Elinor pushed open the heavy soundproof door of Practice Room B. The smell of old wood and lemon polish hit her face.

She dropped her canvas bag on the floor. She walked straight to the black Steinway grand piano in the center of the room. She grabbed the edge of the lid and shoved it open.

She did not pull out any sheet music. She sat on the leather bench. She raised her hands and slammed her fingers down on the keys.

She played Liszt's La Campanella. She played it too fast. She played it with brutal force.

The rapid notes bounced off the padded walls. The sound was violent. It matched the burning anger in her chest.

Her fingers flew across the black and white keys. The physical exertion forced another memory to the surface. The end of senior year.

A massive thunderstorm rolled over The Hampton Estate on Long Island. Thunder shook the glass windows.

Elinor walked up the grand staircase. She carried a heavy binder full of AP History notes. Her shoes sank into the thick Persian rug in the hallway.

She walked toward the study. The heavy mahogany door was cracked open.

Beatrice's voice pierced through the gap. She was screaming.

Beatrice threw a stack of thick paper transcripts right at Howell's face. The papers hit his nose and scattered across the floor.

"Your GPA is below a 3.0!" Beatrice roared. "The Ivy League is going to reject you because of that trailer trash!"

Howell's neck turned red. The veins popped out against his skin. He paced back and forth in front of the fireplace like a trapped animal.

Elinor stopped walking. She stood outside the door. She looked through the crack.

Beatrice pointed a finger at him. She ordered him to cut Carrie off immediately. She told him to focus on his upcoming engagement dinner with Elinor.

Howell stopped pacing. He heard Elinor's name. He let out a harsh, ugly laugh.

He grabbed a heavy crystal whiskey glass from the desk. He pulled his arm back and hurled it at the brick fireplace.

The glass shattered. The explosion of crystal shards sounded like a gunshot.

Howell pointed at the door. He screamed at his mother. He said Carrie meant more to him than any of the fake East Coast elites.

His eyes were wild. He yelled that Elinor was a lifeless puppet. He said he would rather die than marry a robot with no soul.

Lightning flashed outside the window. The bright white light illuminated Elinor's face in the hallway. Her skin was completely drained of color.

Her fingers lost all their strength. The heavy AP binder slipped from her arms.

It hit the Persian rug with a loud, heavy thud.

The screaming inside the study stopped instantly. Howell whipped his head around. He stared at the crack in the door.

He lunged forward and ripped the mahogany door open. The dim hallway light hit his panicked face.

He saw Elinor. She stood perfectly still. Her eyes looked at him like he was a rotting corpse.

Howell swallowed hard. His Adam's apple bobbed. He reached his hand out to grab her arm. He whispered her name.

Elinor did not step back. She just stared at his floating hand. Her eyes were filled with pure disgust.

She opened her mouth. Her voice was steady and cold.

"The engagement is over," Elinor said. "Do not ever speak to me again."

She turned around. She kept her spine completely straight. She walked down the curved staircase. She did not look back.

The thunder from the memory merged with the piano in the room. Elinor raised both hands and smashed them down on the final chord.

The sound rang in the small room. Elinor panted. Sweat beaded on her forehead. The ice returned to her eyes.

Elinor's chest heaved as her breathing slowed down. She stood up from the piano bench. She gathered her scattered Liszt sheet music and stacked the pages together.

Her fingers brushed against her collarbone. The skin was bare. For years, a heavy silver chain had rested there.

The missing weight triggered the final piece of the past. The day before high school graduation.

The alley behind a quiet coffee shop near the Northwood campus. A light rain fell from the grey sky.

Elinor held a large black umbrella. She stood perfectly still. She stared at Howell. He stood next to a green dumpster.

He looked sick. Dark circles hung under his eyes. But his jaw was set in an arrogant, defiant angle.

Deep in the shadows of the alley, Carrie hid behind a brick wall. She wore an oversized trench coat. She leaned out to watch.

Howell raised his voice over the rain. He announced that he refused to accept his family's plans. He said he would not waste his youth on Elinor.

Elinor nodded slowly. She told him she had already called her lawyers. The financial ties between their families were being severed.

Howell's face twisted. Her lack of tears infuriated him. He felt like she was looking down on him.

He grabbed the knot of his uniform tie and ripped it loose. He reached into his shirt pocket. He pulled out the Clemons family heirloom. The blue sapphire pendant.

Elinor's grandmother had given it to him when they were ten years old to hold as a promise. It was worth a fortune.

Howell held the thin silver chain. He dangled the glowing blue stone directly over a rusted iron sewer grate.

In the shadows, Carrie smiled. It was a vicious, ugly smile. She nodded her head at Howell.

Howell glared at Elinor. He gritted his teeth. He told her this was exactly what he thought of their fake relationship.

He opened his fingers. The sapphire dropped.

The metal hit the iron grate with a sharp clink. It slipped through the gap. A second later, a hollow splash echoed from the dark, rotting water below.

