Chapter 8

The phone rang once. Then twice.

He picked up on the third ring, voice slightly rough, like he hadn’t slept.

“Elara.”

She exhaled slowly at the sound of his voice. Steady. Deep. Familiar.

“Hey,” she said. Her tone was calm but slightly husky from sleep. “Sorry I missed your calls last night.”

There was a brief pause. “It’s alright. You had a big night.”

“I did.” She moved to the floor to ceiling windows and drew them open, letting sunlight pour in. “You didn’t have to come, you know.”

“I wasn’t going to miss it,” Julian said simply. “Your name was the loudest in the room.”

That made her smile faintly. He had a way of complimenting her without flattery. It wasn’t about charm. It was about truth.

There was another pause on the line.

“Elara... I didn’t like the way he was looking at you.”

Her smile vanished.

“Leonard,” she said, like the name tasted bitter.

Julian’s silence was telling.

“He recognized you,” he added quietly. 

“Maybe.” She ran a hand through her hair and turned from the window. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters if he tries to come back.”

She didn’t answer.

Julian’s voice softened. “Elara… you disappeared for three years. No one knew where you went. Not even me. And now, you’re standing in a spotlight that reaches every corner of the industry. If he digs...”

“He won’t find anything,” she cut in sharply, her voice losing its calm. “There’s nothing left to find.”

He fell silent again.

She regretted snapping. Julian had always been on her side. From the day they met, he had offered her a hand, a platform, a name to lean on without ever asking what had broken her in the first place.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I’m just... tired.”

“You’ve earned the right to be,” Julian replied gently. “But don’t lie to me and say it doesn’t shake you. I saw your face last night.”

Elara closed her eyes for a moment, fighting the images that flashed behind her lids.

A drunken Leonard in a dim lit room. The sting of his words. The aftermath. The rumors. The mockery.

And that blood on the sheets, the one truth she’d never been able to speak aloud to anyone.

She forced herself to swallow past the lump in her throat.

“I’m fine,” she said at last. “I’m not that girl anymore.”

Julian didn’t argue. But he didn’t agree either.

“You’re coming to the Atelier tomorrow?” he asked instead.

“Yes,” she replied. “Marcus mentioned the emergency meeting.”

He scoffed lightly. “Emergency. Leonard’s idea of ‘emergency’ is chasing ghosts.”

Elara’s brow arched. “He was there?”

“Of course. Waiting for you like a dog with a bone. Told me he had something to prove.”

“Did he say what?”

“Nothing that mattered.” Julian’s voice grew cool. “Just… childish nonsense. He kept dropping hints. Trying to rattle me.”

Elara sat at her vanity, fingers curling around the base of a crystal perfume bottle. She looked at herself again in the mirror, same features. Same eyes.

But no longer the same girl.

“He thinks he knows something,” she murmured. “But he doesn’t.”

“He said he was your first,” Julian added flatly, and this time, she stiffened.

A crack appeared.

“He said that?”

“He wanted to get under my skin. He didn’t succeed.”

There was something in Julian’s voice that made her heart stutter. Not jealousy. Not possessiveness.

But something heavier.

Concern.

Protectiveness.

Unspoken want.

She bit down on her lower lip, suddenly overwhelmed.

“Julian,” she said softly.

“I won’t let him hurt you,” he said before she could say anything else.

Elara blinked rapidly, trying to clear the heat behind her eyes.

“I know,” she whispered.

But what if it wasn’t about hurting her?

What if it was about uncovering what she’d buried deep, about the child that no one, not even Julian, knew about?

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said quickly, cutting the thread of the conversation before it unravelled further.

“Elara...”

“Thank you,” she said again, voice firmer this time. “For always being there.”

And before he could answer, she ended the call.

The room grew silent again.

Elara sat there, breathing slowly, staring at her own reflection.

Her fingers drifted toward a small wooden box beneath the vanity drawer. She opened it.

Inside were a few old things, keepsakes she hadn’t thrown away.

And right at the bottom… a photograph.

Her university ID.

Back when she had braces, wore thick glasses, and had a wardrobe made of clearance sales and hand me downs.

The name on the ID read Elara Jensen.

Not Elara Hayes.

She stared at the photo for a long time.

Then slipped it back inside and closed the box.

Tomorrow, she would face Julian.

And soon, she might have to face Leonard again.

......................

Fresh from the shower, her skin still warm from the steam, Elara wrapped her robe tighter around herself and stepped into her slippers.

The morning sunlight poured into her room like golden silk, caressing the cool floors as if deliberately guiding her path.

It was quiet again. Almost too quiet.

And yet, she welcomed it.

She made her way down the wide corridor of the estate, her fingers trailing across the smooth surface of the walls.

Abstract paintings hung with intentional spacing, each selected by her, not for their price tags, but for the way they made her feel.

Some days, bold reds. Other days, mournful blues. Today, all she felt was beige. The calm before the storm.

She stopped in front of a double door with brass handles and pushed them open.

Her workroom, her temple.. waited.

It was a vast space that smelled of lavender, leather, and freshly steamed fabric. Bolts of silk, tulle, satin, and lace lined the shelves in perfectly organized color gradients.

A few dress forms stood near the center, some draped with half finished pieces. Patterns pinned. Threads trailing like whispers.

This was where Elara Hayes reigned.

This was where the shy, humiliated girl from three years ago had died and something new, something fearless, was born.