Chapter 140
Elara
I watched her lean into Julian, watched her hand rest on the small swell of her belly, watched her smile and accept congratulations from passing admirers. And I remembered the past life, the one where she'd built her entire career on work she'd stolen from me. Where she'd taken my right of authorship, my voice, my soul on canvas and claimed it as her own.
This was a live competition. Everyone had painted in the same room, under the same watchful eyes. There were judges and staff and cameras everywhere. How could she possibly cheat under those conditions?
But then, I'd thought it was impossible before too. I'd thought there was no way she could steal my work when I was literally watching her every move. And yet she'd found a way. She always found a way.
I studied her painting in my mind's eye, trying to remember the details. The brushwork had been confident, the technique sophisticated. But had I actually seen her create it? Had I watched her hands move across the canvas, seen the piece take shape under her brush?
The competition had been chaotic. Fifty artists working simultaneously, staff moving between stations, judges circulating. I'd been so focused on my own destroyed materials, on adapting to the backup supplies, on pouring my heart into my own work. I hadn't been watching Sloane. I hadn't been watching anyone.
In the semifinals, I thought, my jaw tightening with new resolve. In the finals. I'll watch her. I'll watch every single stroke, every moment. I'll figure out how she's doing it.
The competition had run from ten in the morning until two in the afternoon. By the time the judges finished scoring, announced rankings, and displayed the selected works, it was already past six. The sky outside had turned that deep purple-gray that comes just before full dark.
The organizers announced that advancing contestants could head to the third-floor buffet for dinner. Around me, people started packing up in groups of two or three, voices bright as they talked about the day and what might come in the semifinals. I stayed by my painting, waiting for the staff to seal it back up.
I watched the others drift toward the elevators. No one looked back at me.
Nora had wanted to wait, but some students pulled her along, calling out plans to celebrate together. She turned back. "See you at the buffet!"
I nodded. Watched her disappear into the crowd.
The hall emptied out. Just staff now, taking down equipment, collecting clipboards. I cleaned my brushes slowly, one by one, fitting them back into their slots. My hands moved carefully, deliberately. I wasn't ready to go upstairs yet. Wasn't ready for the looks—some congratulatory, some resentful, all of them wondering about Julian and whether I'd really earned this.
When only a handful of workers remained, I finally picked up my supply case and headed for the stairs. Not the elevator. The stairwell would be quieter. No chance of getting trapped in a small box with people who wanted to ask questions I didn't know how to answer.
My footsteps echoed in the concrete passage. I'd just pushed through the door from second to third floor when I heard voices. Low, urgent. Coming from around the corner.
I stopped. Pressed myself against the wall.
"Ethan, I've told you before." A woman's voice. Soft but impatient. "Don't approach me in public spaces."
Sloane.
My heart kicked up. I should have turned around. Should have taken the elevator after all. But I didn't move. Instead, I leaned forward just enough to see around the corner.
They stood in the shadowed space where the stairs turned. Sloane in her cream dress, one hand on her belly like always. But her face was cold. Ethan stood in front of her, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. I recognized the look on his face. I'd seen it in my own mirror enough times—trying to hold onto dignity while begging for scraps.
"We broke up," he said. His voice cracked slightly. "I know that. But I just wanted to congratulate you on first place. Is that so wrong?"
Broke up. They'd been together.
The words hit me like cold water. I stood there, trying to fit this new information into everything I thought I understood.
Sloane's expression softened. That practiced gentleness she could turn on like a switch. "I'm sorry, Ethan. I'm being paranoid. It's just—I'm Julian's fiancée now. I have to consider his feelings."
The way she said "Julian's fiancée." Like she was reminding herself as much as him.
Ethan's jaw tightened. "You said we could still be friends. You said you didn't want to lose me."
"Of course we're still friends." Sloane's voice went warm. If I hadn't been watching her face, I might have believed it. "We'll always be friends."
She opened her arms. Ethan hesitated, then stepped into the hug. It looked polite, careful. But I could see him squeeze his eyes shut, see the tension in his shoulders. He was holding something back.
Sloane's eyes stayed open. Over his shoulder, her gaze was distant. Calculating. She wasn't feeling anything. This was just something she had to tolerate.
She patted his back. Twice. Quick and dismissive. "Alright. Julian's waiting for me. You should head to the buffet too. And Ethan?" Her voice dropped lower. "Try not to let people see us alone together. You know how it looks."
He nodded. Something broke behind his eyes. "I know. You should go."
Sloane turned and walked away, heels clicking on concrete. Her whole posture changed with each step—shoulders back, chin up, hand returning to her belly. When she passed the landing just above where I stood frozen, I saw her smile. Sharp. Satisfied. The look of someone who'd just confirmed a useful tool was still under control.
I pressed harder against the wall. Didn't breathe until the sound of her heels faded completely.
My mind was spinning. Sloane and Ethan had been together. Were they still? That hug said maybe, but her eyes said no. So what was he now? Backup? Someone she kept around for—what?