Chapter 4

Time stopped. I stood completely still, my back to him, the burner phone clutched in my hand. Every muscle in my body screamed at me to run, but I was frozen.

"Answer me," Christian said, his voice low and dangerous. He was only a few feet away. I could feel his presence, his anger.

Just as he reached out to grab my shoulder, Isabelle's voice floated from the doorway.

"Christian? What's taking so long? Leo wants you to read him a story."

He hesitated. His hand stopped mid-air.

"Just a second," he called back, his eyes still fixed on me. "There's someone out here."

He squinted, trying to make out my features in the gloom. I kept my head down, my face angled away. The cheap hoodie and baseball cap were my only shield.

"This is private property," he snapped at me. His tone was dismissive, arrogant. He didn't see his wife. He saw a nuisance. A trespasser.

"Get out of here. Now," he commanded.

I didn't need to be told twice. I slowly backed away, never turning to face him, and slipped back into the darkness of the trees.

He watched me for a second, then shook his head, annoyed. He grabbed his jacket, slid the dummy phone into his pocket without a second glance, and went back inside. The door closed, shutting me out of the life that had been stolen from me.

I watched him through the glass. He walked into the living room, kissed Leo on the head, and settled into an armchair, pulling the boy onto his lap. He belonged there.

I remembered a conversation we had, years ago, late at night in our bed. "I can't wait to have a family with you, Elara," he had whispered. "A real family. A home."

He already had one. He had it all along.

The panic that had frozen me moments before melted away, replaced by something hard and cold. It was the clarity of absolute loss. I made my way back to the rental car, my steps steady, my mind clear.

The burner phone in my pocket was a ticking bomb.

I drove not home, but to a quiet bar on the other side of the city. I sat in a dark corner and called the one person I could trust. The one person who existed outside the toxic world of the Vances. My oldest friend.

"Jonah Kent," he answered, his voice calm and steady.

"Jonah, it's me," I said, my voice cracking for the first time. "I need you. Not as a friend. As a lawyer. I want to burn it all down."

An hour later, I was in his office. He listened without interruption as I laid out the whole sordid story. I placed the encrypted flash drive and the burner phone on his desk. He stared at them, his face a grim mask.

"They were going to brand you as mentally unstable," he said, his voice filled with a quiet rage I'd never heard from him before. "To protect him."

"They still will," I said. "That's their game. But I'm changing the rules."

I spent the next two hours with him, signing papers. A legal firewall. A new identity. Power of attorney. I was systematically dismantling Elara Vance. With every signature, I felt lighter.

When I finally got home, Christian was there. He rushed to me, his face a caricature of concern. "Where have you been? I was so worried."

"Just needed to clear my head," I said, playing the part of the overwrought wife. "The campaign is getting to me."

He held me, and I let him. I felt nothing but the cold weight of the secrets I now carried.

Two days later, the invitation arrived. A formal dinner at my father's penthouse. A "small family gathering" to celebrate our imminent victory in the primary.

Jonah called me minutes after I got the email. "I have the final piece, Elara. I decrypted the burner. There's a recorded call with a private investigator."

I listened, my heart turning to stone. They had hired someone to dig into my mother's medical history, to find doctors willing to testify about my "genetic predisposition to emotional breakdowns." They were planning to use the dinner tonight. To provoke a reaction. To have a doctor on call to "help" me. It was a trap, designed to neutralize me completely.

I drove back to Jonah's office. He had the last document ready. A legal name change.

"You're sure about this?" he asked gently.

I picked up the pen and looked at the name on the paper. Elara Vance. It looked like a stranger's name. A name on a tombstone.

"I'm sure," I said, and I signed it.

The signature was firm. Alex. Just Alex.

That evening, I dressed for the fundraiser. I chose a simple, elegant black dress. A dress for a funeral.

They were all there. My father, beaming with pride. Gwyn, a gracious hostess. And Christian, my handsome, treacherous husband.

The air was thick with unspoken tension. They were watching me, waiting for me to crack.

Gwyn glided over to me, a cocktail in her hand. It was a beautiful, shimmering pink drink.

"You look a little tense, darling," she said, her smile not reaching her cold eyes. "I had the bartender make you something special. It will calm your nerves."

I looked at the drink. I knew it was drugged. This was it. The first move in their final game.

My phone vibrated in my clutch. A text from Jonah.

"It's done. The transfers are complete. You are legally and financially free. Fly, Alex. Fly."

A slow smile spread across my face. I took the glass from Gwyn's hand. I looked from her to my father, and then to Christian. I held their gazes, letting them see the smile in my eyes.

Then, I raised the glass to my lips and drank it all. Every last drop.

Their game was over.

Mine was just beginning.