Chapter 4

I was in the sunroom, sketching, when the doorbell chimed. A moment later, a woman glided into the room. It was her. Celeste, the ballerina from the photograph.

In person, she was even more stunning. She moved with a liquid grace that made my own body feel clumsy and heavy. She was wearing a simple white dress, but on her, it looked like couture.

She smiled at me, a tight, polite smile that didn't reach her eyes.

"You must be Scarlet," she said, her voice soft and melodious. It was the kind of voice that made you feel inadequate. "I'm Celeste. A friend of Liam's."

Just then, Liam walked in. His face, usually a cold mask, softened slightly a fraction when he saw her.

"Celeste," he said. He actually smiled. A small, but genuine, smile. "You're here."

"I came to see how you were," she replied, placing a delicate hand on his arm. They spoke in low tones, their conversation easy and familiar, filled with shared memories and inside jokes. I sat frozen on the sofa, my sketchbook feeling heavy in my lap. I was an intruder, a spectator to their perfect, closed-off world.

The warmth between them made the coldness he showed me feel even colder.

The next day, the real purpose of Celeste's visit became clear. Liam's mother, a woman who looked at me with open disdain, arrived with a man in a sharp suit. He was the family lawyer.

They sat me down in the formal living room. Liam was there, standing by the window, his back to us. His grandmother, Eleanor, sat in her usual armchair, observing everything with her sharp eyes.

"We have a proposal for you, Scarlet," his mother began, her voice dripping with condescension.

The lawyer slid a thick document across the polished coffee table.

"This is an agreement," he explained. "It outlines the terms of your arrangement with the Sterling family. In short, the family will provide for all your needs throughout the pregnancy. After the child is born, you will relinquish all parental rights. Full custody will be granted to Mr. Sterling."

He paused, letting the words sink in.

"In return," he continued, "a trust fund will be established in your name. The amount is twenty million dollars."

Twenty million dollars.

The number hung in the air, electric and obscene. It was a number that could solve every problem I had ever had, and every problem I could ever imagine. It was security. It was freedom. It was a life without the constant, gnawing fear of poverty. It was a permanent, state-of-the-art life for my grandmother.

My hand trembled as I reached for the pen. I thought of my grandmother. I thought of the nightmares. I thought of the life of struggle I was so desperate to escape. This child, growing inside me, would have a life I could never provide. A life of privilege and opportunity.

I wasn't giving up a child. I was giving it a better life. And I was saving my own.

"I'll sign it," I said, my voice surprisingly steady.

I signed my name on the dotted line, the ink stark against the white paper. I felt a strange sense of detachment, as if I were watching someone else do it.

A heavy silence fell over the room. I risked a glance at Liam. He had turned from the window and was staring at me. His face was pale, and his jaw was clenched so tightly a muscle jumped in his cheek. His eyes were dark, filled with an emotion I couldn't decipher. It wasn't relief. It looked almost like... disappointment. Or anger.

He turned and strode out of the room without a word, leaving me alone with the contract that had just sold my future.