Chapter 3

The news of Alexander Sterling' s new romance spread through the city like wildfire. It was a carefully orchestrated media campaign. Photos of him and Clara Bell were everywhere: walking hand-in-hand in the park, dining at exclusive restaurants, attending a gala for the Sterling Foundation. Alexander, who had always been fiercely private, was now flaunting his new relationship for the world to see.

Clara was presented as a prodigy, a brilliant mind with a heart of gold. The media called her "The Sterling Muse," a title that had once belonged to Eleanor. They praised her "natural" beauty and her "humble" origins, contrasting it with Eleanor's now-tarnished image as the privileged wife who had been cast aside. Clara played her part perfectly, giving shy, modest interviews where she spoke of Alexander' s genius and her desire to support his vision.

Alexander, for his part, was more indulgent than ever. He bought an entire floor of the Sterling Tower and had it converted into a state-of-the-art research lab for Clara, a project that cost hundreds of millions and required displacing three entire departments. When a senior executive voiced his objection, citing the disruption and cost, Alexander had him fired on the spot. The message was clear: Clara Bell was untouchable.

From her sterile, temporary apartment, Eleanor watched it all unfold on her tablet. A hollow feeling settled in her chest. All the grand gestures, the public declarations, the obsessive devotion-she had once thought they were unique to her, a testament to a love that was one of a kind. Now, she saw with painful clarity that it was just a pattern. Alexander' s love wasn' t a unique masterpiece; it was a formula he could replicate with a new subject. He wasn' t in love with her; he was in love with the idea of being in love, with the grand performance of it all.

The pain was a dull, constant throb, but beneath it, a cold resolve was hardening. She had one last thing to do before she could truly be free.

She went to the high-security medical facility where her brother lived. David was pale, tethered to a series of machines that hummed quietly, but his eyes lit up when he saw her.

"El," he said, his voice weak but warm. "You look tired."

She forced a smile, sitting by his bed and taking his hand. "Just been busy. I came to tell you something important, David."

She explained that she was leaving the city, that she needed a new start. She didn' t tell him about the baby or the full extent of Alexander' s cruelty. She just said they had grown apart and that the divorce was for the best.

"But what about my treatments?" he asked, fear clouding his eyes. "Alexander..."

"It' s all taken care of," she assured him, squeezing his hand. "He gave his word. You don' t have to worry about anything. I just... I can' t stay here anymore. It hurts too much."

He saw the truth in her eyes, the deep well of pain she was trying to hide. He nodded slowly. "Okay, El. Just... be safe. And be happy."

"I' ll try," she whispered, kissing his forehead. "I love you." Leaving him was the hardest thing she had ever had to do, but staying in a city that held nothing but ghosts would destroy her.

The next day, she met with the lawyer one last time. She signed the final papers, officially relinquishing the name Sterling and reverting to Vance. She refused all the properties and stocks Alexander had offered, taking only a single lump sum, enough to start over somewhere far away. She didn' t want anything that tied her to him.

Back at the grand mansion that was no longer her home, she began the final purge. The house manager, a kind woman who had always been loyal to her, watched with sad eyes as Eleanor systematically went through the house. She packed a single suitcase with her plainest clothes and her brother' s photograph. Everything else, she piled in the center of the vast, marble-floored living room.

Ten years of memories went onto the pyre. The designer gowns he' d bought her, the first painting she' d ever sold, the framed photos of their wedding. She added the custom-made art supplies, the rare books, and finally, the one-of-a-kind graphic novel he had made for her. She ripped out the pages one by one, her movements methodical and calm. There were no tears left to cry.

She was about to set it all ablaze when the front door opened. Alexander and Clara stood there, frozen in the doorway. They had clearly come to the house for something, not expecting to find her there. Clara' s eyes widened at the sight of the huge pile of expensive objects.

Alexander' s face was a mask of thunderous rage. "What the hell do you think you' re doing?"

Eleanor didn' t even look at him. She simply picked up a lighter.

Clara, ever the performer, rushed forward. "Eleanor, no! These things are beautiful! If you don' t want them, at least donate them." She spotted the custom-made piano in the corner, a magnificent instrument Alexander had commissioned for Eleanor' s 25th birthday. "That piano... Alexander told me you wrote your most beautiful music on it. It would be a shame to destroy it."

Alexander' s gaze shifted to the piano, and then to Clara. An idea seemed to form in his mind.

"She' s right," he said, his voice regaining its familiar tone of command. "You' re not going to destroy that piano. You' re going to leave it. Clara is a talented musician as well. It will be hers now."

He was stripping her of her past and handing it directly to her replacement. He wanted her to watch as Clara took over every aspect of her life, even her most cherished possessions. It was the ultimate act of humiliation.

Eleanor looked from the piano, to Clara' s triumphant smirk, to Alexander' s cold, demanding face. She felt a strange sense of calm. He could take the piano, he could take the house, he could take her name. He couldn't take her soul. She had already saved it.

Without a word, she dropped the lighter onto the pile of memories. The papers of the graphic novel caught first, the ink illustration of their smiling faces curling into black ash before being consumed by flames.