6:The Golden Cage

The dressing room was larger than Elara’s entire apartment. Racks of silk, chiffon, and velvet lined the walls, all curated by Julian’s personal shopper in a matter of hours. Elara reached for a simple black slip, but her hand stopped on a gown that seemed to glow under the recessed lighting. It was liquid gold—a floor-length silk masterpiece with a plunging back and a neckline that demanded confidence she didn't feel.

When she finally stepped out into the bedroom, Julian was waiting. He had changed into a midnight-black tuxedo, his cufflinks glinting like cold stars. He was pouring a glass of scotch, but the moment he heard the rustle of her dress, he turned.

The glass nearly slipped from his fingers.

The dress clung to Elara like a second skin, highlighting every curve he had memorized three years ago. Her hair was pinned up in a sophisticated, loose bun, leaving her neck bare and vulnerable.

"You look..." Julian’s voice failed him for a second. He cleared his throat, his eyes darkening with a hunger he couldn't hide. "Acceptable."

"Acceptable?" Elara scoffed, adjusting the heavy diamond necklace he had left for her. "I feel like a trophy you’re about to put on a shelf."

"You aren't a trophy, Elara," he said, walking toward her. He stood behind her, his heat radiating through the thin silk of her gown. He reached out, his fingers brushing the bare skin of her back as he fastened the clasp of her necklace. "You are a declaration of war. Anyone who thinks they can touch what is mine will see you tonight and realize how wrong they are."

The Sterling Gala was held in the ballroom of the Metropolitan Museum. As Julian led Elara inside, his hand firmly on the small of her back, the room went silent. The elite of New York—the old money, the tech giants, the vultures—all turned to stare.

"Smile," Julian whispered against her temple. "They’re looking for a crack in the armor. Don't give it to them."

They were halfway through the room when a woman blocked their path. She was tall, blonde, and wore a dress that probably cost more than Elara’s college tuition. Lydia Montgomery, Julian’s ex-fiancée and the woman Victoria Sterling had hand-picked for him.

"Julian, darling," Lydia purred, her eyes flicking over Elara with a look of pure venom. "I heard you found something in the trash and decided to bring it to the party. I didn't believe it until I saw the diamonds."

"Lydia," Julian said, his voice like a sheet of ice. "Move."

"Oh, I’ll move. But I think your 'fiancée' might want to know that her father’s old debts didn't just disappear," Lydia said, her smile widening as she saw Elara’s face go pale.

Julian’s grip on Elara’s waist tightened. "What are you talking about?"

"Ask her, Julian," Lydia laughed, leaning in close. "Ask her why she really ran away three years ago. It wasn't just because she was scared of your 'cold heart.' It was because your father, the Great Arthur Sterling, paid her family's gambling debts to make sure she stayed away from you. She didn't just leave, Julian. She was bought."

The world seemed to tilt. Julian pulled back, his eyes searching Elara’s face. The shock in her eyes was the only confirmation he needed.

"Is it true?" Julian asked, his voice a low, terrifying rumble. "Did my father pay you to leave me?"

"Julian, I can explain," Elara whispered, her heart breaking all over again. "They were going to put my father in prison. I didn't have a choice. I didn't even know I was pregnant yet when I took the money—"

"You took the money," Julian repeated, the warmth in his eyes dying instantly, replaced by a cold, jagged wall of ice. He let go of her waist as if she had suddenly turned into a serpent. "All this time, I thought you were the one pure thing in my life. But you were just another transaction."

"Julian, wait!"

But he was already turning away, his face a mask of stone. The cameras flashed, capturing the moment the Billionaire turned his back on his bride-to-be.

At that moment, a man in a dark suit stepped out from the shadows near the bar, watching the scene play out with a satisfied grin. He picked up his phone.

"The seeds are planted," the man whispered into the receiver. "He hates her now. It’s time to move in on the boy."