I looked up at him, a flicker of genuine bewilderment in my eyes. “This isn’t the first time I’ve tried to leave you, George. Is there any
point in saying these things?”
“Do you really think,” I asked, my voice even, “that I’m still madly in love with you?”
+
His face darkened, as if I’d struck a nerve. When we first met, I had loved him. He was handsome, the gilded son of a powerful fam- ily. The earnest, pure persona he had adopted to win me over was incredibly charming.
But he had overlooked one crucial fact: no sane person remains devoted to their abuser.
Less than a year into our “marriage,” I had seen the truth. George wasn’t just a jerk. He was human garbage. That’s why I had asked for a divorce in our second year together. Unfortunately, he was even worse than I had imagined. He got me pregnant. For my child, I swallowed all my resentment and despair.
“Elara, whether you love me or not, you need to understand one thing,” he snarled, his voice low and dangerous. “You will never
leave me. Not unless I’m dead.”
It was the same old threat. When he saw my calm expression, his brow furrowed. “What, you don’t believe me?”
I shook my head. Of course I believed him. Why else would I have endured so many years?
“George, I’m thirty years old now.”
He frowned, not understanding my point.
I stood up, stepping out of his shadow. He stared at me, a flicker of confusion in his eyes. He was only just now realizing that I was far more resilient than he had ever given me credit for. Port Sterling was his kingdom; he could find me wherever I went. That’s wity I hadn’t bothered to hide, checking into the most luxurious hotel in the city center.
Through the floor–to–ceiling windows, the city glittered, a dazzling, seductive trap,
“At thirty,” I said, “I’ve gone from being an orphan from a dirt–poor town to the so–called lady of a wealthy house. And even though you and your family have humiliated me, even though I’ve endured countless slights and sneers I have to admit, my life has been
quite spectacular.”
Chapter 2
11.55
I turned, my back to the city lights, and smiled at him, a smile as bright and fearless as the one I’d had when we first met.
“You can’t keep me trapped, George.”
He suddenly laughed, a dark, menacing sound. “And what about our son?” he sneered. “Are you abandoning him too?”
Our son. “Yes, we do have a child.”
I unconsciously rubbed the back of my hand, where a small, round scar remained. It was from two years ago, the first time I was allowed to see Leo after he’d been taken. I remember it had been raining for weeks, a dreary, oppressive dampness hanging over the city. But that day, the sun came out. The sky was a brilliant blue, the air was warm. My mood was just as bright.
I was ecstatic. I arrived at the estate early and waited for three hours before someone finally opened the gate. The butler’s expres-
sion was sour, but I didn’t care. All I could think about was seeing my son.
I waited in the grand living room for what felt like an eternity. Finally, as the clock struck noon, George’s mother appeared, holding a
three–year–old Leo.
The sight of his small, innocent face made my eyes instantly well up. This was the child I had endured everything for. The child who
was taken from me at birth.
George’s mother greeted me with her usual scorn. “If George hadn’t insisted, I would never let a woman as tainted as you near my
grandson. You remember this: Leo is a Cannon. Being allowed to see him is a gift. Behave yourself, and don’t get any ideas. Do you
understand?”
For my son’s sake, I didn’t argue. I just nodded.
Satisfied, she set the boy down. It was lunchtime, and a maid brought Leo’s meal. I quickly took the bowl from her, then looked
cautiously at George’s mother. I wanted to feed him myself. She scowled but didn’t object.
With her silent permission, I knelt down, my heart pounding with excitement, eager to finally be close to him.
But he didn’t know me.
Seeing a stranger approach, his little face crumpled, and he burst into tears. I tried to soothe him, but he thrashed his arms, knock-
ing the bowl from my hands. It shattered on the floor, a shard of porcelain slicing open my hand.
! sighed and pulled a small silver locket from my bag. I’d bought it for Leo on the day he turned one month old, using money I’d sav-
ed from part–time jobs in college. It had nothing to do with the Cannons.
“I bought this for him years ago,” I said, holding it out to George. “I always wanted to give it to him, but I was afraid your mother
would disapprove. Could you give it to him for me? He can keep it, or not. He can throw it away, I don’t mind.”
George didn’t take it. His voice was hoarse. “I don’t have time for this. If you want to give it to him, give it to him yourself. Don’t
forget he’s your son too.”
I placed the locket gently on the coffee table and shook my head. “It’s better not to.”
‘Leo… he doesn’t like me. Just like you.”
