, usually a backdrop to focused work, now seemed to amplify the frantic thrumming of her pulse, each beat echoing the fear of another misstep, another judgment. The ghost of Damon's volatile t

urmoil, betrayed her efforts. The heavy cloak of her past, the constant dread of exposure, of being seen as nothing more than Damon's wife, clung to her, suffocating her attempts at normalcy. Mr.

s slowly eroding her already depleted reserves. The memories, usually confined to the shadowed corners of her mind, felt closer today, their edges raw and sharp, threatening to breach the carefully constructed walls she had erected around them. A sudden wave of dizziness, swift and disorienting, wa

al detachment, approached Elara's small, functional workspace. "Ms. V

elude to her dismissal, the swift and decisive severing of the lifeline she so desperately needed? The short walk b

she entered. He held a thick file in his hands, but his piercing blue eyes remained locked on hers. "Ms. Vance," his tone was less overtly hostile than their

ier bout of dizziness and the relentless gnawing of anxiety, felt like an insurmountable obstacle. "Of c

... previous associations... do not afford you any leniency within these walls." The subtle

th, to outrun the shadows of her past. But the persistent headache throbbed with increasing ferocity, and the waves of dizziness returned with greater frequency, each one threatening to

, a rushing sound filled her ears, and a cold, clammy sweat slicked her skin. Her hand shot out instinctively, grasping at the empty air for purchase. The s

Then, the distinct feeling of being lifted, strong arms cradling her fragile weight. A wave of profound shame washed over her, ev

his a calculated maneuver, a theatrical display designed to elicit sympathy or evade the demands of her job? But the unnatural stillness of her body in his arms, the

bility, a foreign sensation that pricked at his carefully constructed indifference. He observed Elara's unconscious form, the delicate, almost fragile curve

d Sterling's inherent discomfort. As the medical staff began their swift assessment, a young doctor approache

een, his brow furrowed slightly. "There's a record of a previous admission here... approximately three m

out Elara. The carefully constructed image of Damon De La Cus's pampered wife, a woman who had likely reveled in the opulent cruelty of that existence, shattered into a million jagged

s on the screen. "Also noted were indicators of significant malnourishmen

g picture of Elara's life within the gilded cage of the De La Cus mansion. The seemingly imperious demeanor he had witnessed, the air of command he

on her association with his tormentor, blinded by the lingering bitterness of his own past to the possibility that she might have been just as much a prisoner, just as deeply scarred. The weight of his own unspoken history, his own carefully buried trauma, pressed down on him, a suffocating burden. The game had irr