Chapter 183
Elara
I took a breath, gathering my thoughts, trying to organize the fragments of information I'd been carrying around for weeks into something coherent, something actionable. "My teacher, Elena," I began, my voice steadier than I felt. "She used to go by Elena Rossi before she married an American and became Elena Castellano. Sloane's been using her name as an alias, stealing her identity in the art world, passing off Elena's techniques and philosophy as her own original work."
Julian's attention sharpened immediately, his CEO brain clearly already working through the implications. I could see the strategic mind clicking into gear behind his eyes, and for once, it didn't make me feel manipulated or controlled. It just felt like having a powerful ally.
"If we can find Elena's family in Italy," I continued, gaining momentum now, "if we can prove she actually existed, that she created the work Sloane's been claiming—then we can establish a pattern of plagiarism. Even if we can't prove Sloane's cheating in this specific competition, we can destroy her credibility by showing she's been lying about her talent all along."
I paused, looking at him directly. "As for the competition itself, I know she has some way of cheating. I just don't know what it is yet. But there has to be something—she's too confident, too certain she'll win."
Julian didn't hesitate. He pulled out his phone, scrolling to Atlas's contact with quick, efficient movements despite the obvious discomfort in his shoulders. "Atlas, it's me," he said when his assistant answered, his voice taking on that crisp, authoritative tone I'd heard him use in business contexts. "I need you to dispatch our most reliable team to Italy immediately. Find every family member of Elena Rossi, later Elena Castellano. I want her original design sketches, any evidence of her work, anything that proves she existed and created the pieces currently attributed to someone else. I want results within a week."
I watched him give the orders, feeling something shift inside me. This was real. He was actually doing this, mobilizing resources across continents with a single phone call, putting his considerable power and connections to work on my behalf without asking for anything in return.
When he hung up, his expression shifted, becoming more serious. He looked at me with an intensity that made my chest tight. "Elara, I need to tell you something. A reality you're not going to like, but one you need to understand."
My stomach clenched. "What is it?"
"This competition—Vane Group pulled out of the sponsorship, which means we've lost our official standing to challenge the judging or raise concerns about impropriety." His voice was steady but grim. "And if someone with real power and resources wants to manipulate the results, it's going to be almost impossible for an ordinary competitor to find direct proof. People who can afford to fix competitions like this are very good at covering their tracks."
The brief flare of hope I'd been nursing guttered slightly. Of course it wouldn't be easy. "So we can't prove she's cheating in the competition itself?"
"It's going to be very difficult," he said carefully. "Not impossible, but difficult. Which is why your strategy about exposing her past plagiarism is actually our best approach."
I absorbed this, turning it over in my mind. The disappointment was sharp, but it also clarified something for me. I'd been so focused on the competition, on proving myself in that specific arena, that I'd been thinking too small. This was bigger than one contest.
"Then we change tactics," I said, feeling my resolve harden into something cold and sharp. "Even if I can't prove she's cheating now, her history of stealing Elena's work is indisputable. Once that comes out, she loses all credibility in the art world. She likes manipulating public opinion? Fine. I'll use public opinion to destroy her. Let her taste what it's like when the narrative turns against you."
Something flashed in Julian's eyes—pride, maybe, or approval. He nodded slowly. "That's the right approach. Strategic, focused on what we can actually prove." He paused. "I'll mobilize every media resource at my disposal. When you're ready to go public, we'll make sure the story gets the attention it deserves."
The certainty in his voice should have been reassuring, but instead, it triggered something else—a deep, nagging fear I'd been trying to suppress. I looked at him, really looked at him, taking in the exhaustion etched into his face, the careful way he was holding himself to minimize the pain from his wounds, the absolute conviction in his eyes.
"Are you sure about this?" The question came out quieter than I'd intended, almost vulnerable. "Are you really sure you want to help me take down Sloane?"
"My choice hasn't been obvious enough?" His response was immediate, almost sharp.
I bit my lip, feeling the familiar anxiety rising in my chest. "I'm just worried that—" I stopped, struggling to articulate the fear.
"You hurt me before because of her. You chose her over me, again and again. You made me feel worthless because I wasn't her. And now you're choosing to hurt her because of me." I forced myself to meet his eyes. "What happens if someday you stop wanting me? Will you turn on me the same way? Will I become the next person you sacrifice for whoever comes after?"
Pain flashed across his face, sharp and unmistakable, but it was quickly replaced by something harder, more determined. He didn't answer with words. Instead, he pulled out his phone, his fingers moving quickly across the screen. A moment later, my phone buzzed with an incoming file.
"I know I have no credibility with you," he said quietly, his voice rough. "I know I've broken your trust so many times that words don't mean anything anymore. So I won't give you words." He gestured to my phone. "Open it."
My hands were shaking slightly as I pulled out my phone and tapped on the notification. The file opened, and for a moment, I couldn't process what I was seeing. Financial documents. Strategic plans. Legal agreements.
"This is—" My voice came out as barely a whisper. "This is Vane Group's Q1 strategy. These are your investment portfolios. These are—" I looked up at him, shock making my thoughts slow and sluggish. "Julian, if these leaked—"
"Vane Group would be destroyed within seventy-two hours," he finished calmly. "Our competitors would know exactly where to strike, exactly which deals to undercut, exactly which weaknesses to exploit. The company would be gutted. And I would lose everything—my position, my inheritance, my standing in the business world." He paused. "But I'm giving you that power. I'm putting my entire future in your hands."
I stared at the screen, at the documents that represented everything he'd worked for, everything his family had built over generations. My throat felt tight, my eyes burning with tears I refused to let fall. "Why would you—how could you—"
"Because I need you to understand that I'm not playing games anymore," he said, and his voice was raw with emotion. "I need you to know that I'm all in, that I'm choosing you even if you never choose me back. These documents are my insurance policy—not for me, but for you. If I ever hurt you again, if I ever choose someone else over you, if I ever make you feel the way I made you feel before—you have the power to destroy me completely."
He took a step closer, and I could see the exhaustion in his eyes, the pain from his wounds, the desperate sincerity that made my chest ache. "I'm not asking you to trust me. I know I haven't earned that. But I'm giving you control. Your happiness, your safety, your future—those matter more to me than Vane Group, more than my family's approval, more than anything else in this world."