Chapter 4
Elara
"Well, well. Look what we have here."
The voice was silk over razors.
I looked up.
Sloane Kennedy-Vane stood in front of me, designer sunglasses perched on her head, a cream Hermès coat draped over her shoulders. She looked like she'd stepped out of a fashion magazine.
Behind her: two men in dark suits. Security. Or worse.
"Give me the papers, Elara."
My fingers tightened on the envelope. "No."
"That wasn't a request."
She nodded. One of the men stepped forward—fast, professional—and snatched the envelope from my hands before I could react.
"No! Give that back!"
Sloane took the envelope, pulled out the DNA results, and scanned them with an expression of mild amusement.
"Fascinating. Ethan really outdid himself this time." She looked at me, something like pity in her eyes. "Let me guess. He told you he had proof Alexei wasn't Julian's son. Offered to help you get revenge. Made you believe you finally had a weapon."
My blood went cold.
"How did you—"
"Because Ethan is my ex-boyfriend." Sloane's voice was casual, as if discussing the weather. "We dated years ago. Before Julian. Before everything. And he never quite got over it."
She examined her manicured nails.
"When I chose Julian—when I chose the life I deserved—Ethan took it rather personally. He's been looking for ways to get back together with me ever since."
"The DNA test is real," I said, my voice shaking. "Those results—"
"Oh, I'm sure the results are real. Ethan is nothing if not thorough." Sloane smiled. "But here's what you don't understand, Elara. It doesn't matter."
"How can it not matter? Julian isn't—"
"Julian is whoever I say he is." Sloane's voice cut like glass. "As for Alexei's biological father? That's my business. And frankly, it could be anyone. Maybe it's Julian. Maybe it's Ethan. Maybe it's someone else entirely."
She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper.
"The beauty of being Sloane Kennedy-Vane is that I get to decide. The narrative is mine to control. And right now, Julian believes Alexei is his son. He loves that boy. He'd die for that boy. And that's all that matters."
"You're lying to him—"
"I'm protecting my family." Sloane straightened. "Ethan wanted to destroy that. He wanted to use you as his weapon because he's still pathetically in love with me. Because he can't accept that I chose someone better."
She pulled out her phone, showed me a text conversation.
Sloane: Ethan, I know what you're planning. Please don't do this.
Sloane: I never meant to hurt you. But this won't change anything. It will only destroy innocent people.
Sloane: If you ever cared about me at all... please stop.
The timestamps showed this morning. 6:47 AM.
"I called him this morning," Sloane said softly. "Reminded him of what we once meant to each other. Asked him to walk away. To let go." She smiled. "And thank God he listened. Otherwise this could have gotten very messy."
"You manipulated him—"
"I appealed to the part of him that still loves me. The part that knows, deep down, that I made the right choice." Sloane's eyes hardened. "Ethan isn't Alexei's father, Elara. Not in any way that matters. He's just a bitter ex trying to sabotage my happiness."
"Then why didn't he show up? Why did he abandon—"
"Because I convinced him that destroying my marriage wouldn't win me back. That it would only hurt an innocent child. That maybe, just maybe, he should let me be happy." Sloane tucked her phone away. "I'm actually grateful I made that call. Saved us all a lot of trouble."
She held up the DNA results.
"These papers? They mean nothing. Even if they're accurate—which I'm not confirming—they prove nothing except that Ethan is desperate enough to drag you into his delusions."
"The timeline doesn't match. You were pregnant before you and Julian went public—"
"We were together privately long before we went public. But of course Ethan didn't tell you that part, did he?" Sloane's voice dripped with condescension. "He gave you just enough truth to make his lies believable."
She paused, her expression shifting to something almost gentle.
"You know what the saddest part is, Elara? You actually thought this would work. You thought some DNA test would be enough to destroy the Vane family." She laughed—soft, pitying. "You lost your own child because you couldn't protect her. And now you want to come after mine?"
The words hit like a physical blow.
"Lily died because you were deemed unfit. Because even the court—even strangers—could see you weren't capable of being a mother." Sloane's voice was almost kind now, which made it worse. "And instead of accepting that, instead of living with your failure, you're trying to drag everyone else down with you."
Tears streamed down my face.
"You're pathetic, Elara. A pathetic, broken woman who can't let go." Sloane handed the papers to one of her security guards. "Do it."
He produced a lighter. Flicked it open. Set the DNA results on fire.
I watched them burn. Smoke curling into the cold air. My last piece of evidence turning to ash.
Just like Lily had.
"Delete the photos on your phone," Sloane said quietly. "Now. While I watch."
My hands trembled as I pulled out my phone. The security guards shifted closer.
I looked at the photos of the DNA results. My last proof. My last hope.
Slowly, I deleted them.
One by one.
Until there was nothing left.
"Good girl." Sloane's voice was almost tender. "See? That wasn't so hard."
She started to turn away, then paused.
"Oh, and Elara? If I ever see you near my family again—near Julian, near Alexei, near any of us—I won't be this merciful." Her eyes went cold. "I'll make sure you're committed. Permanently. And this time, there won't be any release date."
She walked away, her security flanking her like wolves.
I sat on that bench for a long time after they left.
Ethan had abandoned me. Used me. Given me just enough hope to make the fall more devastating.
And now I had nothing.
Again.
The Glass House stood at the end of Hampton Beach—all transparent walls and merciless exposure. Julian had built it years ago, during my pregnancy. Called it a "recuperation retreat."
The truth: a fishbowl where every moment of my captivity had been visible. Observed. Controlled.
Now it blazed with light. I could see through the windows—construction crews preparing it for renovation. Sloane had mentioned it in an interview last week. Her "dream beach house" where she and Julian would spend summers with Alexei.
My prison, repurposed for her paradise.
I didn't look at it long.
I walked to the water's edge, Lily's urn clutched against my chest. The ocean stretched endlessly before me—dark, cold, indifferent.
I pulled the bottle of pills from my pocket. The anti-anxiety medication I'd been prescribed after they took Lily away. Sixty pills. I'd never taken a single one.
I unscrewed the cap. Poured the white tablets into my palm.
For a moment, I hesitated.
Thought about the photos I'd deleted. About Ethan, wherever he was, probably already forgetting I existed. About Sloane's pitying smile and her casual cruelty.
About Julian, who would never know—would never care—that I'd died.
"You disgust me, Elara."
I swallowed the first handful of pills. Then another. And another.
They went down bitter and chemical, but I kept going until the bottle was empty.
Then I walked into the waves.
The water hit my ankles. My knees. My waist. So cold it felt like burning, like my body was being erased one inch at a time.
With each step deeper, I whispered to the urn in my arms:
"Don't be scared, Lily. Mama's here now."
My voice was already slurring. The pills were working fast.
"We're going somewhere without pain. Somewhere the Vanes can't reach us."
The ocean swallowed me to my shoulders. My chest. My neck.
"Somewhere we'll never be separated again."
My final conscious thought formed with perfect clarity, sharp as broken glass:
If I could do it over... I would never love you again, Julian Vane. Never let you touch me. Never give you the power to destroy us.
I would burn your whole world down.
Then darkness.
