Cora POV:

I arrived home soaked and shivering. A dull ache throbbed behind my eyes. I took a hot shower, the steam doing little to warm my chilled body, then collapsed into bed and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

The next few days passed in a blur of quiet solitude. The mansion was empty. Cole and Isabela were gone, presumably to their new city apartment. I found myself relieved by their absence. I no longer cared where they were. My focus was purely on my upcoming departure.

My father' s email arrived with flight details and pick-up arrangements. I checked the calendar. Only a few days left. And then it hit me. My flight was scheduled for Cole' s birthday.

A strange twist of fate. Perhaps this is my final gift to him, I thought, a bitter smile touching my lips. My absence. My freedom.

The day before my flight, I meticulously packed the last of my belongings. Most of my old clothes and books were donated. As the donation service personnel sifted through the items, the front door opened. Cole walked in, looking surprised.

"What's going on here, Cora?" he asked, his voice sharp.

I signed the last form, dismissing the two men with a nod. "Just clearing out some old clothes, Cole. Donating them."

He frowned, his eyes scanning the empty spaces in the living room. "You've changed," he murmured, a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze. "There's an... emptiness."

"Oh, by the way," he continued, changing the subject abruptly, "Isabela and I have moved into our new apartment in the city center. It's much quieter there."

I nodded slightly. Yes, it would be quiet without me, wouldn't it?

An old habit, stronger than my resolve, forced the words from my mouth. "Are you... are you having a birthday party this year, Cole?" I looked at him, my voice barely a whisper. "This would have been our tenth."

He flinched. "I don't want to talk about it." He turned, his back to me, and walked away, pulling a small suitcase behind him. The door slammed shut, echoing through the empty house.

My heart clenched. My eyes burned. I went back to my room, instinctively reaching for the bottom drawer of my nightstand. My hand closed on empty air. The drawer where I used to keep the torn pieces of my "Secret" painting was bare. I had already thrown them away.

Only one item remained: an old sketchbook. I pulled it out. Every page was filled with him. Cole. His profile, his hands, his intense eyes.

I remembered him, years ago, taking my small hand in his, saying, "I'm taking you home, Cora." I remembered him pinning a gold medal to my chest after my cello recital. "You're my pride, my glory," he'd whispered. And the single rose, "Wait until you're grown."

I need to scratch these memories out, one by one, I thought, my jaw tight.

The last page of the sketchbook was blank. For years, I had drawn a picture of us every birthday. This year, there would be no drawing of us. Instead, I picked up a pencil. I began to sketch. Cole. And Isabela. His fiancée. I drew them together, meticulously, until the dusk bled into night.

I heard the front door unlock downstairs. Cole. He stumbled in, clearly drunk.

"Cole? Are you alright?" I rushed down the stairs, reaching out to steady him.

He leaned heavily against me, his arm wrapping around my waist. The scent of whiskey and his cologne filled my senses. His hand slid up my back, his touch setting my nerves on fire. His hot lips descended on mine.

Cora POV:

My mind went blank. This was it. The moment I had dreamt of countless nights. My first kiss with Cole. It was real.

But then his hand, rough and urgent, moved to my breast. I gasped, a jolt of alarm shooting through me. I pushed against him, my body recoiling.

"Cole, stop!" I whispered, but his kisses grew more insistent, his hold on me tightening.

"Isabela," he mumbled, his voice thick with drunken longing. "Isabela..."

The word struck me like a lightning bolt. My heart felt like it had been ripped from my chest. He thought I was her. He was kissing me, touching me, but he was calling out her name.

He scooped me up, carrying me effortlessly, and shoved open my bedroom door. He threw me onto my bed, his body following, pressing me down.

The shock, the betrayal, jolted me fully awake. "No!" I screamed, a raw, desperate sound. "Cole, it's not Isabela! It's me, Cora!"

He froze. His eyes, still bleary with alcohol, slowly focused on my face. The recognition, the horror, dawned on him. He pulled back slightly, then wrapped his arms around me, holding me tight, but making no other move.

"Cole, what are you doing?" I tried to wriggle free.

"Don't go," he mumbled, his voice hoarse, his eyes closed.

Is he talking to me? Or to the Isabela he thinks I am? My head throbbed. I felt his heavy breathing against my neck. His grip was too strong. I was trapped. Exhaustion, both physical and emotional, finally overwhelmed me. I passed out.

The morning light streamed through my window. I woke to find Cole standing over me, his face a mask of complex emotions. Disgust? Anger? Shame?

"What are you doing in my bed, Cora?" His voice was cold, accusing.

My cheeks flushed crimson. I opened my mouth to explain, but he cut me off.

"If this ever happens again," he spat, his voice laced with a bitter disappointment that felt like a whip cracking across my soul, "you will move into the dorms permanently. Do you understand?"

I swallowed, the words of explanation dying in my throat. What was the point? He wouldn't believe me anyway. "I'm sorry," I whispered.

It doesn't matter anyway. I thought. In a few days, I'll be in New York. I'll be out of his life forever.

I pushed myself up, my clothes rumpled, my body aching. I walked past him, my head held high, and reached for the doorknob. Just as I opened it, Isabela was standing there, her hand raised to knock.

Her eyes widened, fixing on my disheveled state, then on Cole, who stood silently behind me. "Cora? What are you doing coming out of Cole's room?" Her voice was sharp, accusatory.

My face went ashen. I avoided her gaze, slipping past her and into my own room. She followed, her eyes like daggers.

"What did you do, Cora?" Her voice was low and dangerous. "Did you take advantage of him while he was drunk? Did you try to climb into his bed?"

I kept my head down. Any explanation would sound like a flimsy excuse, a desperate plea.

"Don't deny it," she hissed. "If you ever try anything like that again, I'll make sure you leave this house for good. You'll regret it." She slammed my door shut, the sound rattling the very foundations of my composure.

I slid down the wall, my legs giving out. Every muscle in my body felt drained, as if all my strength had been sucked out of me. Cole's harsh words, Isabela's venomous accusations-they tightened around my heart like an invisible fist. Tears streamed down my face, silent sobs wracking my body. I clamped my hand over my mouth, desperate to stifle the sounds of my anguish.