Escaping Elijah's Shadow

The night air bit through my thin dress as I hurried down the dimly lit street, arms wrapped tightly around myself. The Sterling mansion was in an upscale neighborhood, but the route back to my small apartment passed through areas that made my skin crawl. I should have called a cab, but my phone was almost dead, and I'd spent my last twenty dollars on the bus fare to get to Elijah's party.

I glanced over my shoulder, wishing Elijah had come back for me. But he was with Natasha now, probably driving her to some luxury hotel downtown. The thought made my chest ache.

"Hey, pretty lady! Where you headed?"

The voice came from behind me, slurred and thick with alcohol. I quickened my pace, heart hammering against my ribs.

"I'm talking to you!"

Three figures emerged from the shadows of an alley ahead, blocking my path. Even in the darkness, I could see their glassy eyes and the predatory way they swayed toward me.

"I need to get home," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "Please let me pass."

The tallest one laughed, the sound echoing off the brick walls. "That's not very friendly, is it? We just wanna talk."

They moved closer, forming a semicircle around me. The smell of cheap beer and cigarettes made my stomach turn.

"I said no." I backed away, fumbling for my phone. "I'm calling my boyfriend."

"Your boyfriend?" Another man leered, reaching for my arm. "The rich kid? He's probably with some other girl right now."

I yanked my arm away and dialed Elijah's number, praying he would answer.

"Please," I whispered when he finally picked up. "I'm on Maple Street. There are men—they're drunk and they won't let me leave."

Elijah's sigh crackled through the line. "Lucia, I'm busy."

"Someone could hurt me," I pleaded, my voice breaking as one of the men grabbed my wrist.

"Stop being so dramatic," Elijah said, his voice distant. "Can't you take care of yourself for once? Natasha and I are catching up."

I heard a woman's laugh in the background—light, musical, and achingly familiar from years of seeing her photos.

"Lucia?" Elijah's voice was impatient now. "Are you still there?"

One of the men lunged forward, tearing my purse from my shoulder. I screamed, dropping the phone.

"Elijah!" I cried out. "Help me!"

But the line had gone dead.

---

The next morning, I sat in the university library, my hands still trembling slightly as I opened my laptop. My wrist was bruised where the men had grabbed me, but I'd managed to escape by throwing my coffee at their faces and running until I found a 24-hour diner with security cameras.

I logged into the campus forum, hoping to distract myself with some mindless scrolling before my first class.

Then I saw it.

A new thread titled "Elijah Bennett's Charity Case Girlfriend" had been posted just hours ago.

"Everyone's talking about how Elijah's dating the orphan girl now that Natasha's back," the anonymous poster wrote. "What does he see in her anyway? Does he get some kind of savior complex from dating someone so... beneath him?"

My stomach twisted as I scrolled through the comments.

"Maybe he's just keeping her around until Natasha settles back in."

"Or maybe he's just tired of dating within his own circle."

"Did you see her at Victoria's party? Wearing that fake Chanel? Pathetic."

One comment cut deeper than the rest: "Everyone knows she only got into this school because the Bennetts pulled strings. No way she earned her place here."

I closed my laptop, tears blurring my vision. Sophie found me there, still frozen in the same spot an hour later.

"Luce?" she said, sliding into the seat beside me. "What's wrong?"

I couldn't tell her. How could I explain that I'd spent seven years loving someone who couldn't even answer my call for help?

As we walked to our shared class, I felt eyes following me through the hallway. Whispers trailed behind us.

"That's her."

"The orphan."

"Elijah's pity project."

A group of girls huddled near the water fountain fell silent as I passed, their gazes cutting through me like knives.

"Did you see the forum?" one whispered, just loud enough for me to hear.

I kept my head high, though my hands trembled in my pockets. The bruise on my wrist throbbed beneath my sleeve—a physical reminder of last night's horror that matched the emotional pain of Elijah's dismissal.

Sophie squeezed my arm as we reached the classroom door. "Whatever it is," she murmured, "you don't have to face it alone."

But as I took my seat and felt the weight of stares pressing down on me, I wondered if that was true. In a world where I was always the outsider, always the charity case, always the placeholder—could anyone really understand what it meant to be me?

And as my phone buzzed with a text from Elijah—"Sorry about last night. Busy with family stuff. Can we talk later?"—I realized with crushing clarity that the one person who should have understood had chosen not to.