Chapter 3 03

The next morning, Elara awakened to an unfamiliar quiet. No screaming. No knocking. Just the gentle hum of morning light through her window.

It was surreal.

She got dressed and went downstairs-only to find a suitcase waiting by the door.

Her mother, arms folded, eyes cold, stood behind it. "You're moving into the old Wynthorpe estate. You've embarrassed Margaux enough. You're to live separately until the wedding."

Elara's lips curved. "Of course."

She didn't remind her mother that the wedding had already been quietly canceled.

The estate was a forgotten relic. Dusty, creaking, and tucked between overgrown hedges like a ghost from the past. Perfect.

She unpacked slowly, methodically. With every book she shelved and every curtain she drew open, it became hers.

The silence wrapped around her like armor.

Three days later, Aurelian appeared.

He walked in unannounced, the old key still working. "You haven't answered your phone."

Elara didn't look up from the canvas she was painting.

"Margaux is sick again," he said. "She's asking for you."

She dipped her brush into a crimson hue.

"Elara," he said, stepping closer. "Please."

She turned to him then. "Is that a request, Aurelian? Or an order?"

His expression faltered. "I-"

"You want my blood. That's why you're here."

He stayed silent.

Elara looked at him for a long time, then dipped her brush in white, striking through the red.

"Get out."

When he didn't move, she added, "Or do you want me to paint your portrait? You'll look wonderful-hollow eyes and all."

He left.

Elara didn't watch him go.