Elara POV:
Luca scoffed, his little face a mask of contempt. "Good. I hope you really leave this time." He turned and ran from the room, leaving me standing there, dripping in red paint.
I stood under the shower, scrubbing at my skin with a rough cloth until it was raw and close to bleeding, but I couldn't wash away the stain. I couldn't wash away the memory of my son's hatred; it felt seeped into my bones.
The next day, the city's filthiest tabloid splashed a video across its digital front page. Grainy footage of a car rocking in a darkened parking garage. The headline screamed: "Mysterious Tycoon's All-Night Tryst." The implication was clear. It was me and Dante. Another lie to protect his precious Sienna.
I emerged from my room to find Sienna kneeling at my door, her shoulders shaking with manufactured sobs. Dante stood over her, his expression grim.
"I've already punished her for it," he said, his words meant to soothe me. They only made me feel sick.
I walked past them without a word. He followed, grabbing my arm. "Let me make it up to you," he murmured, his voice a low promise.
He took me to an illegal street race on the outskirts of the city. The air thrummed with the roar of engines and the shouts of the underworld's elite. Dante, dressed in a sleek black racing suit, gave an interview to a rogue reporter, mentioning his "wife" in every other sentence, painting a picture of a man devoted. A bitter memory surfaced of a time when that devotion had been real, when his love for me was the only truth in our violent world.
He dominated the race, his skill undeniable. But on the final lap, he suddenly slowed, allowing another driver to take first place. He came to me, his voice a low apology. "I'm sorry I didn't win the grand prize for you."
"What was the prize?" I asked, a cold certainty already settling in my stomach.
"Something worthless. I had them throw it away," he said.
Just then, I saw her. Sienna, standing near the prize table, discreetly placing a ruby necklace into the winner's collection. My breath caught. It wasn't just any necklace. It was the 'Crimson Tear,' the famed companion to 'The Heart of the City.' It was all a setup. He'd thrown the race for her.
"It's okay," I said, my voice strained, the lie catching in my throat. "As long as you're safe. I didn't need it anyway."
The betrayal coiled in my gut, twisting into a sharp, reckless need to make him see me, to feel something real. An impulse took hold. "I want to race."
Dante hesitated for a fraction of a second, then a slow, predatory smile spread across his face. He helped me into a car, his hands lingering on my waist.
He went to confront Sienna, his voice low and angry-not for the setup, but for bringing Luca to such a dangerous place. Luca, of course, defended her. Dante relented, as he always did for her.
The race began. The world became a blur of speed and noise. On a sharp, hairpin turn, it happened. A car slammed into my side with brutal force. Through the chaos, I saw the driver. It was Sienna.
My car flipped, rolling over and over until it came to a screeching halt, upside down. Dazed, my head throbbing, I saw her car through the shattered windshield. She wasn't getting out. She wasn't checking to see if I was okay. She was reversing.
She floored the gas, ramming my car head-on.
My head slammed against the steering wheel. The world began to fade to black. But before the darkness took me completely, I saw two figures running across the track.
It was Dante and Luca. And they were running. Not to me. To her.
