Chapter 3

I looked at the ticket.

A one-way, coach-class ticket back home.

So, my year of sleepless nights, of almost losing my eyesight, was worth nothing more than a retreat Carter had patronizingly arranged for me.

I ripped the ticket to shreds and threw them into the air.

Carter’s face twisted in anger. "Maya! What kind of tantrum are you throwing now?"

I glared at him, my eyes burning.

"My pass, my sketchbook, and my grandmother's masterpiece are all in her hands. Why the hell should I leave?"

Chloe immediately grabbed Carter’s sleeve, tears streaming down her face.

"Carter, maybe I should just give everything back to Maya. I should go back to the hospital. I don't deserve to see the show anyway..."

She said she wanted to give it back, but her hands clutched the case tighter.

Carter frowned at me, his eyes filled with disgust.

"Chloe is literally this sick, and you're trying to publicly humiliate her and drive her over the edge?"

While he spoke, I reached into my pocket and silently turned on my backup phone.

The recording app started ticking away.

The airport PA system began announcing final boarding for the flight to Paris.

Chloe gently tugged at Carter’s sleeve.

"Carter, we have to go, or we’ll miss the flight."

Carter didn't look at me again.

With one hand around Chloe’s waist and the other dragging my case, he turned and walked into the VIP boarding lane.

I stood there, watching their retreating backs. A massive tower in my heart crumbled to dust.

I turned around, walked to the ticketing counter, and bought a ticket on the next budget flight to Europe.

Three layovers. Thirty-six hours of travel.

No checked baggage allowance. Just a single backpack.

Halfway through, Carter sent me a message on SnapChat.

“Chloe gets panic attacks on planes. Don’t send any messages to trigger her.”

I didn't reply.

Thirty-six hours later, with swollen legs and dark circles under my eyes, I stood at the front desk of the hotel in Paris.

The receptionist checked my passport, looking apologetic.

"Miss Maya, the reservation was indeed paid for with your card."

"However, Mr. Carter changed the guest name to Miss Chloe."

I gripped my passport. "Who gave him permission to do that?"

"I am sorry. Mr. Carter claimed he is your fiancé and showed us a screenshot of your authorization."

Ding.

The elevator doors opened.

Carter walked out, wearing a plush bathrobe, his hair slightly messy.

When he saw me, his first words weren't to ask how I had survived thirty-six hours of exhausting layovers.

Instead, he knitted his brows and hissed, "Are you seriously stalking us all the way to Paris?"

I looked at him. "Where is my room?"

"Chloe just took her meds and fell asleep. Keep your voice down."

"I asked you, where is my room?!"

Carter rubbed his temples, his tone incredibly dismissive.

"The hotel is fully booked."

"There’s a small storage room in the basement with a cot. You can crash there for tonight."

He tossed a rusty key onto the floor at my feet.

"Don't come upstairs and make a scene. Chloe can't handle any stress."

I looked down at the key and suddenly let out a cold laugh.

"Carter, I worked night shifts for three months drawing blueprints to save up enough money to book this suite."

"I know."

His voice grew even lower, carrying a chilling indifference.

"But Chloe is weak. She’s exhausted after a ten-hour flight."

"Maya, grow up. Stop being so petty about everything."

I reached into my pocket and tapped my phone. The recording was still going.

This time, I didn't swallow my tears like I used to.

When I pushed open the basement storage door, a foul smell of mold and dust hit my face.

Mops, bleach, and mountains of dirty laundry filled the space.

My temperature-controlled case was carelessly dumped right next to a bucket of dirty water.

The lock had been brutally smashed open.

My blood ran cold. I lunged forward.

The inside was a total mess. My sketchbook was there, and my sewing kit was there.

But the heavy-embroidered couture gown, "Ethereal," was gone.

My phone buzzed. It was a message from Carter.

“Chloe took the gown to try it on. She says she wants to wear it to the showcase tomorrow.”

“It’s an honor for your work to be worn by her. Don’t be ungrateful.”