Chapter 3

Natalie's POV

Marcus Sterling's study was on the second floor of the estate. The moment I pushed the door open, the heavy scent of vintage cologne washed over me.

Marcus sat behind his massive mahogany desk. Seeing me, he gestured to the leather chair across from him.

"Sit, Natalie. You haven't come to visit me in a while."

I took a seat, resting my hands flat on my lap.

I took a deep breath, just about to speak.

The door swung open.

Julian walked in. Seeing me, his brow furrowed immediately. "What are you doing here?"

The words died on my tongue.

Marcus glanced between Julian and me. "Julian, Natalie came to discuss something with me. Did you need something?"

"Nothing important." Julian walked to the desk, picking up a folder. "Just grabbing some paperwork. Carry on."

He took the folder, turned around, and walked out, shutting the heavy door behind him.

I sat there, my fingers digging into the fabric of my skirt.

I knew that once I spoke those words, there would be no turning back.

And I wasn't entirely ready to face the storm that would follow.

"It's nothing," I said softly, looking down. "I just wanted to see how you were doing."

Marcus studied me for a long moment. He didn't push. He just sighed. "You always keep everything bottled up inside."

That evening, the Sterling family hosted a grand dinner.

The long dining table was packed with relatives. Julian sat across from me.

Midway through the meal, Julian abruptly set his silverware down, picked up his champagne flute, and stood up.

"I have an announcement," his clear voice resonated, silencing the chatter across the room. "The wedding between Natalie and me will proceed as scheduled."

The guests paused for a split second before erupting into polite applause and congratulations.

My fingers went numb, gripping the edge of the table.

I looked up at Julian. He was looking right back at me, a subtle, triumphant smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

It wasn't a smile of love. It was a declaration of ownership: You want to leave? Not a chance.

The moment he sat down, his phone buzzed.

He glanced at the screen, stood up, and tossed a brief "Hospital emergency" to his father before turning on his heel and walking out.

The guests exchanged awkward glances.

I sat frozen in my seat, staring at his empty chair. A bitter laugh caught in my throat.

He was the one who announced the wedding, and he was the one who abandoned it the very next second.

What was this marriage to him? Just a game of control?

The next morning, I went to the state correctional facility.

In the visitation room, my mother sat on the other side of the thick glass. Clad in an orange jumpsuit, her hair had turned half-white. The moment she saw me, a frail smile touched her face.

"Natalie, why are you here? Today isn't regular visitation."

"Mom." I picked up the receiver, my throat tightening painfully. "I'm not getting married."

The smile on her face froze.

"I'm going to get you out," I said fiercely. "Once you're out, we're leaving this city. We'll go somewhere nobody knows who we are."

She stared at me, her eyes slowly welling with tears.

Lowering her head, she reached inside her jumpsuit and pulled out a small item, sliding it toward the partition.

It was a palm-sized cloth pouch made of pale blue cotton. The stitching was neat and delicate, with a tiny white lily embroidered near the opening.

"I made this whenever I had free time," my mother whispered, her voice cracking. "My stitching isn't great, don't laugh at it. Keep it with you wherever you go from now on."

I took the pouch through the slot, my fingertips tracing every single stitch.

I could see her in my mind's eye, hunching under the dim prison light, sewing this little pouch stitch by stitch.

"Mom," my voice broke. "Wait for me. I swear I'm getting you out."

My mother nodded through the glass, tears finally spilling over her cheeks.

Leaving the prison, I tucked the pouch deep into my coat pocket, keeping it pressed against my chest.

Three days later, Julian escorted me to the annual Ballet Charity Gala.

It was the biggest night of the year for the city's performing arts scene. Crystal chandeliers bathed the theater's grand ballroom in golden opulence.

I wore a floor-length black gown, walking in with my arm linked through Julian’s.

The second we stepped through the double doors, Julian pulled his arm away.

Sharon Hayes was standing nearby, wearing a shimmering blush-pink gown. Seeing us, she sashayed over with a radiant smile.

"Julian." She naturally hooked her arm around his other side, turning to me with faux innocence. "Natalie, you came too."

Julian didn't pull away from her.

For the entire night, Julian revolved around Sharon.

He brought her champagne, introduced her to prominent surgeons and wealthy benefactors, proudly telling everyone, "This is Sharon Hayes, our head scrub nurse. She's exceptional."

When someone occasionally asked about me, he would only dismissively reply, "This is my fiancée. She dances."

And then he would immediately turn back to Sharon.

I sat alone at a corner table, watching them mingle effortlessly through the crowd.

Sharon was laughing brightly. Julian's eyes never once left her, filled with a tenderness so profound it was sickening.

It was a tenderness he had never once given me in eleven years.

When the gala ended, the guests began to filter out.

I walked out of the theater doors just in time to see Julian helping Sharon into his car.

I didn't call out. I didn't run after them. I just stood under the awning, watching the tail lights disappear into the night.

I flagged a yellow cab and gave the driver the direction.

The car stopped outside a high-end luxury high-rise downtown.

Julian helped Sharon out of the vehicle. Sharon appeared completely drunk, leaning her entire weight against his chest.

With one arm wrapped firmly around her waist, Julian tapped his keycard and opened the glass lobby door.

It was Julian’s private penthouse.

I sat in the back of the cab, watching them enter the elevator. A few minutes later, a window on the third floor lit up.

That light stayed on for a very, very long time.

And I sat in that dark cab for just as long.

Finally, I spoke to the driver. "Let's go."

The taxi pulled away into the night.

I leaned against the headrest and closed my eyes.

The little blue pouch was in my purse, resting against my leg, cold against my skin.

I thought to myself: It's over. Everything ends here.