Chapter 3

Cecilia's POV

The red carpet outside the Met was packed—cameras, reporters, guests pressed three deep on both sides.

I stood at the edge of the crowd and watched a familiar black Bentley glide to a stop. The door opened. Elliot stepped out in a tailored suit, circled to the other side, and extended his hand like a gentleman.

The person who took it wasn't me.

It was Vivienne.

She was wearing the custom gown—the deep navy ombré piece I'd ordered two weeks ago, specifically for tonight. It had vanished from my closet two days ago. Elliot had shrugged it off: Vivienne didn't have anything to wear. You've got a closet full of clothes—just pick something else.

Now she floated down the carpet on Elliot's arm, radiant for every camera pointed her way.

Margaux stood beside them, beaming at the women around her. "This is my younger daughter, Vivienne. And that's her future brother-in-law, Elliot. They've always been so close, those two."

Future brother-in-law.

I stood at the edge of the red carpet and watched.

It's a strange thing—when disappointment piles up long enough, it stops feeling like anything at all.

I slipped around to the side entrance and walked into the venue.

As the creator of tonight's gift fragrance, Eternity, I was supposed to be seated at the main table. When I found my place card, it had been moved—reassigned to the farthest corner table, surrounded by people I'd never met.

I didn't say anything. I sat down.

Halfway through dinner, the emcee stepped up to introduce the evening's signature gift.

"This fragrance was crafted around notes of fir and cedarwood—a scent of resilience, of quiet strength. Please join me in welcoming its creator—"

I started to push back my chair.

"—Mr. Elliot Merritt and Miss Vivienne Caldwell!"

The room broke into applause.

I went still.

Elliot walked to the stage holding Vivienne's hand. He took the microphone and smiled out at the crowd. "The inspiration behind Eternity was Vivienne. She may seem fragile, but she has a strength most people never see. This fragrance isn't just a perfume—it's a testament to her fight."

A wave of soft gasps rippled through the room. Margaux dabbed at her eyes.

I sat in my dim corner and picked up my champagne.

Elliot couldn't tell the top notes from the base if his life depended on it. But here he was, handing my work to someone else like it cost him nothing.

I'd spent months on that formula. Pulled all-nighters in the lab. The chemical burns from extracting the fir resin had left scars on my forearms that were still there.

Now it was someone else's story.

I excused myself during the second course. At the bathroom mirror, I was touching up my lipstick when the door swung open behind me.

Vivienne.

The moment she saw we were alone, the fragile act dropped.

She stepped up to the sink beside me and took her time washing her hands.

"Big night for my perfume, huh?" She caught my eyes in the mirror, one corner of her mouth curling up. "Thanks for that."

"That's my work." I capped my lipstick and slipped it into my bag. "I never gave it to you."

"Elliot says it's mine." She reached into her clutch, pulled out her phone, and held the screen up in front of me. "So it's mine."

It was a screenshot of their text thread.

Vivienne: Elliot, is Cecilia mad? I wore her dress and took her moment tonight. She must hate me.

Elliot: Forget her. Cecilia's always been jealous of you—that's her problem. You deserve to be happy. Consider the perfume a gift from me.

"You see that?" Her voice dropped—all silk and venom. "You never mattered here, Cecilia. Not to him, not to anyone. Did you really think seven years of waiting makes you a Merritt? All I have to do is snap my fingers and he'd drop you. You know that."

I looked at her face—bright with the specific pleasure of twisting the knife—and felt something unexpected.

Not pain. Not anger.

Pity.

Not for myself. For Elliot.

He thought he was protecting a fragile little bird. What he actually had was something that would drain him empty and smile while doing it.

"You know what? You're right." I didn't argue. I just smiled.

That stopped her cold. She hadn't expected that.

"He's all yours." I pulled a paper towel from the dispenser and dried my hands. "I already called off the wedding. So honestly? You're not taking anything from me. You're just taking out my trash."

I walked out and left her standing there, all that smugness gone.

Back in the main hall, I didn't look for Elliot. I didn't acknowledge Margaux's sharp stare from across the room.

I walked straight out of the museum.

The night air hit cold and sharp. I pulled out my phone, confirmed tomorrow's flight to Paris—on time—then opened my banking app.

Every transfer Elliot had made over the years—the "living expenses," the "don't worry about it" deposits, all of it—I sent back. Every single dollar, down to the cent.

Then I checked the time.

Twenty-four hours.

In twenty-four hours, I'd be free.