Chapter 2

"The program still has openings," Jason said over the phone, his voice a calm anchor.

"And they'd consider Coleton?" I asked, hope a fragile thing in my chest.

"With his talent? Absolutely. I can get the application pushed through."

"Will he go?" Jason asked gently.

I took a deep breath. "He will. Because I'm going with him. And we're not coming back."

There was a pause on the other end. "Alana... did Declan..."

I could hear the worry in his voice. He' d warned me about Declan from the beginning. He saw the possessiveness I had mistaken for love. He' d pointed out the unhealthy dynamic with Faye, how Declan treated her less like a sister and more like an obsession.

I had defended Declan, blinded by what I thought was love. I told Jason he just didn't understand.

"Are you two fighting?" Jason asked, his tone shifting to that of a concerned older brother. "Is this just a spat?"

"We're not getting married, Jason," I said, my voice flat.

There was too much to explain. The cruelty, the betrayal, the shattered pieces of my life. It was too heavy for a phone call.

"Okay," he said, sensing my fragility. "Okay, Alana. Whatever you need. I'm here. I'll support you."

The relief was so immense it almost brought me to my knees.

The immigration paperwork would take time. A few weeks, Jason said. In the meantime, I had to play my part. I had to go back to Declan' s house and pretend that everything was fine, that I had been taught my lesson.

That evening, a message from Declan popped up on my phone. Wear the silver gown I had made for you. We' re attending a charity gala tonight.

It was like nothing had happened. Like my brother wasn't lying in a hospital bed with shattered hands because of him.

I went to the walk-in closet, a space larger than my first apartment, and carefully took out the shimmering silver dress. It was beautiful, a testament to his once-lavish affection.

"Trying to win him back already?"

I turned. Faye was leaning against the doorframe, a smirk on her face.

I said nothing, turning my back to her and holding the dress against myself. Ignoring her was the only power I had left.

Her smirk vanished, replaced by a flash of anger. "Don't you dare ignore me."

Before I could react, she snatched the glass of red wine from a nearby table and deliberately poured it down the front of the silver gown. The dark liquid bloomed across the delicate fabric like a grotesque flower.

I gasped, my stomach dropping. The dress was a custom piece. Irreplaceable. Declan would be furious.

"What was that noise?"

Declan' s voice echoed from the hallway. He walked in, his eyes taking in the scene.

Faye' s expression transformed in an instant. Her face crumpled, tears welling in her eyes as she looked at her hand, now empty. "Oh, Alana, I'm so sorry! You startled me when you turned, and I bumped your hand... I didn't mean to."

I opened my mouth to defend myself, to expose the lie. "She did it on-"

"Enough!" Declan' s voice was sharp, cutting me off. His glare was icy. "Just go change. You're making a scene."

He turned to Faye, his expression softening instantly. He gently took her arm. "It's okay, little bird. It was an accident. Don' t cry."

He was called away by a phone call then, but before he left, he shot me a warning look. Don't cause any more trouble.

I stood there, the ruined dress in my hands, my heart a leaden weight in my chest. I looked at Faye, who had dropped the act now that we were alone.

"Why?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper. "I already agreed to your terms. Why keep doing this?"

A cruel smile played on her lips. "Because it' s fun. And because I want to see you suffer." She leaned in, her voice a venomous whisper. "I'll be at the gala tonight, too. Declan insisted. There's a special surprise planned. You won't want to miss it."

I didn' t know what she meant, but a sense of dread washed over me. I had to be careful. I just had to survive a few more weeks.

At the gala, I stood on the stage next to Declan, playing the part of the perfect fiancée. The lights were bright, the crowd a sea of glittering jewels and fake smiles.

The auctioneer, a man with a booming voice, announced a special, final item. "And now, for a truly unique prize, one that money can' t usually buy!"

A spotlight swung across the room, and then it stopped, bathing me in its harsh, white light.

The massive screen behind the stage, which had been displaying images of the charity' s work, flickered. My own face appeared, smiling and serene, under the words: "An Evening with Alana Parker."

The blood drained from my face.

The room was silent for a beat, then erupted in confused murmurs.

I was the auction item.