Chapter Four: The Dress She Tried to Steal

Elena’s POV

His hand was still around mine.

Warm.

Firm.

The same hand that had once wiped blood from my split lip with the edge of his own shirt when I was fourteen. The same hand that had tucked a strand of hair behind my ear only last night and called me little sister while the gold necklace he had given me still sat warm against my palm.

For one dangerous second I almost gave in.

I looked at our joined hands. His thumb had brushed once across my knuckles, almost absently, as if he couldn’t help it. The careful protective mask he usually wore was gone. What remained looked raw. Uncertain.

I pulled my hand free.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

Finger by finger.

His grip loosened in surprise. The loss of contact left my skin cold.

“You don’t get to tell me what to do anymore, Adrian.”

The words came out quieter than I expected, but they did not shake. I watched them land. His green eyes widened a fraction. The line of his mouth tightened. He had expected tears. An argument. The old pattern where I explained myself until my voice broke and he decided I was being dramatic.

I gave him none of it.

I stepped around him.

Past Sophie.

Past the faint, satisfied curve that touched the corner of her mouth for half a second before she smoothed it away.

I did not look back.

I walked straight into the kitchen.

The silence behind me stretched, uncomfortable and thick. I ignored it. The kitchen was empty except for the soft hum of the refrigerator and the distant sound of staff moving somewhere deeper in the house. I opened the cupboard, took a glass, and filled it with cold water from the filtered tap. The glass trembled slightly in my hand. I drank slowly, letting the chill travel down my throat, then set the glass on the counter and rested both palms flat against the cool stone.

My chest felt painfully tight. My hands would not stop shaking. Exhaustion sat heavy behind my eyes,years of defending myself against Sophie’s soft accusations, years of hoping Adrian would one day see past the performance and understand that the person who needed protecting was standing right in front of him.

I closed my eyes.

*Crying won’t find me an apartment. Loving Adrian won’t build me a future. And staying here will only give them more chances to hurt me.*

The thought settled like a stone. I forced myself to breathe through it. Practical steps only. Somewhere affordable. A job that paid enough. A way to stop depending on the Williams name for anything. I had the temporary apartment arranged by Richard, but the idea of using it longer than necessary made my stomach turn.

I needed more than that.

I opened my eyes and stared at the counter. The realization that followed hurt more than I wanted to admit. I had spent most of university keeping people at a careful distance. Afraid of becoming a burden. Afraid of trusting the wrong person. There was no close friend I could simply call and ask to stay with for a night. No one whose couch I could claim without explanation.

The loneliness of it pressed against my ribs. Then, slowly, it hardened into something else. Resolve.

If I had to build a life alone, I would.

I left the glass in the sink and returned upstairs without acknowledging the two figures still standing near the base of the stairs. My bedroom door closed with a soft, final click. I set the suitcase down, sat on the edge of the bed, and pulled out my phone.

Affordable apartments.

Entry-level positions. Anything that did not require the Williams name as a reference. I scrolled through listings, calculated remaining expenses against my small bank balance, and wrote notes in the margins of an old notebook.

The gold necklace still sat in the side pocket of my tote. I took it out and held the open-book pendant between my fingers. The engraving caught the afternoon light.

*For the girl who never stopped turning pages, even when the story hurt.*

He could remember every little thing I liked and still fail to understand the one thing that mattered most.

I put the necklace away and returned to the listings.

By two o’clock hunger finally forced me out of the room. I headed toward the kitchen intending to make something quick, but the sitting-room doors stood open.

Inside, Adrian and Sophie were surrounded by clothing bags, garment covers, and several elegant dresses laid carefully across the sofas and chairs. Sophie held a deep emerald gown against herself while Adrian offered some quiet opinion, head tilted, expression relaxed. They looked comfortable. Familiar. Like a couple preparing for an important night.

A brief, sharp sting of jealousy moved through me. I refused to let it show on my face.

“Elena, sweetheart! Come here for a moment.”

My mother’s voice.

Victoria stood near the far sofa holding a dress bag. She smiled when she saw me, the careful, hopeful smile she wore when she wanted something to go smoothly.

“I picked something for you.” She unzipped the bag and lifted out a gown of soft champagne silk.

Delicate beading traced the bodice. The skirt fell in clean, elegant lines.

“I thought it would photograph beautifully at the masquerade. The color will suit you.”

I thanked her quietly. The words felt thin. I no longer felt particularly excited about the event or the photographs or anything that required me to stand in the same room as Sophie while Adrian watched.

Sophie rose from the sofa.

She approached with that soft, admiring expression she wore in public.

“Oh, Victoria, it’s lovely.” Her fingers brushed the fabric. “The color is perfect. It would look wonderful at the masquerade.”

Then her expression shifted,subtle, calculated.

“Actually,” she said, turning slightly toward my mother, “I was looking for something exactly like this. Do you mind if I try it on for a moment?”