Chapter 2

Elara Vance POV

I drank the milk. The sickly sweet taste slid down my throat, but it felt like swallowing broken glass, cutting my insides until they bled.

The next morning, Julian said he had an important international meeting at his company. Before leaving, he pressed a lingering good morning kiss to my lips.

I watched his car drive out of the villa, then turned and hailed a cab, following him.

The car didn't head to the Reed Group building but drove into New York's most secluded high-end rehabilitation center in the suburbs.

I stood at the end of the long corridor, peering through the glass panel on the patient room door.

Chloe sat in a wheelchair, pale but still beautiful.

And Julian, who was always composed and superior in front of me, was now kneeling before Chloe's wheelchair.

He wasn't wearing his usual impeccably tailored suit jacket; his tie was slightly loosened, and his eyes showed deep fatigue and unconcealed pain.

"Chloe, are you feeling better today?" His voice was hoarse, with a slight tremor.

Chloe didn't speak, just stared blankly out the window.

Julian took her lifeless hand, pressing it to his cheek, his eyes reddening. "Soon, Chloe, just a few more days. I've completely broken Elara Vance's will. Tomorrow is her comeback concert; I'll make her atone for all the suffering you endured, in front of the whole world."

"I'll ruin her reputation, make her taste the despair you went through."

I stood outside the door, my nails digging deep into my palms. Blood dripped from between my fingers onto the pristine white tiles, yet I felt no pain.

So, this was the real Julian.

In front of me, he was a perfectly executed program, every glance, every movement, a "best solution" derived from psychological analysis. His love for me was flawless, yet utterly devoid of warmth.

But in front of Chloe, he felt pain, fatigue, and lost control. This was the love of a living, breathing person.

I remembered Julian once telling me, "Elara, you don't need to grow up around me. I'll always be your safe harbor."

It turned out he wasn't trying to protect me; he was trying to clip my wings, drain my blood, and turn me into a soulless puppet, only to effortlessly tear me apart at the very end.

I didn't rush in to confront him, nor did I cry hysterically.

Like a ghost, I turned and left the rehabilitation center.

Back in the villa Julian called our "love nest," I looked around.

Our massive wedding photo, intimately embracing, hung on the wall. The roses he’d clipped for me that morning sat on the table. The air still carried the calming scent he’d specially blended for me.

Everything here was a custom-made cage for me.

My phone suddenly vibrated. It was a message from Julian.

"Darling, this meeting is so boring. All I can think about is you. Are you ready for tomorrow's concert? Don't be nervous, I'll be in the audience with you."

I stared at the loving message on the screen, then suddenly chuckled.

As I laughed, tears finally streamed down my face.

For tomorrow's fifth anniversary, I had secretly rehabilitated for six months, enduring excruciating pain in my fingers, just to pick up the cello again. I had planned to surprise him on stage, to show him that I was still the Elara Vance who could stand by his side.

But it turned out he had already set the trap, waiting for me to fall into it.

My fingers trembling, I typed a reply: "Okay."

Julian, since you want to see me shattered into a million pieces, then I will grant your wish and play out this final act with you.