4

Elara’s Pov

I stood in the middle of our massive walk-in closet, surrounded by expensive designer dresses, diamond necklaces, and rows of brand-new shoes that Darian had bought me over the years.

They all sparkled brilliantly under the bright lights, but looking at them now made me feel sick to my stomach. They were just shiny handcuffs. They were gifts bought to quiet a guilty conscience, golden decorations meant to keep a quiet, obedient pet inside a cage. I didn't want any of it anymore.

I left the jewelry on the velvet tray, left the expensive dresses hanging on their racks, and picked up a simple, worn leather suitcase I had owned long before I ever met a Rooke.

I packed only the bare essentials: two simple sweaters, a pair of comfortable jeans, and a small photo album containing pictures of Lyra when she was a sweet, laughing baby before Octavia filled her head with poison.

My heart felt heavy and hollow, like a dry shell. For eight long years, I had believed that if I just tried a little harder, if I smiled a little wider, if I swallowed my tears and endured the cold words of my mother-in-law, Darian would finally see me.

He would finally choose me over his business and his mother. But his hesitation tonight had answered all my prayers in the worst way possible. He didn't love me. Not the way a wife needs to be loved. He only loved the idea of a quiet, compliant wife who kept his house clean while he built his empire.

I crept down the carpeted hallway on tiptoes, making sure not to wake anyone up. My destination wasn't Darian's study. It was the room at the very end of the hall. Lyra’s bedroom.

I pushed the white wooden door open just an inch. The room was softly lit by a small star-shaped nightlight on the wall. Lyra was curled up under her pink duvet, hugging her favorite stuffed rabbit close to her chest. Her face looked so peaceful, so innocent, free from all the heavy expectations and cruel rules that Octavia forced upon her every single day.

A sharp, stabbing pain twisted inside my chest, and I had to press my hand hard over my mouth to keep from sobbing out loud. I wanted to rush over to her bed, scoop her up in my arms, and run away into the night together. I wanted to tell her that her mother loved her more than the stars in the sky.

But I knew how cruel the world was, and I knew how my mother-in-law worked. If I woke Lyra up now, Octavia would wake, the house would turn into a screaming match, and Lyra would only be taught to believe that I was unstable, hysterical, and unfit to be her mother.

I couldn't put my little girl through that kind of trauma. Not when I only had six months left to breathe.

I walked slowly across the soft rug, knelt beside her bed, and gently brushed a soft brown curl away from her forehead. A hot tear slipped down my cheek and landed softly on her blanket, but she didn't move.

"I'm so sorry, my sweet baby," I whispered into the quiet dark, my voice trembling so badly I could barely form the words. "Mommy has to go. Mommy loves you more than life itself. Never forget that. Please, don't ever let anyone tell you that you aren't enough just the way you are."

I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. I placed it gently on her bedside table, right next to her lamp, where she would find it in the morning.

It was a short letter, telling her how much I loved her and promising her that even if I wasn't in the big mansion anymore, my heart would always stay right beside hers.

With shaking legs, I stood up, took one last heartbreaking look at my sleeping daughter, and turned away. I walked out of the room, down the grand staircase, and out the heavy front doors into the pouring rain.

I climbed into my small sedan, started the engine, and drove away from the Rooke mansion for the very last time. I didn't look in the rearview mirror. I didn't care where the road took me, as long as it was far away from the cold marble floors, the endless judgment, and the man who had traded me for a business arrangement.

The city streets were dark and slick with rainwater. The windshield wipers moved back and forth with a rhythmic, squeaking sound that filled the quiet car.

I drove for nearly twenty minutes, feeling a strange, bittersweet sense of freedom washing over me. For the first time in eight years, I was breathing air that didn't feel heavy with someone else's rules.

In my rearview mirror, cut through the sheets of rain and fog, was a pair of bright, glaring headlights. A large, dark-colored SUV was tailing me far too closely.

At first, I told myself I was just being paranoid. Anyone could be driving home late at night. But as I took a sharp turn onto the empty highway leading out of the city limits, the dark vehicle turned right along with me, matching my speed exactly.

Panic fluttered in my stomach like a trapped bird. My hands tightened around the steering wheel until my knuckles ached. I tapped my brakes slightly, hoping the car would pass me, but it didn't.

Instead, it accelerated, closing the distance between us until its blinding headlights filled my entire rearview mirror with a fierce, blinding glare.

"What are they doing?" I whispered out loud to myself, my heart pounding wildly against my ribs.

I pressed my foot down on the gas pedal, and my small sedan surged forward, splashing water across the empty asphalt. I tried changing lanes, moving quickly from the left lane to the right lane, but the dark SUV mimicked my every move like a shadow attached to my bumper. It was hunting me. The terrifying realization hit me like a splash of ice water. Someone was following me on purpose.

My breath came in short, ragged gasps. My head throbbed violently from the stress and the exhaustion of the day, making it hard to focus on the road ahead.

Suddenly, without any warning, the dark vehicle roared its engine. It stopped playing games and surged forward with terrifying speed, its heavy metal bumper aiming straight for the back of my car.

Before I could scream, before I could even press my foot on the brakes, the massive SUV slammed violently into the rear of my vehicle.

The loud crash echoed like a gunshot through the stormy night. The impact threw my body violently forward against the seatbelt, knocking all the air out of my lungs.

My car lost traction completely on the wet asphalt, spinning wildly out of control like a toy top on a sheet of ice. The steering wheel jerked out of my hands, and the world outside my windows became a dizzying blur of flashing headlights, dark trees, and gray pavement rushing up to meet me.

My car hurtled sideways toward the steep, rocky drop-off at the edge of the road, heading straight for a deep ravine.

Terror paralyzed my limbs, but as the vehicle spun helplessly toward the dark abyss, only one single name tore its way out of my throat in a desperate, blood-curdling shriek.

"Lyra!"