Chapter 3 No.3

"Tell me you're not at work," Elena said, her voice cracking on the last word.

"Elena?" Harper's voice was instantly alert. Background noise of a TV show cut out. "What's wrong? Why do you sound like you've been running?"

"He's engaged, Harp. Spencer. He's engaged to Vanessa Van Der Woodsen."

There was a three-second silence on the line. Then, a sound of pure, unadulterated rage. "I am going to kill him. I am going to drive over there and run him over with my Jeep. Where are you?"

"Le Jardin. Back alley."

"Don't move. I'm ten minutes away. If anyone touches you, scream fire."

Elena hung up. She leaned against the brickwork, wrapping her arms around herself to stop the shivering. It wasn't just the cold; it was the shock wearing off, leaving behind a hollow, aching bruise in her chest.

The back door of the restaurant opened again.

Elena flinched, expecting Spencer. But it was Chad, Spencer's best friend from prep school. Chad was wearing a tuxedo with the tie undone, a cigarette dangling from his lip. He looked at Elena with a mix of pity and amusement.

"Rough night, huh, Vance?" Chad took a drag, blowing the smoke in her direction.

"Go to hell, Chad."

Chad chuckled, leaning against the doorframe. "Look, don't be too hard on the guy. Spencer's just doing what he's told. You know how Victoria is."

"He's a grown man," Elena spat. "He could have said no."

"To the trust fund?" Chad laughed. "Nobody says no to fifty million dollars, sweetie. Besides, Vanessa knows the score."

He flicked his cigarette ash near Elena's feet. "It's the code. Wives are for optics, girlfriends are for fun. You should be flattered. He really does like you. Most guys would have dumped the poor girl by now."

The poor girl.

The words hit Elena harder than the cold. That was all she was to them. A charity case. A temporary diversion from their incestuous pool of wealth. She had thought she was breaking down barriers; really, she was just providing entertainment.

The shame burned hot in her cheeks. She had spent two years trying to fit in, reading books on etiquette, buying clothes she couldn't afford, worrying about which fork to use. And the whole time, they were laughing.

"Get away from her, Chad."

Spencer appeared in the doorway behind Chad, shoving his friend aside. Spencer looked frantic, his hair disheveled.

"Spencer, man, I was just explaining the facts of life," Chad grinned, holding up his hands.

"Go back inside," Spencer ordered. Chad rolled his eyes but retreated, the door swinging shut.

Spencer turned to Elena. "Elena, please. My mother... she cut my cards. She threatened to liquidate my portfolio. I had no choice."

"There is always a choice," Elena said.

"If you loved me, you'd understand my position," Spencer said. His voice took on a wheedling, manipulative tone. "You're being selfish. You want me to give up my birthright just to prove a point?"

"I want you to be honest!" Elena shouted. "Who sent the text, Spencer? Who told me to come here?"

Spencer blinked. "What text?"

"The one that gave me the address. The one that said 'Blue Moon'."

Spencer's face went slack. "I didn't send that. I thought you... I thought you were stalking me."

"Stalking you?" Elena let out a harsh laugh. She shoved her phone screen in his face, showing the anonymous message.

Spencer stared at it. His eyes widened. He looked up, past Elena, toward the second-floor balcony of the restaurant.

"Oh god," he whispered.

Elena turned.

Standing on the stone balcony, looking down into the dirty alley like a queen surveying a pigsty, was Victoria Kensington. She held a glass of white wine. Even from this distance, Elena could feel the chill of her gaze.

It clicked.

Victoria had sent the text. She had used their private code-something she must have overheard or had investigated-to lure Elena here. She knew Spencer wouldn't end it. She knew he would try to keep Elena on the side. So she forced the collision. She invited the disaster to ensure the break was clean and permanent.

"She played us," Elena whispered. "She wanted me to see."

"Elena, you have to go," Spencer said, his voice trembling. He looked up at his mother with terrified eyes. "If she sees you're still here... she'll make it worse."

He was terrified. Not for Elena. For himself. For his allowance.

Elena looked at the man she had thought she would marry. He looked small. Weak. A boy in a man's suit, terrified of mommy taking away his credit card.

The love didn't just die; it evaporated. It was replaced by a profound, nauseating disgust.

Elena reached up to her neck. She unclasped the thin gold chain Spencer had given her for her birthday. It was a mass-produced piece from Tiffany's, something he had probably asked his assistant to buy.

"Here," she said.

She didn't hand it to him. She dropped it into the dumpster beside her.

"Elena!" Spencer lunged for the rim of the dumpster, horrified. "That cost two grand!"

"Go fish," she said.

A roar of an engine cut through the alley. Twin headlights blinded them. Harper's beat-up red Jeep Wrangler screeched to a halt, hopping the curb and splashing a wave of muddy gutter water onto Spencer's tuxedo pants.

"Get in, bitch!" Harper yelled, leaning across the passenger seat to throw the door open. "We're leaving this trash heap!"

Elena didn't hesitate. She jumped into the Jeep.

Spencer stood there, wet, muddy, staring into a dumpster for a necklace he hadn't bought himself.

"Elena, wait!" he shouted, but it was weak.

Harper slammed the gearshift into reverse. The Jeep tires squealed.

As they peeled out of the alley, Elena looked in the side mirror. She saw Spencer shrinking into the distance. But above him, on the balcony, Victoria Kensington raised her wine glass in a mock toast.

Elena turned forward. She didn't cry. Not yet. She just stared at the dashboard, feeling the vibrations of the engine, knowing that the war hadn't ended. It had just begun.

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