From Unwanted Wife To Unreachable Queen

Elara POV:

The days that followed were a strange, hollow peace. Dante and Sofia were rarely at the manor, their nights spent at his city apartment, their days filled with wedding preparations I was no longer privy to.

I stayed in my room, a ghost in a house that was no longer my home. I made a point of not tracking their movements. Of not caring.

My high school graduation party felt less like a celebration and more like a funeral.

It was the burial of my youth, of the girl who lived and breathed Dante Moretti. I put on a dress he would have hated-too short, too tight-and went to say my goodbyes.

I saw him across the crowded room almost immediately. Dante.

He was leaning against the bar, a drink in his hand, looking bored and out of place. My heart gave a pathetic little flutter before I ruthlessly crushed it. My gaze snapped away, and I forced my attention back to my friends, to the meaningless chatter filling the air.

His name was a constant buzz around me. I heard whispers about the Moretti-Gallo engagement, a powerful alliance for the family.

Then I heard something that made the blood freeze in my veins.

A girl I barely knew was talking to her friend, her voice a low whisper that carried.

"I heard him on the phone. He told someone he doesn't care what she does anymore. That she's on her own."

He doesn't care.

The words should have hurt. Instead, they were a key, unlocking the final shackle binding my heart to his.

It was official. His world no longer included me. And mine, finally, would no longer revolve around him.

I was free.

Later, I was cornered by a slightly drunk Dante near the exit. His eyes were dark, his expression unreadable. He opened his mouth to speak, but before a single word could escape, Sofia materialized at his side, throwing her arms around his neck with a squeal of delight.

"There you are! I've been looking everywhere for you," she cooed, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Dante's focus shifted to her instantly. The hard lines of his face softened into a smile so genuine, so tender, it stole the air from my lungs. He kissed her forehead, a gesture so intimate, so full of affection, it was an intimacy so profound it felt like a violation to witness.

Then, without a word to me, he scooped her up into his arms, a full princess carry, and walked out the door.

A sharp sting blurred my vision.

"I think I have something in my eye," I muttered to the friend beside me, blinking furiously against the burn of unshed tears.

She looked from me to the retreating couple, her expression full of pity.

"Jesus, Elara... I remember when he used to look at you like that," she sighed. "We all thought you two were endgame."

"People move on," I said, my voice hollow even to my own ears. "We were kids. We can't be tied to that forever. I'm not a little girl anymore."

The party ended. As I stepped outside, the familiar sight of Dante's black sedan was waiting at the curb. He and Sofia were standing by the door.

For a disorienting second, I thought he was waiting for her. But the moment his eyes landed on me, his face hardened into that familiar, thunderous scowl.

"Where have you been?" he snapped, his voice sharp with anger. "It's late."

Sofia tried to intervene, placing a placating hand on his arm, but his eyes were locked on me. He was furious.

It started to drizzle, a light, misty rain. Without looking away from me, he automatically snapped open a large black umbrella, holding it over Sofia and pulling her protectively into his side.

A bitter memory surfaced: a dozen other rainy nights when that same umbrella had been held over me.

Without a word, I turned and started walking down the street, away from the car, away from him.

The cool rain was a welcome shock against my hot skin. He could keep his delicate roses, the ones that wilted without his protection. I was done waiting for his sun. I would find my own.

Back at the manor, I moved with a cold, efficient fury. I stripped my closet of every dress, every shirt, every pair of shoes he had ever bought for me. I packed them all into donation bags. I wouldn't carry a single thread of him into my new life.

The last thing I did was open my laptop. Its blue light glowed in the dark, rain-streaked room. I navigated to the airline's website. My fingers flew across the keyboard.

One-way. New York to Toronto.

My finger jabbed "Confirm Purchase." The screen refreshed, displaying my boarding pass.

Freedom was just a flight away.