Chapter 3

One hundred thousand dollars.

The words hung in the air, as obscene as their casual cruelty.

Elara' s mind flashed back.

Not to the five years of drudgery, but further.

To a small, sunlit studio in art school. Liam, then presenting himself as a fellow struggling artist, had "accidentally" spilled turpentine all over her nearly completed final project – a delicate restoration of a 17th-century miniature portrait.

Her thesis. Her chance at early recognition.

He' d been so apologetic, so "devastated" for her.

Chloe had been there that day, lurking in the background, a smug little smile on her face that Elara hadn't understood at the time.

Elara had worked frantically for three sleepless days and nights to salvage what she could, but the damage was too severe. She' d barely passed.

She remembered Liam' s "comforting" words: "Maybe fine arts isn't your path, Elara. It' s so unstable. My tech ideas, that's the future."

He' d steered her away from her passion, subtly, persistently.

Now, seeing him with Chloe, the memory took on a sickening clarity. It wasn't an accident. It was sabotage.

Chloe' s influence, even then.

"A hundred thousand?" Elara repeated, her voice flat.

Liam nodded, a condescending pity in his eyes. "I know it' s a lot, baby. But we' ll figure it out. You' re strong. You can do it."

"We?" Elara asked.

Chloe let out a derisive laugh. "Oh, please. Don' t tell me you actually thought he was going to help."

Liam shot Chloe a warning glance, then turned back to Elara, his expression shifting to one of strained patience.

"Elara, don' t make a scene. Just give me the money you have, and we can discuss the rest later. At home."

Home.

Their cramped, roach-infested apartment. The peeling paint, the constantly dripping faucet he never fixed, the threadbare couch where she collapsed exhausted every night.

While he lived this life.

The contrast was a physical blow.

He hadn't just lied about money. He' d hidden his entire world, his entire self. He' d watched her suffer, day in and day out, and felt nothing but contempt.

The locket felt heavy against her skin. A gift from that same era of lies.

"No," Elara said.

Liam' s eyebrows shot up. "No?"

"No," she repeated, louder this time. "I' m not giving you this money. And I' m not paying you another cent."

She turned and walked towards the exit, the envelope still clutched in her hand.

The plush carpet muffled her footsteps, but she could feel their eyes burning into her back.

She didn' t look back. She just walked. Out of the lounge, into the indifferent city night, breathing air that suddenly felt a little cleaner, a little freer.

The fifty thousand dollars was hers. Earned through her own grit.

And it wasn't going to Liam. It was going to get her to London.