Chapter 8 Cracks In The Lies

Emilia lay in bed, her back stiff against the mattress as Julian's arm draped possessively over her waist. His breathing was even, steady, as if he had no worries in the world. As if he didn't just lock her in a golden cage and tell her she had no reason to look beyond its bars.

Her mind, however, refused to rest.

The gallery on Fifth. Midnight.

Ethan's words pulsed in her thoughts like a drumbeat, insistent and unrelenting. He had left her with more questions than answers, but there was one thing she couldn't ignore the raw pain in his voice. The desperate way he had looked at her, like she was something precious he had lost.

And Julian.

His presence next to her felt heavier than ever. She had once convinced herself that his attentiveness was love, that his careful, measured words were meant to protect her. But now, doubt gnawed at her insides like a relentless storm.

Was Julian shielding her from the truth?

Or was he trapping her in a lie?

Carefully, Emilia shifted beneath his arm. Julian stirred but didn't wake, his fingers twitching slightly before settling again. Holding her breath, she waited a beat longer, making sure his breathing remained deep and steady. Then, with slow, practiced movements, she eased out from under his grasp.

Her bare feet touched the cold floor as she rose, heart pounding in her chest. She didn't have much time. If she was going to meet Ethan, she had to leave now.

Each step toward the door felt like a betrayal.

Her hand closed around the doorknob, and she turned it with painstaking slowness, wincing as it clicked open. The hallway stretched before her, dark and eerily silent. The penthouse was vast, but Julian's security detail was never far. She needed to move quickly and quietly.

The elevator was out of the question Julian would have programmed it with restricted access. That left only one option.

The stairwell.

Emilia hurried down the corridor, her pulse a wild drum against her ribs. She reached the stairwell door, pressing against it with both hands to keep it from creaking as it opened. The stairwell was dimly lit, an eerie hush settling over the space as she stepped inside.

One flight. Two.

She descended quickly, gripping the railing as she reached the lower floors. The moment she was outside, she could breathe again. The night air was crisp, biting against her skin as she pulled her coat tighter.

She had never hailed a cab before at least, she didn't remember ever doing so but instinct guided her. Within minutes, she was on her way to the gallery.

---

The art gallery on Fifth Avenue was nothing like she expected.

The exterior was sleek and modern, floor-to-ceiling glass panels reflecting the city's glittering lights. But the moment she stepped inside, the world seemed to shift. The lighting was softer, warmer, casting long shadows on the polished marble floor.

There were no visitors. No murmured conversations drifting through the air.

Just silence.

Emilia's fingers curled into the fabric of her coat as she moved cautiously forward.

"Ethan?" she whispered.

A shadow shifted near one of the exhibits.

And then he was there.

Ethan emerged from the dimly lit corridor, his gaze locking onto hers with an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine.

"You came," he murmured.

Something about the way he said it half surprise, half relief made her chest tighten.

Emilia swallowed hard. "I don't know why I'm here," she admitted. "I don't know who to trust."

Ethan exhaled, running a hand through his dark hair. "I don't blame you. But you need to hear the truth, Emilia."

Her stomach clenched. "The truth?"

Ethan hesitated, his jaw tightening. "Julian isn't who he says he is."

A bitter laugh almost escaped her lips. "You think I don't know that already?" she shot back. "But that doesn't mean I know who you are either."

Pain flickered across his face. "I was your fiancé, Emilia."

The words slammed into her like a freight train.

Emilia staggered back, shaking her head. "No. No, that's not-"

"I loved you," Ethan interrupted, stepping closer, his voice rough with emotion. "We were together for years. We were going to run away, leave everything behind. And then-" He swallowed hard. "Then the accident happened."

Emilia's heart pounded.

She had felt something when she saw Ethan. That strange, inexplicable pull. But her memories

"They said I was engaged to Julian," she whispered, barely able to force the words out.

Ethan's expression darkened. "Because he made sure that's the only thing you'd remember."

The room suddenly felt too small, the walls pressing in on her. "No," she whispered. "That's not possible."

But wasn't it?

Hadn't Julian been feeding her his version of the truth from the moment she woke up? Controlling what she knew, what she saw, who she spoke to?

Ethan took a step closer, his voice softer now. "Think, Emilia. Have you had any real memories of Julian? Do you feel any connection to him?"

Her mind raced.

There was nothing.

No flashes of love. No recollections of whispered promises or shared laughter. Only carefully curated words from Julian, telling her what they had.

Ethan was right.

Julian had stolen her past.

And he had almost stolen her future.

Emilia's hands clenched into fists. "Why would he do this?"

Ethan hesitated. "Because Julian doesn't love you, Emilia. He owns you. And he wasn't going to let you go not even when you tried to leave him."

Ice slid through her veins.

She had tried to leave Julian.

And then the accident happened.

Emilia stumbled back, bile rising in her throat. "You're saying Julian he-"

"I don't have proof," Ethan admitted. "But I know him. And I know what he's capable of."

Her stomach twisted violently.

She had spent weeks months, maybe sleeping next to a man who had orchestrated her suffering. Who had possibly tried to kill her.

Ethan stepped forward, lowering his voice. "You need to get away from him, Emilia. Before it's too late."

A loud crash shattered the silence.

Emilia whipped around, her heart leaping to her throat.

The front door of the gallery had been forced open.

And standing in the doorway, his expression a mask of pure fury

Was Julian.