**Chapter 1** **POV: Elara** Inside the Rolls-Royce. Alexander leaned in, kissing me deeply. “Elara, you look stunning tonight,” his voice a rough whisper. I was breathless, my eyes hazy, a soft moan escaping my lips. Suddenly, Alexander’s phone rang, jarringly loud. He glanced at the caller ID, his brow furrowing instinctively. He held up a hand, signaling me to wait, then answered. The voice on the other end spoke flawless Norwegian. My eyelashes fluttered. Alexander replied in Norwegian, “Yes, she’s right here. Don’t worry, she doesn’t understand.” A faint, bitter smile touched my lips. Every single word, I understood. Years ago, for a major Nordic cooperation project, I’d spent countless nights learning Norwegian. My proficiency was nearly native, though I’d never told anyone. I hadn’t seen the need; learning a new language was never difficult for me. But at this moment, I wished I had never understood a single word of Norwegian. The person on the phone asked curiously, “Heard you found a budget version of Violet?” Because Alexander continued in Norwegian, “She does bear a resemblance, but she’s far more obedient, easier to control, like a kitten.” The other person then said, “You know Violet’s coming back tomorrow, right?” Alexander froze. “She’s returning?” “Would I joke about something like this? Since she’s coming back, does that mean your little obedient kitten needs to make way?” Alexander’s voice was cold. “I’ll just get her some treats. There isn’t a single kitten in the world that can’t be appeased with a few snacks.” He then hung up, turned, and tried to resume our intimacy. I went through the motions mechanically, my mind already drifting. We had been together for three years, from my sophomore year of college to my first year of grad school. In those three years, he’d showered me with an unimaginable kind of affection. He once booked out an entire Michelin-starred restaurant just because I mentioned I liked their risotto. When I had cramps, he’d clumsily make me chamomile tea and heat up a hot water bottle. I always thought I was the girl favored by destiny. My heart began to grow cold, bit by bit. Violet, a rising Hollywood star, the goddess Alexander secretly adored but could never truly reach. I remembered our first meeting three years ago in the university library. I had accidentally bumped a book from his hands, and as I stammered apologies, he stared at my face for a long time. His gaze was so intense it made my heart race. I thought it was love at first sight. Now, looking back, he wasn’t seeing me, Elara, at all. He was looking *through* my face, at the shadow of another woman. Three years, over a thousand days and nights. For him, I gave up the opportunity my family arranged for me to study abroad at the University of Oslo. I hid the fact that I was a Sterling heiress, becoming, in his eyes, just a simple, obedient college girl from an ordinary background. I learned to cook all his favorite dishes. I molded myself into his ideal woman. In the end, it only earned me the title of an “obedient cat.” Alexander leaned in to kiss me, but I subtly turned my head away. His movements paused, a flicker of displeasure in his eyes. “What’s wrong?” I looked up. In the dim light, my eyes shimmered. I spoke softly, “I’m a little tired. I want to go home.” My voice was perfectly calm, betraying no hint of emotion. Alexander simply chuckled. He probably just thought I was being moody and didn’t give it another thought. After all, in his eyes, I had always been docile. “Alright, I’ll take you back.” He restarted the car. The vehicle smoothly drove toward the villa in the suburbs. All the way there, I didn’t say another word. I leaned against the window, watching the streetlights rush past, my mind eerily clear. I am no cat. A Sterling daughter is never a pet to be manipulated. I pulled out my phone. The screen’s glow illuminated my bloodless face. I found an encrypted contact, labeled ‘Dad.’ I tapped open the chat, my fingertips flying across the screen, then sent the message. Just a few words. [I agree to the arranged marriage. I’m moving to France.] **Chapter 2** **POV: Elara** The car stopped in front of the villa. Alexander unbuckled his seatbelt and leaned over, as usual, to give me a goodnight kiss. “Get some rest. I have some business at the office, so I won’t be staying tonight.” My gaze fell on his face, and then, I simply asked, “Alexander, do you love me?” He paused, then chuckled softly, squeezing my cheek. His tone was falsely affectionate and dismissive. “Silly girl, why ask such a thing? Go on in.” He didn’t answer. I understood. I opened the car door and walked into the luxuriously decorated villa without looking back. The living room was dark, utterly silent. I stood in the entryway until the Rolls-Royce finally disappeared into the rainy night, then slowly raised my hand and covered my face. No tears. My heart was utterly dead; there was no greater sorrow. My father’s message came back then: [Finally made up your mind? All the paperwork can be handled in a month.] I put away my phone, smiling silently, then switched on the living room lights and began to clear out my belongings. I dragged several suitcases from the walk-in closet. The designer bags, haute couture dresses, the jewelry he’d given me—I didn’t even glance at them, just tossed them aside. I only packed my own things: a few simple