Chapter 3

A few days later, Liam came home with a gift. It was a beautiful, expensive bracelet.

"For you," he said, holding it out. "For being so understanding the other night."

It was a guilt gift. A payment for my good behavior. I let him fasten it around my wrist, the cold metal feeling like another shackle. "Thank you, Liam. It's beautiful."

He seemed pleased, his guilt assuaged. "I'm taking Scarlett to dinner at The Grand Oak on Friday. It's her favorite place."

This was my chance. "That's wonderful," I said, my voice full of false sincerity. "But Liam, that bracelet... it's a bit much for me. I think it would look much better on someone like Scarlett. It matches her style perfectly. You should give it to her."

He stared at me, confused. "But I bought it for you."

"I know," I said gently. "And I appreciate it. But making you happy makes me happy. And seeing her wear it... it would be a beautiful gesture from you." I was pushing his own desire back at him, wrapping it in the language of my devotion.

He hesitated, but the seed was planted. The idea of giving Scarlett such a personal, expensive gift, and having a plausible story for it, was too tempting.

On Friday, when he left for his dinner, the bracelet was gone from my wrist and tucked into a velvet box in his pocket.

The next morning, Scarlett showed up at the penthouse unannounced. She was wearing the bracelet. She sauntered in, a triumphant smirk on her face.

"Liam's not here," I said calmly, not looking up from my canvas.

"I know," she said, running her hand, the one with the bracelet, along the back of the sofa. "I just came to see you." She held up her wrist. "Liam gave me this. He said you thought it would suit me better. How very... generous of you."

The implication was clear: I win. He chooses me.

"It does suit you," I said, my voice even.

Her smile faltered. She had expected me to be angry, to cry, to make a scene. My calm unnerved her. She walked closer, examining the painting I was working on. It was another piece inspired by her, this time a more abstract representation of her energy, a swirl of fiery reds and bold golds.

"You're obsessed with me, aren't you?" she asked, her voice a low taunt.

"I'm an artist," I replied. "I paint what inspires me."

This seemed to infuriate her more than any outburst would have. She wanted a fight, and I was refusing to give her one. Liam came home then, and his face lit up when he saw Scarlett. He rushed to her side, completely ignoring me.

"Scarlett! What a surprise."

"I just came to thank you again for the lovely dinner," she said, leaning into him. "And for this." She flashed the bracelet.

Liam looked from her to me, a flicker of anxiety in his eyes. He was worried I would cause a problem. When I just smiled serenely, relief washed over his face. He became bolder, more attentive to Scarlett. He offered her a drink, led her to the couch, his hand lingering on her back. He was completely absorbed in her, lost in the world I had so carefully constructed. He didn't notice me at all, sitting in the corner, painting my masterpiece of manipulation. The air was thick with their flirtation, and I just kept adding strokes of color to the canvas, each one a step closer to my freedom.