I was trapped in that room for three whole days.

Damien said it was for me to 'think about what I'd done.'

And Leo made it his mission to come and scream insults at me every day, as if it was his new favorite game.

On the third day, the door finally opened.

My father burst in, out of breath, his suit a mess.

His hair was a mess. He looked like he'd driven all night.

He saw the bruise on my forehead and his face went pale.

"Elara, my daughter." He opened his arms for a hug.

I stepped back. "What are you doing here?"

"Damien told me what happened," my father's voice trembled. "Elara, my God, what have you done? You can't leave him. You'll ruin us!"

"Ruin you?"

"Without Volkov protection, we're dead. Our business is gone." He suddenly dropped to his knees. "Our enemies will tear us apart. Competitors will swallow our territory. Your brother is still in college, your mother's medical bills—"

"Enough."

But he kept going, his voice growing more desperate. "A thousand people work for us. Their families depend on that money. They'll starve. All because you're throwing a fucking tantrum."

Tantrum.

There was that word again.

I heard a car engine downstairs.

Looking out the window, I saw a black sedan pull up to the front.

The door opened and a woman stepped out.

Long blonde hair, a slender waist. Even in the dark, I could see her delicate features.

She was wearing a red dress, identical to the one Krista used to love.

"Who is she?" I asked.

My father followed my gaze. His face fell even further.

"Sophia. Damien's new... assistant."

New assistant.

I watched as Sophia walked into the mansion. Leo immediately ran down the stairs to greet her.

He was smiling, genuinely happy, like he was seeing a long-lost relative.

"She looks a lot like Krista..." my father said carefully. "You're in trouble, Elara."

Trouble?

Because she was a better copy, and I was just the cheap knock-off.

Two bodyguards passed the door. I heard them talking.

"The new girl is seriously hot."

"Heard they got her from a club. She's a hell of a dancer."

"Way better than the ice queen upstairs."

"Shh, keep it down."

My father heard it too.

"Elara, listen to me, you have to—"

"Have to what? He already found a replacement!" I turned on him. "I've sacrificed enough for this family. I'm leaving!"

"No!" My father grabbed my arm. "You can't go! I won't allow it!"

"You won't allow it?"

"I am your father!" he yelled. "I have the right to decide your life!"

"You had that right," I said, my voice ice. "You sold it eight years ago."

My father stared, his face twisting into an ugly snarl.

SLAP!

The crack of the slap echoed in the room.

My cheek stung, but I refused to touch it.

"Ungrateful bitch!" he roared. "I raised you, and this is how you repay me?"

He raised his hand to hit me again.

I caught his wrist.

"That's enough," my voice was like ice. "As of today, we're even."

My father stared at me, his eyes full of rage and disbelief. "You're insane."

"No. I'm sober," I said, letting go of his hand. "More sober than I've ever been."

He stumbled back, pointing a finger at me. "You'll regret this. Without the family, without protection, you'll be nothing!"

"I'd rather be nothing."

He stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

The room was quiet again.

I turned around and met Damien's dark, deep-set eyes.

"You saw that."

Damien was leaning against the doorframe.

I had no idea how long he'd been standing there.

His face was calm, as if everything had gone exactly as he'd planned.

"Saw what?" I wiped the blood from the corner of my mouth.

"Your father. For who he really is," he said, stepping into the room. "Don't you get it? No one out there gives a shit about you. Only I do."

I almost laughed.

"Care about me?"

"I've already had my people contact the best art brokers in Europe." He pulled a list from his pocket. "A genuine Monet, a masterwork of Impressionism. And a Rembrandt portrait, once owned by royalty. Rarer and more valuable than your grandfather's painting."

I stared at the list, at the names of masterpieces and their prices.

"I don't want them."

"And Sophia?" he said, a cruel smile playing on his lips. "I found her for you. She keeps Leo happy. So you don't have to. See? We can make this work."

A balance. He thought this was a negotiation.

"Damien, you still don't get it." I pushed the list back at him. "I'm not negotiating with you."

His face hardened. "Then what the hell do you want?"

"I already told you. Freedom. You have Sophia now. What do you need me for?"

"Freedom?" he scoffed. "You think leaving here is freedom? The world out there will tear you apart."

"Better than rotting away in here."

Damien studied me, as if searching for a crack in my resolve.

Finally, he sighed.

"Fine. You need time to think. We'll talk tomorrow."

He turned and left the room.

The lock clicked again.

Night fell.

The estate was quiet, except for the occasional footsteps or a closing door.

I sat at my worktable, staring at the empty tool racks.

Leo hadn't just destroyed a painting. He had destroyed all my memories in this place.

Ten o'clock.

A woman's soft moan from upstairs. "Damien..."

Then a man's low chuckle.

The rhythmic thump, thump, thump of a headboard against a wall.

They weren't even trying to be quiet.

I closed my eyes.

So this was ‘making this work.’

Sophia wasn't just here to take care of Leo. She was here to take care of his father, too.

They were a better match. A happier family.

I was the extra piece.

Footsteps stopped outside my door.

"Still mad?" Leo's voice came through the crack, laced with a strange, triumphant tone. "Did you hear that? Dad's already forgotten you."

I didn't answer.

"Sophia is a hundred times better than you," he went on. "She teaches me to dance. She watches movies with me. And she gives Dad warm hugs. Not like you!"

The sounds from upstairs got louder.

"She said you're just another gold digger," Leo's voice turned vicious. "That you're only here for Dad's money."

I took a deep breath and walked to the door.

"Leo."

"What?"

"Is that really what you think?"

A few seconds of silence, then he shouted, "Yes! I want you to get the hell out of our house!"

In that moment, the last shred of affection I had for him died.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out the car fob I'd found in a studio drawer yesterday.

The only thing in this whole estate that was truly mine.

My Ford Mustang. My grandfather's gift.

Then, I walked to the window.

"What are you doing?" Leo asked, his voice suddenly panicked.

He must have been curious why I wasn't reacting.

I didn't answer.

I grabbed the emergency hammer. Smashed the window. And jumped.

The drop from the third floor wasn't too high.

I landed in the garden shrubs.

My arm was scratched up, but I didn't care.

I ran for the garage.

The moment I jammed the key in the ignition, the engine roared to life.

This was my masterpiece, the result of eight years of sleepless nights spent modifying it.

"Elara!"

Leo was standing at the garage entrance, holding a real gun.

"Where are you going?" he shrieked, his voice a mix of panic and rage. "You can't leave! I'm not done with you yet! You don't get to go!"

I slammed the clutch, shifted into first.

"Goodbye, Leo. I'm not coming back. Just like you wanted."

But I never expected what came next.

As I floored the gas, he raised the gun and aimed it at me.

"I warned you!"

BANG.