Howell lifted his chin. He waited for her to scream. He waited for her to fall apart. Then he turned around, grabbed Carrie's hand, and walked out of the alley.

Elinor stood in the rain. She watched them leave. Her face did not change. Her heart did not beat any faster.

She shifted the umbrella to her shoulder. She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out her phone. She opened a highly encrypted, discreet application-the private concierge terminal exclusively used by the Clemons family. She typed a quick message to her family's executive assistant, detailing the exact street coordinates and the nature of the lost item. She authorized a five-thousand-dollar emergency dispatch fee from her trust account. Thirty minutes later, a professional retrieval team in an unmarked black van parked in the alley. Three men in thick rubber suits used heavy iron crowbars to lift the rusted grate.

A man climbed down. Ten minutes later, he climbed out. He handed her the sapphire. It was covered in black sludge.

Elinor pulled a pair of blue latex gloves from her pocket. She took the necklace. She used a medical-grade alcohol wipe to scrub the stone until it shined.

The next morning, she locked the necklace inside a steel safety deposit box at Chase Bank. She never looked at it again.

The memory vanished. Elinor shoved her sheet music into her canvas bag. She zipped it shut.

She felt nothing but pity for him. Howell thought he destroyed her pride, but he only threw away his own dignity.

She threw the bag over her shoulder. She pushed the practice room door open. She needed to go to the Student Health Center to get a stronger prescription for her allergy pills.

She walked out of the music building. She stayed close to the brick walls, walking in the shadows to avoid the crowds.

She turned the corner near the Art History building.

Suddenly, a loud, violent scraping sound echoed from the roof directly above her head.

The harsh sound of clay scraping against stone ripped through the quiet path. The noise made the hair on the back of Elinor's neck stand up.

Her survival instinct kicked in. She snapped her head back and looked up.

On the third-floor open balcony of the Art History building, a massive terracotta planter was falling.

The dark shadow of the pot expanded over her face. Gravity pulled it down at a terrifying speed.

Elinor's brain did not have time to process the danger. Her muscles reacted first. She threw her entire body to the right, diving toward the grass.

A deafening crash exploded right next to her ear. The heavy pot slammed into the concrete walkway where she had just been standing.

The terracotta shattered into a hundred pieces. Black potting soil and jagged shards of clay exploded outward like shrapnel.

A blinding, tearing pain ripped through Elinor's left forearm.

A razor-sharp piece of clay sliced right through the fabric of her trench coat. It dug deep into her flesh.

She hit the grass hard. She gasped for air. Her right hand immediately clamped down over her left arm.

Hot, wet blood poured out of the cut. It soaked through her fingers and dripped onto the green grass. The bright red color made her stomach turn.

Elinor gritted her teeth. The pain burned like fire. She pushed herself up on her right elbow. She forced her head up to look at the third-floor balcony.

Behind the carved stone railing, a flash of blonde hair and a bright pink cardigan moved quickly. The person ducked back into the shadows and disappeared.

Elinor's eyes turned to ice. Her jaw locked. She knew that pink cardigan. It was Carrie Hutchinson.

Two students walking nearby heard the explosion. They ran over, their faces pale with shock.

A boy with black glasses saw the blood pouring down Elinor's arm. He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out his phone. He started dialing campus security.

"Stop," Elinor commanded. Her voice shook from the pain, but the tone was absolute.

She forced her brain to work. There were no cameras on this side of the building. There were no witnesses. She only saw a piece of clothing. Security would write it off as an accident.

She needed medical documentation first. Then she would find proof to destroy Carrie.

Elinor unzipped her bag with her bloody right hand. She pulled out a thick pack of tissues. She pressed the entire stack against the open wound.

The white paper turned dark red instantly. The students tried to grab her arms to help her up. She shoved them away. She forced herself to stand.

She walked in her heels. Every step sent a shockwave of pain up her arm, but she kept her back perfectly straight. She walked toward the Student Health Center.

Ten minutes later, Elinor pushed open the glass doors of the clinic.

The receptionist at the front desk saw her pale face and the blood dripping onto the floor. The woman slammed her hand on the emergency call button.

Registered Nurse Sharon Mills ran out from the back. She grabbed Elinor's good arm and rushed her into Treatment Room One.

Elinor sat on the exam table. The crinkly paper beneath her ripped. Cold sweat dripped down her forehead.

Sharon took a pair of medical scissors and cut the bloody sleeve off the coat. The nurse sucked in a breath. The cut was deep.

Sharon grabbed a bottle of saline. She squeezed the liquid directly into the wound. The violent stinging pain made Elinor's fingers dig into the metal edge of the bed.

"You need at least five stitches," Sharon said. She prepared a needle of local anesthetic. "You cannot use this arm for anything strenuous."

Elinor stared at the curved suture needle. Her stomach twisted. Tomorrow night was the Founder's Day Gala. She was supposed to play a piano solo. Her eyes darkened with frustration.