My phone buzzed with a message that made my heart leap.
"Flying to NYC tomorrow. Business summit at the Plaza. I'm coming for you."
Ezra. My brother had always been my protector, even when I'd chosen to marry Reed against his better judgment.
I clutched the burner phone to my chest, tears of relief blurring my vision. The small device had become my lifeline in this gilded prison.
The bedroom door swung open. Reed stood there, his silhouette backlit by the hallway light.
"Get packed," he said, his voice cold and controlled. "We're going to the Hamptons."
"The Hamptons?" I echoed, trying to keep my voice steady. "Why?"
"The annual Charity Gala. Your presence is required." His eyes narrowed slightly. "And before you get any ideas about contacting your brother, remember what I said about mental health facilities."
My blood ran cold. "You wouldn't."
"Wouldn't I?" Reed stepped closer, his expensive cologne suffocating me. "After your little episode at dinner? The erratic behavior? The drinking?"
"I wasn't—"
"Save it, Elina." He turned to leave, then paused at the doorway. "Be ready by noon. And wear something appropriate. The Ashworths will be there."
---
The Harper estate in the Hamptons sprawled across manicured lawns that rolled down to the Atlantic. White tents dotted the landscape like exotic mushrooms, housing New York's elite as they sipped champagne and wrote checks.
I stood alone near a fountain, feeling like an impostor in my navy silk dress. Reed had disappeared minutes after our arrival, leaving me to navigate the shark-infested waters of high society alone.
"Elina Bennett-Harper," Victoria Ashworth's voice cut through the ambient chatter. "What a... unique choice for tonight."
She approached with three other women, all dripping in diamonds and disdain. Victoria's eyes raked over my outfit, her lips curling into a smirk.
"I thought the charity was for children's education," she said loudly enough for nearby investors to hear. "Not livestock management."
The women tittered behind manicured hands.
"Perhaps Reed should have warned us you'd be bringing your cowgirl roots to the Hamptons," Victoria continued, examining her cocktail as if it held more interest than me.
I scanned the crowd desperately, searching for Reed. He stood across the lawn, but his attention was fixed on Camille as she charmed a circle of older men.
"Victoria," I began, struggling to keep my voice level, "I don't think—"
"Oh, we know you don't," she interrupted. "That's rather obvious."
More laughter. More eyes turning our way.
I felt something inside me crack—not in defeat, but in clarity. These people would never accept me. This world would never be mine.
---
I escaped to the gardens, following a stone path illuminated by subtle landscape lighting. The ocean breeze carried salt and the promise of freedom.
Voices drifted from behind a tall hedge. I froze, recognizing them instantly.
"You don't understand what I'm offering," Reed's voice was low, urgent. "We could leave all this behind."
"Behind?" Camille's laugh was like breaking glass. "Darling, there is no 'behind.' There's only what I have now."
"But I love you," Reed insisted, his voice cracking. "I've always loved you."
"And I've always loved the power you give me," Camille replied coldly. "The way you pant after me like a dog. It's... entertaining."
Silence stretched between them. I pressed myself against the hedge, heart pounding.
"Run away with me," Reed finally whispered. "We could start over."
"Start over?" Camille's voice hardened. "As what? A rancher's wife? Don't be pathetic, Reed. Go manage your little ranch girl and leave me to enjoy what your family name actually provides."
I backed away silently, my mind reeling. It wasn't just that Reed was unfaithful—it was that he was so utterly powerless. So pathetic.
---
Later that night, I sat on the edge of the guest house bed, staring at the door. Reed had stormed in an hour ago, slamming it behind him. The scent of expensive whiskey hung heavy in the air.
"Elina," he called from the bathroom, his voice slurred. "Come here."
I hesitated, then moved toward the sound of running water.
Reed stood at the sink, his tie loosened, hair disheveled. When he turned to face me, his eyes were red-rimmed and desperate.
"Camille," he said, the name falling from his lips like a prayer. "She doesn't want me."
"I know," I replied softly.
"She never has." He laughed bitterly, then suddenly reached for me, pulling me against his chest. His lips crashed down on mine in a kiss that tasted of whiskey and desperation.
"Save me," he whispered against my mouth. "Please, Elina. Save me from this."
For one breathless moment, I thought he was choosing me—seeing me. My hands moved to his shoulders, feeling the tension beneath his shirt.
Then he jerked away as if burned, his expression morphing from desire to disgust.
"Get out," he snarled, pointing to the door. "Get out of my sight."
I stood frozen, watching as he crumpled to the floor, wrapping his arms around himself as if trying to hold the pieces together.
"Reed—"
"I said GET OUT!" His roar echoed off the walls.
I backed away, my heart pounding in my chest. In that moment, I realized the truth: Reed Harper wasn't just lost to me—he was lost to himself.
