Chapter 2

Marcus Thorne' s face contorted with rage.

He recoiled as if struck.

The glass of milk shattered on the polished wood floor.

White liquid spread like a stain.

"What in God's name are you doing?" he roared.

His voice was a whip crack in the quiet room.

Elara froze, her hands still outstretched, trembling.

The sound of his voice, the fury in it, broke through her flashback.

But the conditioned terror remained.

She couldn't speak.

Couldn't explain.

"You're vile," Marcus spat, his voice thick with revulsion.

"Still trying these disgusting games."

He gestured wildly around the room.

"After everything, this is what you do?"

He didn't see her terror.

He saw only what he wanted to see, what Victoria had subtly hinted at.

Elara's continued, twisted affection.

"I have no interest in you, Elara. None. Do you understand?"

His words were like stones.

Elara finally found her voice, a choked whisper.

"It's not... it wasn't..."

"Enough!" Marcus cut her off.

He turned and stormed out of the room.

Slamming the door so hard the walls seemed to shake.

Elara remained on her knees.

Shaking.

Alone with the spilled milk and the echo of his disgust.

Later, sounds drifted from Marcus and Victoria's master suite.

Laughter.

Murmurs.

Then, the distinct, rhythmic creaking of the bed.

The sounds were amplified by the old house's structure.

Or perhaps, by Victoria's design.

Elara lay on her own bed, rigid.

She understood.

Marcus wanted her to hear.

A punishment.

A reminder of her place.

Or lack thereof.

A strange calmness settled over Elara.

The infatuation she once felt for Marcus, the desperate need for his approval, his love...

It was gone.

Tranquil Pines had burned it out of her.

Replaced it with a cold, hard knot of survival.

His cruelty now was just another pain to endure.

Different from the academy, but pain nonetheless.

She got out of bed.

Went to the small, cracked mirror in her bathroom.

Her reflection was a stranger.

Pale, eyes too large, haunted.

She slapped her own face.

Hard.

Again.

And again.

"I don't love him," she whispered to the stranger in the mirror.

"I don't love Uncle Marcus."

The words were a litany.

A desperate attempt to erase even the memory of that dead emotion.

Her cheek stung, turning red.

The next morning, Elara came down for breakfast.

Her cheek was slightly swollen, a faint bruise blooming.

Marcus and Victoria were already at the table.

Victoria wore a silk robe, her hair artfully tousled.

She leaned into Marcus, laughing at something he said.

Marcus glanced at Elara.

His eyes, cold and assessing, flickered to her cheek.

"What happened to your face?" he asked.

His tone was suspicious.

As if expecting another ploy.

"I fell," Elara said.

Her voice was flat, devoid of emotion.

She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of an explanation.

She resolved to stay in her room as much as possible.

Until her bus left.

Two more days.

Marcus' s eyes narrowed.

He didn't believe her.

He clearly suspected she'd done it to herself for attention.

His anger, always simmering close to the surface when it came to her, began to rise.

Victoria placed a perfectly manicured hand on Marcus' s arm.

"Darling, don't upset yourself."

Her voice was smooth, concerned.

She turned to Elara, a saccharine smile on her face.

"Elara, dear, we're going to choose the final arrangements for the wedding reception today. At the Grand Bostonian Hotel. Why don't you join us? It might do you good to get out."

The invitation was a command cloaked in politeness.

Marcus nodded.

"Yes. You will come. I told you to behave, to participate."

His tone brooked no argument.

Elara felt the familiar weight of compulsion.

"Yes, Uncle Marcus."

At the Grand Bostonian, event planners buzzed around.

Victoria was in her element.

Discussing floral arrangements, seating charts, musical selections.

The ballroom was immense, opulent.

Chandeliers dripped crystals.

Marcus received a call.

"A problem at the foundation," he said, frowning. "I need to take this. I'll be back."

He stepped away, leaving Elara alone with Victoria.

Victoria turned to Elara.

Her charming mask dropped.

Her eyes were cold, hard.

"I know you still want him," Victoria hissed, her voice low.

"I see it in your pathetic, mooning eyes."

Elara said nothing.

Stared at a point past Victoria's shoulder.

"He's mine, you little charity case," Victoria continued.

"And after the wedding, you will disappear. Permanently. Do you understand me?"

The threat was clear.

Victoria wouldn't tolerate her presence.