Chapter 4

Elena Salinas POV:

Julian's affair with Aubrey wasn't just a betrayal; it was a deliberate, calculated humiliation. To parade her, her, in front of me, in front of all of New York, as his chosen companion. My stomach churned. The memory of my mother's broken body flashed before my eyes, followed by Aubrey's saccharine smile.

That night, Julian didn't come home. Again. The pattern was familiar, but the sting was sharper, deeper. He wasn't just cheating; he was twisting the knife into an old, festering wound.

The fake affair I had staged vanished from the headlines as swiftly as it appeared. Julian, with his immense power and influence, had made sure of it. My brief moment of defiance was snuffed out, leaving me feeling more powerless than ever.

Then came the invitation. Aubrey's birthday gala. A lavish affair, held in one of Julian's newly acquired, ridiculously opulent ballrooms. The date, etched in gold script, hit me like a physical blow. It was the anniversary of my mother's death. Julian knew. He had to. He was doing this on purpose, a cold, brutal reminder of my place. He wanted me to see, to understand, that she, Aubrey, was now his priority. He wanted me to recognize her as his rightful woman.

A private doctor came that morning, sent by Julian. He cleaned and bandaged the cut on my collarbone, the one Julian had inflicted with the letter opener. The doctor' s touch was gentle, professional.

"Mr. Blanchard mentioned you have a low pain tolerance, Mrs. Salinas. And a tendency to bruise easily," he said, his voice neutral. He was simply stating facts, but his words felt like a fresh wound. Julian knew my body, my weaknesses. He knew exactly where to strike to cause the most pain.

I just offered a tight, self-deprecating laugh. "He knows a lot about me, Doctor," I managed, the words tasting like ash. "More than I thought."

Later that evening, as I prepared for the gala, my phone buzzed. An anonymous video. My heart hammered, a frantic bird trapped in a cage. I pressed play.

The video was shaky, clearly taken in secret, years ago. It showed Aubrey, much younger, her face tear-streaked and frantic. She was shouting, her voice high-pitched and hysterical.

"She hated me! Your mother, Elena's mother, she hated me!" Aubrey screamed, her voice punctuated by sobs. She was talking to my father, David. He looked pale, gaunt.

"She found out about the affair, about me being your daughter. She tried to send me away, to Paris, to 'make a new life' for myself. But it was a trick! She wanted me gone! She tried to push me, David! She tried to push me off the balcony!" Aubrey cried, her words tumbling out in a rush of fabricated victimhood. "I just... I just pushed her back. It was an accident! I swear! I just wanted to protect myself!"

My blood ran cold. She pushed her back. The words echoed in the silent room, a horrifying truth finally screaming itself into existence. Not suicide. Not an accident. Murder.

Aubrey was clutching David's arm, her whole body shaking, a picture of absolute terror. "Julian! David! You have to help me! Please! I don't want to go to jail! I didn't mean to!"

Then, suddenly, the camera panned slightly. Julian. He was there. Younger, yes, but unmistakably him. He stood silently, watching Aubrey's frantic performance, his face unreadable.

My father, David, slapped Aubrey hard across the face. The sound cracked through the video. "You lying little demon! My wife, my beautiful wife, you killed her! You murdered her!" he roared, his voice thick with a mixture of grief and rage. It was the first time I had ever seen my weak father truly furious.

Aubrey recoiled, her eyes wide, but she didn't look at David. She looked at Julian. Her gaze was desperate, pleading, clinging to him like a lifeline. "Julian? You'll help me, won't you? You promised! You said you would make everything go away!"

A long, agonizing silence stretched. I held my breath, my entire body rigid. My heart hammered, a frantic drum against my ribs. Please, Julian. Please tell me you didn't.

Julian's face was shadowed, his expression grim. But when he spoke, his voice was calm, utterly devoid of emotion. "Go. Hide. I'll handle the police, the paperwork. Everything."

The video ended.

My world tilted. The room spun. The floor seemed to drop out from under me. My ears roared, a deafening sound that blocked out everything. Julian. My Julian. The man who had held me, comforted me, promised me justice. He had known. He had helped her. He had covered it up. My father, too. My own father.

The man I had loved, the man I had married, the man who was meant to protect me, had actively participated in covering up my mother's murder. Not only that, he had done it for the woman who committed the act. The woman who was now his mistress.

My mother hadn't jumped. She had been pushed. And everyone I trusted had lied to me.