Chapter 5

　　Elena's POV

　　"You're a madman!" I finally found my voice as despair and rage tore through me. I didn't miss the clink of my precious jewelry as it connected with the grate and disappeared forever.

　　Nor did I miss the disgusting, satisfying smirk on Lorenzo's face as he stood to his full six-foot-six height.

　　He is the devil. No, the devil would be wary of him.

　　I wanted to scream and berate him, to ruin his night as he'd ruined mine. But I was spent; he'd literally drained me. It would only be a waste of breath.

　　Better the earrings were down in that sewer with Pennywise than stuck in Lorenzo's devilish hands.

　　Without a word or glance at him, I turned and stalked back into my apartment building.

　　I forced myself not to think about everything that just happened, praying that Lorenzo wouldn't cause any more trouble. Fortunately, he didn't do anything this time.

　　The next morning arrived sooner than I had expected. Waking up refreshed, my relief quickly dissolved as guilt and shame returned, reminding me of the previous night.

　　Charles's driver was already waiting downstairs; I was heading to his private villa for my piano lesson. I dreaded facing Charles for our piano lesson, but as I made my way to the villa, I kept telling myself that everything was fine.

　　After arriving, I realized Charles wasn't at the villa today.

　　Sitting in front of the piano, I played "Starstruck" by Joyce, a popular singer in Charles's influential circle; a circle I aimed to be a permanent part of.

　　I intently focused on the music, on the way the notes filled the room, leaving no space for anything else.

　　When I finished, the silence stretched for a moment.

　　"You're getting better," The person saying this wasn't Charles, but the piano teacher he had arranged for me.

　　I kept my eyes on the keys. "Thank you."

　　"A few months ago, you were technically precise. Now that you've actually felt it, I can sense the emotion in what you just played. You've improved so quickly; Mr. Carver will definitely be very pleased."

　　I said nothing.

　　The thing is, I only started playing the piano so I could impress Charles and win his heart.

　　If he could be addicted to me, then that would be better. I don't care for my proficiency, but if the teacher says I am better, then maybe Charles will finally propose.

　　The teacher set down his notes and looked at me with that particular brightness people get when they're delivering news they consider wonderful.

　　"Mr. Carver mentioned something to me last week," he began. "He's planning a private piano recital. Just for you. He wants you to perform." He smiled. "Your dream of performing on a real stage is finally coming true."

　　I kept my expression warm and grateful.

　　Dream? I mentally scoffed.

　　Because the truth was that the piano had never been my dream.

　　If anyone were to ask me what my dream is, I'd say it's to marry Charles.

　　Three years ago, a predatory modeling agency scammed me, leaving me buried under a mountain of debt. To pay it off, I've had to juggle multiple jobs, one of which was playing the violin at a high-end restaurant.

　　My fingers were raw from relentless practice, and my feet throbbed from hours of standing. Yet, I kept a smile plastered on my face during every set, knowing that a pleasant demeanor meant better tips. And I needed all the tips I could get.

　　That was the night I had first seen Charles.

　　The perfectly tailored suit, the expensive watch, and the way the staff naturally respected him showed his immense wealth. He had a powerful impact that only that level of money could create.

　　Before Charles, I had been drowning.

　　Not just in debt, but in the kind of bone-deep loneliness that comes from having nobody.--no friends, no parents.

　　Drowning my sorrows in too much alcohol led to a string of bad decisions:Flirting with a hundred nameless men just to feel something, only to wake up in places I didn't remember reaching.

　　Every single time, I lied to myself, whispering that it would be the last.

　　Charles is my only chance to escape this life.

　　He had noticed my eyes first. Had mentioned it twice in the same evening, which, from a man like Charles, was practically a declaration.

　　I was smart enough to know that beauty alone wouldn't hold a man like Charles.

　　So I had crafted something more: a softness, a fragility that made him feel like the most capable person in any room.

　　That was how I was able to get his attention.He's been appearing at this restaurant more and more frequently. I know I'm getting closer to the success of my plan.

　　Without my asking, he paid off all my debts. He brought me to New York and settled me in a lovely apartment.

　　I will never forget the look of regret on his face when he learned I only had a high school education. Shortly after, he sponsored my enrollment in a six-month finishing school, which provided a curriculum tailored for the ultra-wealthy covering etiquette, equestrian skills, foreign languages, and even wine appreciation.

　　And of course, there was the piano. It seemed to be the centerpiece of his grooming project. As long as it kept him gratified, I was willing to master it—even though my true proficiency and passion had always belonged to the violin.

　　I was convinced he was grooming me to be his future wife because a future Mrs. Carver could not afford to be ignorant.

　　I approached every lesson with the unwavering focus of a warrior whose troop's survival was solely dependent on.

　　All of the lessons paid off. I was no longer Elena, gritty, always-in-a-hurry, wondering where my next meal would come from. I had successfully transformed into the ideal partner: patient, obedient, refined. Precisely the woman Charles desired.

　　Yet, a few years passed, and the one thing Charles hadn't done to propose. No ring, no discussion of a future. Just a comfortable, carefully managed relationship that perfectly suited him, leaving me exactly where I began: waiting, and desperate.

　　He hadn't even let me move in with him.

　　I was still in the apartment he paid for, not too far from where he worked. Just close enough to be convenient and far enough to be deniable.

　　I wasn't even sure what I was to him. Girlfriend felt like too solid a word for something he had never once confirmed out loud.

　　My phone buzzed on the piano bench beside me, bringing me back to the present.

　　I glanced at the screen. It was Charles.

　　I answered immediately.

　　"Get ready," he said, without preamble. "My driver will be there in thirty minutes. Wear the blue Valentino I got you last month," he instructed in that chilling, calm way of his. "And the earrings I brought you from Paris, wear those too."

　　The line went dead before I could respond.

　　I sat very still at the piano bench.

　　The earrings that were currently sitting at the bottom of a street drain somewhere in Manhattan.

　　I was on my feet before the thought finished forming, snatching my bag off the bench and moving for the door.

　　Thirty minutes.

　　I had thirty minutes to get home, get changed, and figure out a story that Charles would actually believe.