outfits I’d bought with my own money. I cleared out the study, packing up my research papers and textbooks. A photo frame still sat on the bookshelf. It held the first picture Alexander and I had ever taken together. In it, I was smiling brightly, and he had his arm around my shoulder, his eyes soft. I picked up the frame, stared at it for a few seconds, then, expressionless, pulled out the photo and threw it, along with the frame, into the trash can. The TV was playing an entertainment news flash. “…International superstar Violet has reportedly arrived in the city today, officially kicking off her domestic concert tour. Fans swarmed the airport; the scene was pure chaos…” On the screen, Violet, in a Chanel suit and oversized sunglasses, emerged surrounded by bodyguards. I looked at her face, a cold laugh bubbling in my chest. Not just a strong resemblance, they were practically identical. I opened Alexander’s laptop in the study. Trusting my intuition, I typed in the password—my birthday. He had once said he had no secrets from me. But I had never logged in before, out of respect for his privacy. Now, I easily logged in. His account was open, and the pinned chat was with Violet. The latest messages were from just half an hour ago. Violet: [I’m here. When are you coming over?] Alexander: [With her right now. Leaving soon.] Violet: [That replacement, you haven’t gotten rid of her yet?] Alexander: [Almost. She’s just an obedient pet, nothing to worry about.] My fingertips dug hard into my palms. My muddled mind was growing terrifyingly clear. I closed the laptop, then dragged all the packed suitcases to the front door. At 3 AM, the villa’s doorbell rang. I saw Alexander on the monitor. He seemed to have been drinking, his handsome face showing a mix of fatigue and impatience. I didn’t open the door. He started calling, his phone vibrating frantically on the living room coffee table. I ignored it. It wasn’t until the outside grew quiet that I returned to the living room, sat on the sofa, and waited for dawn. At daybreak, Alexander must have found a spare key. He opened the door. When he saw the neatly arranged suitcases in the living room and me sitting on the sofa, his face instantly darkened. “Elara, please, what are you doing now?” **Chapter 3** **POV: Elara** He walked over, pulled a velvet box from his pocket, and tossed it onto the coffee table. “Forgot to give you this yesterday. A new Cartier bracelet. Come on, don’t be silly.” His tone was like he was trying to soothe a disobedient pet. I slowly raised my head, my gaze falling on the exquisite box. I asked softly, “Is this for me, or for her?” Alexander’s face went completely cold. “What are you implying?” Just then, his phone rang again. The caller ID showed Violet. He glanced at me, his eyes full of warning, then turned and walked up to the second floor, lowering his voice as he answered the call. I heard his footsteps fade. His voice was so tender as he spoke—I only now realized that tenderness was never meant for me. Then, hurried footsteps approached. “Something came up with Violet; I need to go.” He passed me without stopping, dropping only that curt explanation. The front door opened again, then closed. This time, I knew he wouldn’t be coming back. I stood up, walked to the coffee table, and picked up the velvet box. I opened it. Inside lay a diamond bracelet of exorbitant value, glinting with a cold, expensive brilliance in the morning light. I picked it up, walked to the door, and pulled open the villa’s heavy front door. The cool morning breeze stirred my long hair. I raised my hand and tossed the brand-new diamond bracelet into the trash can by the road. Alexander left, and for five days, there was nothing. Not a single message. Yet I was unusually busy. I contacted my university, citing family circumstances, and formally submitted my request for a leave of absence. Simultaneously, I engaged Mr. Harrison’s law firm, which belonged to my father, to process my immigration to France. My properties and funds were systematically being liquidated and transferred. I was systematically erasing the past three years of my life, piece by painful piece. During this time, Violet’s presence was unavoidable. The first thing this international superstar did upon returning to the country was heavily promote herself on social media. One day, she posted a picture from a private art gallery; the next, a video of her dining at a Michelin-starred restaurant. The most infuriating post was a seemingly casual selfie. In the picture, Violet wore an oversized men’s white shirt, revealing her collarbone. She held a coffee mug, and that mug, I knew all too well—it was one of the matching couple’s mugs I’d personally crafted for Alexander last Christmas. The background of the photo was Alexander’s private apartment study. Every detail was a blatant provocation. The comment section had already devolved into a cesspool. [OMG! That’s Alexander’s shirt, right? I’ve seen him use that mug!] [Just get together already! First love is true love!] [Is that college girl still dreaming? You’ve occupied her nest long enough, time to give it back?] I impassively scrolled past those vicious comments and turned off my phone. I felt no pain, no anger, because a dead heart can no longer feel anything. I just felt that this game, it was time to end it.
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