Chapter 2 02

Each donation drained her-physically, emotionally.

Back at the Wynthorpe mansion, she staggered from her room, pale and fragile, only to be greeted by a flying object-a box striking her temple, sending stars into her vision.

"Where were you?!" her mother screamed. "Ignoring our messages? Are you trying to upset Margaux again?"

Blood trickled from Elara's brow.

She wiped it, opened her phone, and saw the missed messages: bake Margaux's favorite cake. Be ready when she returns.

She had been too weak, too groggy from blood loss to respond. But explanations were pointless.

Margaux entered flanked by Elias and Aurelian, both treating her like a porcelain doll.

Elias sneered at Elara. "Expect her to bake? She can't even hold a spatula. She just scribbles nonsense all day. Margaux paints. Elara draws garbage."

Aurelian, ever the diplomat, said, "Elara, are you feeling unwell?"

Once, that would have melted her. But now, she heard the hollowness.

Margaux, soft-spoken, chimed in. "Don't worry about the cake. Elara should rest."

Elias glared. "Margaux, you're too kind. She owes you everything. She's only alive because of you."

At dinner, the table overflowed-with Margaux's favorite dishes.

Elara sat quietly. A shrimp landed in her bowl. From Aurelian.

She smiled bitterly.

He remembered to play the caring fiancé.

But if he truly knew her, he'd remember-she was allergic to shellfish.

After the meal, the topic turned to the wedding.

Margaux, teary-eyed, said she felt too weak to attend.

"Let's postpone it," Greg suggested. Elias nodded. Even Aurelian looked to her.

"Elara, are you alright with waiting?"

She said nothing.

Then stood, placed her utensils down, and left the room.

It didn't matter what she said.

The wedding was never going to happen.