Chapter 3

Elara POV:

The phone call from Brooks came an hour later. The sound of his ringtone, a song I once loved, made my stomach clench.

"Elara," he said, his voice strained. He was trying for casual, but the guilt was a rough edge under the surface. "I... I wanted to apologize about earlier. The flowers... it was a mistake. I was out of line."

"It's fine," I said, my voice as empty as the closets in my room.

"No, it's not. I want to make it up to you. There's a charity auction tonight at the Plaza. A big deal. Get dressed. My driver will be there in an hour." It wasn't an invitation; it was a command. A summons.

Before I could refuse, I heard her voice in the background, weak and petulant. "Brooks, darling, my head hurts. Can you read to me?"

"Of course, baby," he murmured, his tone shifting instantly to one of doting tenderness. "I'll be right there." To me, he said, "I have to go," and hung up.

I was a mess to be cleaned up, an obligation to be fulfilled before he could return to his true purpose.

The driver, a man who had ferried me to countless events where I stood silently by Brooks's side, met me at the door. He didn't seem surprised that I carried nothing but a small clutch.

The ballroom at the Plaza was a sea of shimmering gowns and black tuxedos. And in the center of it all, like a king holding court, was Brooks. Candice was seated beside him, looking pale but radiant in a silver dress that shimmered under the chandeliers. He was leaning in close, adjusting the blanket around her shoulders, his attention so absolute that the rest of the world faded away.

I heard the whispers from the tables nearby.

"Look at them. He's so devoted."

"They say he hasn't left her side."

"That's true love, right there."

The words were like tiny shards of ice, piercing the fragile numbness I had wrapped around myself.

Candice spotted me then, her eyes, usually sharp with malice, widening in faux surprise. "Elara! You came!" she called out, her voice just loud enough for the surrounding tables to hear. She beckoned me over as if I were a servant.

I walked toward them, my steps feeling heavy and slow.

"Thank you so much for... everything," she said, her smile not reaching her eyes. She gestured to the empty seat on her other side, a clear signal of my place in this tableau. "Come, sit with us. We're about to bid on the centerpiece item. A private island in the Maldives."

I was charity. A stray dog she was magnanimously allowing to sit at the table.

Brooks and Candice were a unit, their heads bent together over the auction catalog, his arm resting possessively on the back of her chair. He was laughing at something she whispered, a deep, genuine laugh I hadn't heard in months.

The bidding started. Brooks raised his paddle without hesitation, his voice firm and clear. "Fifty million."

The room fell silent. He bought the island for her, a casual display of wealth that was really a declaration of love.

"Oh, Brooks," Candice cooed, "You shouldn't have." But her eyes danced with triumph. Then, as an afterthought, she turned to him. "Darling, you should get something for Elara, too. As a thank you."

Brooks glanced at me, his focus already drifting. He flagged down a waiter carrying a tray of jewelry from a silent auction. Without looking closely, he picked up a simple diamond necklace. "This one," he said, handing it to me. It was pretty, but it felt like a tip. A consolation prize.

The pain was a dull, constant ache now, something I was learning to live with, like a chronic illness.

Dinner was an exercise in torture. Brooks personally selected every dish for Candice, consulting with the chef about her dietary needs, making sure everything was to her liking.

For me, he just ordered the salmon. The same dish he ordered for me at every event, without ever asking.

He' d forgotten. In the two years I had lived with him, shared his bed, he had forgotten that I was allergic to salmon.

The first bite felt like swallowing fire. My throat began to tighten, my skin breaking out in angry, red hives. I gasped, my hand flying to my neck.

"Elara?" Brooks asked, his brow furrowed in annoyance at the interruption.

"The salmon," I choked out. "I'm allergic."

The color drained from his face. For a split second, I saw panic, the same panic he'd shown when he thought Candice was in danger. He started to stand, to call for help.

But Candice was faster. She placed a delicate hand on his arm. "Brooks, don't make a scene," she hissed, her voice low. "It's just a mild reaction. I have an antihistamine in my purse. I'll take her to the ladies' room."

She smiled graciously at him, then looped her arm through mine, her grip surprisingly strong. "Come on, dear," she said, her voice dripping with false sympathy as she led me away from the table.

The moment the heavy, soundproofed door of the restroom swung shut behind us, her demeanor changed. The mask of concern fell away, revealing the raw, ugly jealousy beneath.

She shoved me against the marble countertop, hard. My head hit the edge of the sink with a sickening crack. Stars exploded behind my eyes, and the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth.

"You really think you can compete with me?" she spat, her face twisted with contempt. "He loves me. He has always loved me. You are nothing. A cheap copy. A placeholder."

She leaned in, her voice a venomous whisper. "He's only keeping you around out of pity. Because you're a pathetic little orphan with nowhere else to go. But your time is up. Leave. Get out of his life, or I will make you wish you were never born."

My head was spinning, my throat closing up. "I will," I managed to rasp, the words barely audible. "I'll leave."

She laughed, a cruel, sharp sound. "Oh, you will. But first, you're going to see just how little you mean to him. You're going to watch him choose me, over and over again, until it's burned into your worthless soul."

A sudden, terrifying premonition washed over me. She wasn't just making a threat. She was making a promise.