Chapter 2
929 Words
The Bet
The night air was longer than the courthouse steps had been that morning.
Elara walked fast, heels clicking like gunshots against the pavement. Her mind replayed the smirk on Isla’s face and the way Dorian acted.
Her necklace was gone.
She’d told him once, on one of the rare nights they’d stayed up late together, her head on his shoulder, that her mother’s pendant was the only thing she would never part with.
He had kissed her hair and murmured something she couldn’t remember now. Maybe it hadn’t meant anything to him but the ache in her chest told her it had meant everything to her.
A black car pulled up beside her. She didn’t need to look to know whose it was.
The window slid down.
“Get in,” Dorian said.
She kept walking.
“Elara.” His voice lowered, the way it always did when he wanted to make her stop without raising it. “It’s late.”
She stopped, but only to turn and face him. “Go back to your party. I'm tired.”
His eyes narrowed. He didn’t like being dismissed. “You’re limping.”
“Observation skills on point as always,” she said flatly, then turned and kept moving.
The car rolled forward to match her pace. Isla’s face appeared in the back seat window, all sugar and venom. “Be careful, Elara. You might fall again.”
Elara didn’t answer. She didn’t trust her voice not to break.
The car finally pulled away, the taillights disappearing into the city.
Oh, she was so wrong about him.
When she reached her apartment, Lydia was waiting by the door.
“You weren’t answering your phone,” Lydia said, concern etched into her features. “I saw the photos online.”
“What photos?”
Lydia hesitated before showing her screen.
A shot of Dorian with his arm around Isla at the Boardman bar, their heads tilted close like they were sharing a secret. In the background, blurred but recognizable, was Elara, walking away and it was captioned, “another split for the Ashworths? Socialite Isla Rowe back in the picture.”
The photo had already been shared over three thousand times.
Elara handed the phone back without comment. She wasn’t surprised. Isla had always known exactly when and where to be photographed.
---
The next morning, she was woken by the sound of her phone buzzing.
Unknown number.
She answered anyway.
“Elara Vance?” The voice was male, deep. “We need to talk about the Seabreeze project.”
Her pulse spiked. The Seabreeze project was her biggest architectural bid yet, it worth millions if she landed it.
“I’m listening.”
“The Ashworth Corporation is reviewing its partnerships,” the voice said smoothly. “We’re considering pulling your firm’s contract unless… things with Mr. Ashworth are resolved.”
Her fingers tightened on the phone. “That’s blackmail.”
“It’s business,” the man replied before ending the call.
She stared at the phone. This was Dorian’s doing. He’d kept his promise without saying it aloud: if she wanted to keep her career intact, she’d have to keep him too.
“f**k! f**k you Dorian!”
By noon, she was standing in front of the Ashworth Tower, with a suitcase in her hand.
Dorian was in his office when she walked in without knocking.
He didn’t look up from the document he was signing. “I thought you wanted your freedom.”
“I do,” she said, setting the suitcase down. “But I also want my career.”
His pen stilled. Finally, his eyes lifted to hers, with a dark and unreadable expression. “You think I’d sabotage your work?”
“You already did.”
He leaned back in his chair, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. “No. I reminded our partners that Ashworth Corporation doesn’t work with unstable variables. They came to their own conclusion.”
Her nails dug into her palms. “So this is about control.”
“It’s about loyalty,” he said softly, almost too softly. “Something you’ve been struggling with lately.”
She laughed once, bitter. “Loyalty goes both ways, Dorian. You should try it sometime.”
The muscle in his jaw flexed, but he said nothing.
“You can't break me, Dorian.” With that said she turned around and found her way out.
When she left his office, Isla was waiting in the lobby, leaning casually against the reception desk.
“You dropped this,” Isla said, holding out a familiar chain.
Elara’s breath caught.
Her mother’s necklace.
She snatched it back. “Where did you get…”
Isla’s smile was razor sharp. “It was on Dorian's desk. Guess he didn’t really give it to me after all.”
Elara froze. “What?”
Isla tilted her head. “Maybe he kept it. Maybe he was going to give it back to you. Maybe he was waiting for my birthday Or maybe he just didn’t want anyone else to have it. Who knows? I might be giving this back to you but I'm never going to give up Dorian. He's mine.”
Before Elara could respond, Isla walked away, her heels clicking on marble like applause.
---
This time, when Elara got home, she locked the door and sat on the bed, turning the pendant over in her hand.
Dorian had lied.
But not in the way she’d thought.
She wasn’t sure if that made her hate him more… or less.
- Writer
