The drive back from the docks was a blur of neon lights and rhythmic windshield wipers. Julian drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting heavily on Elara's thigh. He acted as though they had just shared a romantic dinner rather than a confession of financial fraud.
When they reached her apartment, he didn't turn off the engine. Instead, he reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a small, inexpensive plastic phone.
"Take this," he said, pressing the burner phone into her palm. "If anyone—the police, the gallery board, even your friend Maya—asks where I was tonight, or any night for the last month, you check the log on this phone. It has our 'history.' We were together. Always."
Elara looked down at the device. It felt like she was holding a live grenade. "Julian, this is lying to the law. This isn't just a relationship drama anymore."
"It's loyalty, Elara," he whispered, his eyes locking onto hers with a terrifying intensity. "You told me you were the one who stayed. Prove it. If I go down, the gallery goes down too. I've made sure our finances are... tangled. You're protecting yourself as much as me."
He leaned over and kissed her—a hard, desperate kiss that tasted like salt and rain—and then he was gone, his silver coupe disappearing into the night.
Elara climbed the stairs to her apartment, her legs feeling like lead. When she opened the door, she found Maya sitting on her sofa. Maya looked tired, her eyes red-rimmed as if she'd been crying.
"I used my spare key," Maya said, standing up. "I couldn't sleep. I kept thinking about what I said to you at the gallery. I'm sorry I was harsh, but Elara... you have to tell me what's going on. You're shivering."
Elara stood in the entryway, the burner phone heavy in her coat pocket. She looked at her best friend—the person who had seen her through every heartbreak and triumph since they were nineteen. The truth was right there, on the tip of her tongue. Julian is a thief. He's using me. I'm scared.
But then she felt the cold weight of the silver charm bracelet on her wrist. She thought about the "missing funds" Julian mentioned. If she spoke the truth, she wasn't just destroying Julian; she was admitting she had been a fool. She was admitting her "hill" was a lie.
"I'm fine, Maya," Elara said, her voice sounding hollow even to her own ears. "Julian and I just had a long talk. We're working through things."
Maya stepped closer, her gaze falling on Elara's wet, ruined dress. "Working through things? You look like you just crawled out of the river. Is he hurting you?"
"No!" Elara snapped, her defensiveness rising like a shield. "He's under a lot of pressure. You wouldn't understand. You leave when things get hard, remember? I don't."
Maya took a step back, the hurt on her face sharper than any knife. "Is that what this is? A competition to see who can suffer the most? Elara, that phone in your pocket just buzzed. I saw the light through the fabric."
Elara froze. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the burner phone. A message flashed on the screen: 'Sleep well, Partner. See you at the gala tomorrow.'
"Who is that?" Maya asked, her voice trembling. "That's not your phone."
"It's business," Elara lied, her heart breaking as she watched the light die in her friend's eyes. "Please, Maya. Just go home."
Maya didn't argue this time. She walked to the door, but before she left, she turned back. "You think you're being an Anchor, Elara. But anchors don't just stay in one place. They eventually get dragged to the bottom of the ocean. I hope you learn how to swim before the ship sinks."
The door clicked shut. Elara was alone. She sat on the floor of her kitchen, the burner phone in one hand and the cheap silver bracelet in the other. She had chosen her side. She had kept the secret.
She was standing on the hill, just like she promised. But for the first time, she realized how cold it was at the top.