The elegant, cream-colored invitation arrived a few days later, a thick cardstock with gilded edges. "You are cordially invited to celebrate the merger of William Global and Monroe Industries, and the engagement of Franklin William and Katarina Monroe." It felt like a joke. A cruel, elaborate joke crafted just for me.
"Are you going, Eliana?" Maria, the Barnetts' long-time housekeeper and now Franklin' s head of staff, asked gently. Her eyes, usually warm and knowing, were filled with a quiet sadness. She had watched me grow up, had seen my foolish devotion.
"Eliana Barnett doesn't exist anymore, Maria," I said, my voice flat. "Just Eliana. And no, Eliana won't be attending." I handed the invitation back, the stiffness in my posture belying the tremor in my hands.
Maria sighed, her gaze lingering on me. "I understand, dear. But... she used to love these parties." Her words were a soft, painful echo of the past, of a girl I barely recognized. She left, her shoulders slumped, leaving me alone in the sterile silence of the penthouse.
That night, the nightmares came. Not the old ones of my father's fading smile, but new ones, sharper, more terrifying. I was trapped in a glass cage, Franklin outside, watching, his face impassive. Katarina stood beside him, holding the cheap, allergic necklace, slowly, deliberately tightening it around my throat until I couldn't breathe, until my skin burned and blistered. But this time, it wasn't just my skin. It was my very soul, choking, screaming to be free.
I woke with a gasp, drenched in sweat, my heart hammering. The dark room felt suffocating. I couldn't escape. Not really. Not yet. I was still here, in his house, his captive. The thought was a cold knot in my stomach.
I needed to erase every trace, every last shred of the girl who had loved him. I walked to my vanity, pulling out a hidden box. Inside were trinkets, letters, a small, worn drawing of Franklin I' d made years ago. My hands shook, but my resolve was cold steel. This had to be done.
I was about to toss them into the waste bin when the door to my room swung open. Franklin stood there, framed by the light from the hallway, his silhouette imposing. His eyes, usually unreadable, flickered, landing on the open box, on the drawing of himself.
My heart leaped into my throat. Pure, unadulterated fear.
He stepped inside, slowly, deliberately. The air grew thick, heavy with unspoken tension. His gaze, cold and analytical, swept over my face, then returned to the contents of the box. His lips thinned. "What is this, Eliana?" His voice was low, dangerous.
I clutched the drawing, my knuckles white. "Nothing. Just... old things."
He took another step, closing the distance between us. His shadow fell over me, eclipsing the weak lamp beside my bed. "Old things," he repeated, his voice devoid of inflection. He reached out, his long fingers plucking the drawing from my trembling hand. He stared at it, at the young, admiring face I had once captured. Then, without a word, he tore it in half. A sharp, ripping sound that echoed in the silence.
My breath hitched. The image, my memory, my adoration, ripped apart.
"Sentimentality is a weakness, Eliana," he stated, his eyes boring into mine. "And I have no use for weakness." He crumpled the torn pieces, then dropped them into the waste bin. "Get rid of all of it. Now."
My entire past, the last ten years of my life, was being erased before my eyes. My heart felt like a hollowed-out cavity.
He stepped closer, his hand reaching out, not to comfort, but to command. He lifted my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. His eyes were cold, calculating. "Your future is with me, Eliana. My name, my world. You will attend the gala. You will be seen as my ward, my responsibility. And you will conduct yourself with the dignity expected of a William."
I looked into his eyes, searching for a flicker of humanity, a hint of the man I had loved. There was nothing. Only control. Cold, absolute control.
"You will stay here," he continued, his voice a low rumble. "You will train for a position within my company. You will be useful. That is your purpose now." He released my chin, his fingers leaving a phantom chill on my skin. "Do you understand?"
It was a life sentence. A gilded prison, forged by the man who had torn my world apart, then rebuilt it only to imprison me within it. I felt a cold rage begin to simmer beneath the surface of my despair. He wanted me useful? He wanted me to be a William? Fine. I would be useful. I would be a William. But not the one he expected.
He turned to leave, his back a rigid line of authority. "I expect obedience, Eliana. Nothing less." His cold gaze lingered on me for a second longer, a warning, a promise of eternal captivity. Then he was gone, leaving me alone in the wreckage of my past, contemplating a future that was no longer my own.
