Chapter 17
Elora
"Lucien, listen to me. I didn't mean to mock her. I just mentioned I worked at the shop—that's all I said. She's the one who—"
"Enough." Lucien cut me off, his tone harsh. "Elora, even if you didn't mean it, you should've known better."
"Known better?" My eyes stung. "Did she know better when she wore your shirt and moved into the room you promised would be my studio?"
"Serena grew up here. She can use anything in this manor she wants."
"Lucien..." I sniffed hard. "Do you even see me as your wife?"
I searched his eyes, desperate for a flicker of hesitation in those gray depths, or even a trace of concern for me.
But Lucien didn't answer. He just looked away, his voice cold as he delivered his final verdict. "If you still think you did nothing wrong, you'll stay in this room. You're not going anywhere until you figure it out."
"Watch her."
"No! Lucien!"
The door slammed shut with a heavy click of the lock. I slid down against it until I hit the floor, tears finally spilling over.
I didn't understand. Just days ago we'd held each other. He'd let his guard down during my birthday song. Why did Serena turn him back into that untouchable ruler?
The first two days locked in that room were torture.
Every footstep in the hallway made my heart leap into my throat. I waited for the lock to turn, for Lucien to walk through that door and say, even just once, "I believe you." But he never came. Only maids bringing meals and stone-faced guards outside.
On the third day, Anthony came in looking uncomfortable, holding my phone.
"Ma'am," Anthony lowered his voice, "a Miss Claire has called several times. We told her you weren't feeling well, as Mr. Genovese instructed, but today she said if she can't reach you, she's calling the police."
My heart clenched. "What did she say?"
"Well—" Anthony hesitated. "She said Mrs. Nolan keeps asking for you.
The new therapist messed up the routine, and she tweaked her neck.
She's threatening to cancel her membership if you don't come back.
Two other regulars heard you were 'in trouble' and canceled their appointments.
Claire said she can't handle it much longer... she asked when you're coming back."
Anthony's words stunned me.
For three days I'd been trapped here like a caged animal, obsessing over Lucien's trust. And what did I get? Nothing but confinement in this gilded prison.
But outside these walls, Serenity Essence was something I'd built step by step. It was the only thing in this world that was truly mine. If I kept wasting away here, I wouldn't just lose his trust—I'd lose my business and everything I'd worked for.
If I couldn't even protect my own livelihood, what would I have left to stand on?
I had to look out for myself.
I wiped my tears and looked at Anthony. "Anthony, please tell Mr. Genovese—I'm ready to apologize to Serena."
The apology was staged in the glass conservatory. Serena reclined in a wicker chair, a cashmere blanket across her lap, her face pale. Lucien stood behind her, silent, waiting for the outcome he expected.
In that moment, the tiny flicker of hope I'd been nursing died a little more. I swallowed the weight in my chest and treated the whole thing like a necessary ritual to earn my freedom.
I walked forward and stopped three steps from Serena, bowing my head slightly.
"Serena, I wasn't careful with my words the other day. I made you uncomfortable and scared you. I'm sorry."
The words left a bitter taste on my tongue.
Serena put on her pitiful act. "Elora, don't worry about it. I know you didn't mean it. It's my fault—my body's so weak, I'm always... making everyone worry. It's all on me."
"There, there. It's settled now." Natalie came over and gently took my hand. "You've been through enough, dear."
I forced a smile at Natalie, then looked up at Lucien.
"Mr. Genovese, can I leave now? There's a problem at my shop. Claire can't handle it alone."
Lucien frowned. "You—"
"Enough, Lucien." Natalie's tone was firm. "This was a misunderstanding between two young women. You locked her in a room for three days. Elora has apologized. What more do you want?"
Lucien's jaw tightened, inch by inch.
"Anthony." He finally spoke. "Return her phone."
He didn't look at me again. Just turned and strode out of the conservatory. Watching his retreating back, my chest ached.
Something between us had broken.
When I got back to Serenity Essence, Claire threw her arms around me, sobbing. Mrs. Nolan grabbed my hand and forced a warm slice of walnut pie on me, fussing that I'd gotten too thin.
That whole day at the shop was busy and full. Sunlight streamed through the windows, and hearing my clients' contented sighs made me feel grounded again.
After closing, I sat alone in the dim shop, watching the neon lights outside. Tears slid down my cheeks.
I loved Lucien. The candles he bought me, the necklace he recovered, his steady heartbeat when he held me—I remembered it all.
But... in his world, I'd always be the one who needed correcting, who'd be doubted, who had to step aside for everyone else.
For the first time, leaving felt real.
"Send me the address. I'll drive over and pick you up."
"Maya, it's four in the morning."
"I know what time it is."
"I don't need you to pick me up." I stood in the bedroom shadows, keeping my voice low. "I have my car. I'll move things in batches."
Maya was quiet for a long moment. "Elora... you're really doing this? I thought you loved him."
"But Maya, I can't take it anymore."
"Okay." Maya sniffled. "The second floor's been waiting for you. Come whenever."
Over the next two days, I kept my regular schedule, but secretly moved a few old clothes and basic necessities to Maya's place, bit by bit.
The last time I went back to pack, I stood at the vanity for a long time.
My eyes landed on the small amber bottle in the corner—the bourbon vetiver oil.
I touched the cool glass, remembering his exhausted eyes when insomnia plagued him, his raspy breathing against my ear.
"Bastard..." I whispered, wiping away tears.
I didn't take it with me. Instead, I placed it prominently on Lucien's nightstand. Even if I was leaving, I wanted him to sleep well.
After grabbing my last box of old books, I headed down the back stairs toward the underground garage, ready to take my old car and leave for good.
The manor was strangely quiet today. The guards seemed to have been pulled elsewhere.
But when I got within six feet of my old car, I stopped cold.
Right beneath the front bumper, a horrifying dark stain spread across the concrete. The air reeked of iron.
"Natalie?"
Natalie lay on her side in the middle of that pool of blood, her silver-gray hair soaked red. My mind went blank. The box slipped from my hands, and I rushed forward.
"Natalie! Natalie!"
My hands shook as I checked for breath. She was still breathing!
I didn't even think about being scared. I yanked off my scarf, folded it thick, and pressed it gently against the wound on her head, screaming toward the empty space. "Help! Someone help! Please!"
No response. Trembling, I pulled out my phone and dialed 911, then with blood-covered fingers, frantically called Lucien.
Two rings. He picked up.
"Lucien! Get to the garage now! Natalie—"
"I'm in a meeting. Whatever it is, talk later." Lucien's voice was cold and irritated. He hadn't even listened.
The line went dead.
"Lucien! Listen to me!" I sobbed into the phone, but he was already gone.
Despair swallowed me like ice water. Natalie's blood kept seeping out. I didn't dare let go.
"AHHH!!!"
A piercing scream came from behind me.
I whipped around. Serena stood a few yards away, hand over her mouth, then started shrieking at the top of her lungs.
"It was you! You hit Natalie with your car!"
"Serena, what the hell are you talking about?"
"It was you!" Serena pointed at my old car. "Your bumper's covered in blood! You were trying to run! You hit her!"
I turned to look. On my car's bumper—fresh, dark red streaks.
Ice shot up my spine.
"Someone help! Elora ran over Natalie with her car!" Serena screamed as she ran.
Seconds later, the doors burst open. Guards stormed in, guns drawn and aimed at me.
The crowd parted. Lucien strode through. When he saw Natalie lying in that pool of blood, his face went ash-gray.
He slowly raised his head and looked at me—kneeling there, covered in blood.
Those gray eyes held nothing but fury, disappointment, and rage.