped in my tracks. The guilt rushed over me, cold and drowning. I turned back to look at her. "Zoey, I—"

"I saw you, Eli. I was leaving the studio and I saw that car. I saw how you looked at him," she said, her voice cracking. She gestured to the dining table behind her, and for the first time, I noticed what was sitting there.

A small, elegant cake from the bakery we used to frequent in high school sat in the center of the table. Next to it was a bottle of the expensive vintage wine we had promised to open only on special occasions. And tucked beside the bottle was a hand-painted card.

My stomach dropped into my shoes.

"Do you even know what today is?" she asked, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

I stared at the cake, the numbers 10 written in delicate gold icing. Ten years. Ten years since we had sat on her bedroom floor and promised to be each other's person forever. Ten years since she helped me hide my first secret, and I helped her launch her first design.

"Zoey... I'm so sorry," I whispered, the words feeling pitifully small. "I... it's been so much. The company, the board, the—"

"It was our anniversary, Eliora. Ten years of being sisters. I’ve been waiting here for four hours. I thought maybe you were just late. I thought maybe we’d laugh about how busy life is getting." She wiped a rogue tear from her cheek with the back of her hand. "But you didn't just forget. You were on a freaking date. Not only that, Eliora, I feel like you are hiding something from me."

I took a step toward her, reaching out, but she stepped back. The rejection stung.

"I’m not hiding anything," I lied, and the lie felt like ash in my mouth. "I just... I'm tired. There's so much pressure with Kian being on the board now, and the gala—"

"Don't use Kian as an excuse for why you're shutting me out," Zoey snapped, her voice regaining its fire. "I know you better than anyone. You're terrified. You've been looking over your shoulder for weeks, and you won't let me in. Do you really think I'm that fragile? Do you think I can't handle whatever is happening?"

Yes, I thought desperately. I think you'll be the next person they photograph. I think if I tell you, you become a target.

I looked at her, my heart breaking for the girl who had always been my sunshine. I wanted to tell her that I loved her more than my own life. I wanted to tell her that I was trying to save us all. But instead, I stood there in my expensive green dress, clutching a phone that contained the ruin of my world, and said nothing.

"I have a lot on my plate, Zoey. If you can't understand that, then I don't know what to tell you," I said, my voice cold and professional. It was the only way to keep from sobbing.

Zoey flinched as if I had slapped her. She looked at me for a long moment, a deep, sorrowful realization settling over her face.

"I understand," she said quietly. "I understand that the Eliora I know wouldn't have forgotten tonight. I don't know who this woman is."

She walked past me toward the stairs, her silk robe fluttering behind her like a ghost. She didn't look back.

I stood in the center of the darkened living room, the smell of the vanilla candles and the sweet scent of the forgotten cake filling the air. I felt like I was standing on a disappearing island. Elijah was hurt, Zoey was pulling away, Kian was a predator at my gates, and a stranger was watching from the shadows.

I looked down at my phone. No new messages.

I walked over to the table and blew out the single candle that Zoey had lit for us. As the tiny wisp of smoke curled into the air, I realized the stalker was right. I was losing everything. And the worst part was, I was the one doing the destroying.

I sank into the chair Zoey had just vacated, buried my face in my hands, and finally, in the silence of my secret villa, I let the first tear fall.