Chapter 2

2.

From that day on, I wasn't the invisible girl in the corner of the studio anymore.

Julian gave a bizarre order: I had to move out of the public studio and into his private research suite.

It was a suite on the top floor of the office building. Besides his main office, there was a private lounge behind it that was usually off-limits to everyone.

"Since Ms. Vance is so interested in ‘sampling,’ work where I can see you," he announced arrogantly from his leather chair.

From then on, every one of my assignments and sketches had to be "reviewed" by him personally.

Even if I just adjusted the angle of a window, he would stand behind me, leaning down so low that his chest almost pressed against my back. The scent of cedarwood was everywhere, keeping my brain in a constant state of oxygen deprivation.

"Elara, come here," Julian’s voice came from the inner room.

It was ten p.m. The entire architecture building was dark.

I put down my pen and walked in. He was sitting at a massive drafting table, his tie already pulled loose.

"Come here," he beckoned.

As I approached, before I could set down my reference book, he swept me up with one long arm and sat me directly on his lap.

I sat on his sturdy thighs. Through the thin fabric of my skirt, I could feel his incredible body heat.

"You didn't finish that sketch from the other night," he whispered against my ear, his voice raspy.

"Wh... what?" I felt my soul leaving my body.

"The details were wrong." His fingers traced my collarbone, moving downward with an elegance that suggested he controlled everything. "I’m never that gentle here."

His kiss crashed down on me like a sudden hurricane.

On that multi-million dollar mahogany drafting table, my logic was completely shattered. I finally learned how much pressure those hands applied when pressed against the small of my back―it was control, it was a claim, it was the mark of New York’s top predator.

Afterward, he lit a cigarette, the white smoke blurring his cold features.

"Elara, remember. This relationship stays within this office."

His words were like a bucket of ice water, extinguishing my remaining warmth.

I straightened my messy skirt, trying not to look like a used toy.

"I know, Professor. I’m your student. And your... sampling model."

He didn't deny it. He just looked at me with a complex emotion I couldn't read.

For the next month, I lived a double life.

By day, I was his brilliant, restrained assistant, answering every question politely in class. By night, I was his private muse, enduring his storms on his desk.

He gave me a lot. He funded my Grandpa’s heart surgery at the best private hospital in New York and even rented an apartment for me in the city's most expensive district.

I thought this was happiness, or at least, the best I could get from this cold man.

Until one Friday afternoon, a dazzling woman stepped into the office.

Genevieve St. Claire.

She was a classic socialite with arrogant eyes and a wardrobe worth a fortune. Her red-soled heels clicked sharply on the expensive carpet.

"Where is Julian?" She didn't even look at me, pushing open the office door.

I stood outside and heard a sharp, clear, and intimate laugh from within.

"Darling, you're early." It was Julian’s voice, softer than I had ever heard it.

Becca, the department head’s secretary, walked over and patted my shoulder sympathetically.

"Don't look, Elara. That’s the St. Claire heiress, the Thorne family’s chosen daughter-in-law. Julian’s mother is already planning the engagement at the Met Gala next month."

My heart felt like it dropped into a bottomless pit, falling into a freezing abyss.

All the "sampling," all the warmth, meant nothing in the face of the power of that elite circle.

For the next few days, Julian didn't let me into his office.

The media was full of images of him holding Genevieve, attending various high-society galas. They looked so perfect together, like elite beings from another planet.

I sat in the dark studio, staring at my iPad. I painted over my sketches of him one by one, trying to erase his shadow from my mind.

"Elara." Julian walked in unexpectedly, wearing a magnificent tuxedo.

"The Met Gala is tonight. You’re attending as my academic assistant. Bring the final files for the library project."

I looked at him and laughed bitterly. "Professor, am I going to work, or to watch your engagement?"

His face darkened instantly. "Elara, don't ask questions you shouldn't. Do your job."

"Remember your place. You’re just a talented student. Nothing more."

He turned and left. His cold back was the last thing I saw.

At that moment, I heard the sound of my self-respect shattering.