She Knows the Way Out

The sound of the heavy oak door creaking open made Elara’s heart lurch. She scrambled to her feet, frantically wiping the salt and ruin from her cheeks with the back of her hands. By the time Julian stepped into the room, she was sitting on the edge of the bed, her spine rigid, staring at a fixed point on the wall.

Julian paused. The cold, sharp scent of rain and scotch followed him. He looked at her..really looked at her and for a split second, his jaw tightened. Her eyes were rimmed with a raw, swollen red that made his chest feel like it was being squeezed by an iron fist. But he strangled the feeling before it could reach his tongue.

"Get up," he said, his voice a jagged blade. "There’s a charity gala tomorrow night. The Vane Foundation. You’re attending."

Elara let out a dry, hysterical laugh that caught in her throat. "Are you serious? You threw divorce papers at my face this morning, Julian. You told me I was a debt to be paid. And now you want me to play the happy wife for your donors?"

"I don't care about your feelings, Elara. I care about the merger," Julian stepped closer, his presence suffocating. "The papers aren't filed yet. Until that week is up, you are Mrs. Vane. You will put on a smile, you will stand by my side, and you will not embarrass me."

"I can't do it," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I’m sick, Julian. My head is spinning, and I can't even keep water down. Please... just let me go now."

Julian’s eyes flickered over her pale face. A flash of something...concern? guilt? passed through him, but he buried it under a sneer. "Then see a doctor tomorrow morning, run a few tests if needed and fix it. I’m not having you fainting like some Victorian waif because you’re too dramatic to eat. You're pale because you're sulking. Fix it by tomorrow."

He turned to the walk-in closet, pulled a garment bag from the rack, and threw it onto the bed. The heavy fabric hit her legs. "Wear this. It’s blue. It’ll hide how much weight you’ve lost. Try to look like someone worth the millions I spent on you."

He walked out without looking back, leaving Elara to stare at the dress. It was the color of a bruise.

The next night, the grand ballroom was a blur of gold leaf and predatory smiles. Elara stood in front of the vanity, her hands shaking as she applied a second layer of concealer to the dark circles under her eyes. Every time she breathed, the scent of the lilies in the room made her stomach flip in a violent, sickening wave.

When she stepped into the hallway, Julian was waiting. He stopped mid-stride, his breath hitching in a way he couldn't hide. The dress clung to her curves, and despite her ghostly pallor, she looked hauntingly beautiful, like a tragic masterpiece. He wanted to reach out and touch the hollow of her throat, to see if her pulse was as frantic as his own.

Instead, he adjusted his cufflinks. "Try not to look like you're heading to a funeral," he muttered. "It’s a celebration."

At the gala, the torture intensified. Julian was immediately swarmed. Among the crowd was Diana Sterling, her hand sliding onto Julian’s arm with a proprietary ease that made Elara’s blood run cold. Julian didn't pull away. He let the woman lean into him, their heads bent in close, intimate conversation.

Elara drifted toward the edge of the room, her hand pressed against her churning stomach.

"Well, if it isn't the little pianist," a voice dripped with venom.

Elara turned to find Chloe Davenport. Chloe had hated Elara since they were girls, back when the Vance name meant Elara was the sun and everyone else was a mere shadow.

"I heard your father finally ran out of places to hide, Elara," Chloe smirked, loud enough for the nearby tables to hear. "And it looks like Julian finally realized that talentless beggars don't belong at Vane International. Tell me, does the 'contract' end tonight, or do you have to beg for a few more days of room and board?"

"Leave me alone, Chloe," Elara said, her voice small.

"Or what? You'll play me a sad song?" Chloe laughed, and then, with a sharp, practiced flick of her wrist, she sent her glass of red wine flying.

The liquid splashed across the front of Elara’s blue dress, the dark stain spreading like a deep, internal hemorrhage. Elara gasped, the cold dampness sticking to her skin. The room went quiet. All eyes turned to the "Disposable Wife."

Elara looked instinctively toward Julian. He was standing less than ten feet away. He had seen the whole thing. His eyes met hers, cold, blue, and utterly vacant. He didn't move. He didn't offer his jacket. He didn't even frown at Chloe.

Diana Sterling giggled, tucking her arm tighter into Julian’s. "Oh dear, Julian, your guest seems to be a bit clumsy. Perhaps she should go home?"

Julian looked at Elara’s trembling lip, at the ruin of her dress, and then he looked away. "She knows the way out," he said to Diana, his voice loud enough for the entire circle to hear.

The heartbreak was so sharp Elara felt a physical pull in her abdomen, a cramping pain that made her gasp. Why? she thought, her vision blurring with tears. Why make me come here just to watch me drown?

She didn't wait for him. She didn't wait for the car. She turned and ran for the exit, the heavy fabric of her dress dragging like a weight. She hit the cool night air and collapsed against a stone pillar, her body wracked with a sudden, violent sob.

As she clutched her stomach, a thought finally pierced through the fog of her grief. The nausea. The dizziness. The strange, localized ache.

"No," she whispered, her eyes widening in horror as she looked back at the ballroom where the man she loved was laughing with another woman. "Please, God, not now. Not like this."

The Vance daughter was officially a ghost. And Julian Vane had no idea that he had just let the only heart he ever truly owned walk out into the rain, carrying the one thing that could have saved him.