Chapter 6
Elara
Anna's gaze flicked to my face, noting the red-rimmed eyes. The corner of her mouth twitched—not quite a smirk, but close.
I kept my expression neutral. "I'll be there."
When the door closed, I stood and walked to the closet. In my previous life, I'd agonized over this moment, choosing a cream cashmere sweater and a pleated skirt because I thought Julian liked that preppy, innocent look. I'd sprayed on Marc Jacobs Daisy—three months' allowance wasted on a perfume I thought would make him notice me.
Today, I pulled on a plain gray knit sweater and black pants. No perfume. No jewelry except my father's watch on a chain around my neck.
I braided my hair back, away from my face. Splashed cold water on my eyes to reduce the puffiness. Looked at myself one last time in the mirror.
In my previous timeline, the girl staring back had been hopeful. Desperate. Willing to debase herself for scraps of attention.
The woman I saw now was a stranger wearing a teenager's face.
"I'm sorry, Lily," I thought, pressing my hand to my flat stomach. "I'm sorry I can't give you life again. But I can give us both freedom."
Blackwood Estate's study smelled of Cuban cigars and old leather—the scent of masculine power passed down through five generations. Dark oak paneling. Portraits of stern-faced Vane patriarchs glaring from gilded frames. The fireplace crackling with split logs that cost more than most people's monthly rent.
Mr. Vane Senior sat behind his Louis XIV desk, the morning light catching the milky film over his left eye. He looked every inch the patriarch: three-piece suit perfectly pressed, gold watch chain glinting, liver-spotted hands folded atop a stack of contracts.
Julian stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, backlit by October sun. Charcoal three-piece suit. Cartier cufflinks. His posture was perfect—shoulders back, spine straight, every inch the Wall Street prince groomed to inherit an empire.
He glanced at me when I entered. Just a flick of those cold gray-blue eyes. Assessing. Dismissive.
That look—I'd spent a year trying to make it warmer. Softer. Aimed at me with something other than indifference.
Now it just made me tired.
"Elara." Mr. Vane Senior's voice was gravelly, authoritative. "Sit."
I did, perching on the edge of a wing-back chair. Hands folded in my lap. Spine straight. The posture of someone who knew they were being evaluated.
"Julian is flying to Boston tomorrow for the Kennedy family's business gala," the old man announced without preamble. "Real estate and media elite. Very important connections. I'd like you to accompany him."
My heart stopped.
This was it. The moment. The fork in the road where my previous life had taken the path to destruction.
"You'd be helping with the social aspects," Mr. Vane continued, as if I'd already agreed. "Entertaining the wives and daughters. It's good exposure for you. You should see how these events work."
In my previous timeline, I'd heard those words as: Julian wants you there. This is your chance to be part of his world.
Now I heard the truth: You're useful for managing the women we don't care about. Know your place.
Julian's voice cut through my thoughts, sharp and cold. "Grandfather, there's no need to force her. She wouldn't be comfortable at that level of event."
His tone said: She doesn't belong.
The old man frowned. "Nonsense. Elara is family. Her SAT scores are excellent—1520, I hear. Top five percent at St. Valerius. She reflects well on us."
"The Kennedy gala isn't an academic conference," Julian said, turning to face me fully now. His expression was arctic. "The women there will discuss charity auctions, art investments, European vacations. Can you contribute to those conversations, Elara?"
He paused, letting the question hang.
"Or were you planning to use this as another opportunity to follow me around?"
The words hit like a slap. In my previous life, they would have made me cry, made me stammer apologies, made me promise to be useful and quiet and grateful.
Now I just looked at him. Really looked at him.
Twenty-one years old. Devastatingly handsome. Cruel.
And so, so sure of his power over me.
"I won't be going to Boston, Mr. Vane," I said quietly.
The silence was deafening.
Julian's eyebrows rose—the first crack in his perfect composure. "Excuse me?"
"I have midterms next week. AP Calculus and AP US History. I need to study."
Mr. Vane Senior frowned. "You can make up exams. This opportunity—"
"With respect, sir," I interrupted—something I'd never done before—"I need to focus on my academics. I want a 4.0 GPA this semester. I want to get into a good college." I paused, then added with deliberate calm: "I don't want to waste time on... meaningless distractions."
The phrase landed like a grenade.
Julian's eyes narrowed. "Meaningless distractions."
"Yes." I kept my voice steady. "I've wasted too much time already on things that don't matter. I need to prioritize my future."
For a long moment, he just stared at me. Then he laughed—a short, humorless sound.
"Well. This is new." He walked toward me, each step deliberate. Stopped close enough that I had to tilt my head back to meet his gaze. "Let me guess, Elara. Yesterday you put another sticky note in my briefcase, didn't you? Yesterday you waited in the garage with coffee you thought I'd like. Yesterday you saved fifteen more pictures of me to your phone."
Each word was a scalpel, cutting with surgical precision.
"A year of this," he continued. "A full year of you following me like a lost puppy. Showing up wherever I go. Staring at me during dinner. Asking my assistant about my schedule. And now, suddenly, you're too busy studying?"
His voice dropped to something dangerous. "What game are you playing?"
In my previous life, I would have broken down. Apologized. Begged him to believe I wasn't playing games, that I just loved him so much it hurt.
Now I reached into my pocket and pulled out the compass necklace.
I stood—forcing him to step back or risk touching me—and walked to Mr. Vane Senior's desk. Set the silver chain down on the polished wood.
"You're right," I said quietly. "I did all those things. I stalked you. I made you uncomfortable. I refused to accept that you wanted nothing to do with me." I looked at Julian, holding his gaze. "I'm sorry. It was wrong. It was... pathetic."
His expression flickered—surprise? Confusion?
"I'm giving this back," I continued, nodding at the necklace. "I misunderstood what it meant. I thought 'home' was here. That I belonged in this family. But I don't. I never did."
I turned back to Mr. Vane Senior. "Thank you for the opportunity to go to Boston. But I decline. I need to focus on my education so I can eventually support myself. So I can leave Blackwood Estate and stop being... a burden."
The word hung in the air.
"When I get into college," I said, "I'll move out. You'll never have to worry about me bothering Julian again."
Then I walked to the door. Opened it. Stepped through.
I didn't run. Didn't cry. Didn't look back.
Behind me, I heard Mr. Vane Senior's bewildered: "What on earth...?"
And Julian's voice, quiet and sharp: "I have no idea."
I closed the door and walked down the hallway, my footsteps echoing on marble floors.
The compass necklace was gone. The leash was cut.