The morning after the gala didn't bring a hangover; it brought the police.
Elara was barely awake, the cheap silver bracelet cold against her skin, when the heavy thuds echoed against her apartment door. She opened it to find two detectives in charcoal suits, their faces as stony as the city skyline. They weren't looking for Julian; they were looking for her.
"Ms. Elara Vance?" the taller one asked, flashing a gold badge. "We're with the Financial Crimes Division. We'd like to ask you some questions regarding the accounts of the Julian Vane Foundation."
Elara felt the burner phone in her robe pocket. It felt like it was vibrating, though she knew it was silent. Her mind raced back to the "dates" Julian had logged. Her heart hammered against her ribs, but her face remained the mask of the loyal anchor.
"I'm just his girlfriend," she said, her voice steady. "I don't handle his business."
"But you sign for it," the detective countered, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. He held up a file. "Your signature is on fourteen separate receipts for 'consultation dinners' at The Velvet Room. Dinners that cost more than your monthly salary at the gallery."
He leaned in, his eyes narrowing. "We know Julian is the architect. But we need to know if you were the floor plan, Elara. Or just the decoration."
This was the moment Maya had warned her about. The ship was sinking, and the weight was dragging her down. She could tell them about Sophia. She could tell them about the diamonds. She could hand over the burner phone and be free.
But then she remembered Julian's voice: 'You're the only one who actually loves the climb.'
"He was with me," Elara said, the lie coming out as smooth as silk. "Every one of those nights. We weren't just discussing business; we were planning our life. If there are missing funds, it must be a clerical error. Julian is... he's a visionary. He doesn't look at the small numbers."
The detectives stayed for three hours. They picked apart her story, but she didn't budge. She used the data from the burner phone like a script, reciting the fabricated memories until they felt like the truth. By the time they left, Elara felt hollowed out, a shell of a person held together by a lie.
She grabbed her keys and drove straight to Julian's penthouse. She didn't knock; she used the key he'd given her. She found him in his office, staring out at the city, a glass of amber liquid in his hand.
"They came to my house, Julian," she said, her voice trembling now that the performance was over. "I lied for you. I told them we were together. I'm a criminal now."
Julian didn't turn around. He just took a slow sip of his drink. "I know. Sophia called me. She said the detectives left her office an hour ago."
"Sophia?" Elara walked up to him, grabbing his arm. "Your sister? The one you gave the three-thousand-dollar diamonds to while you gave me this?" She shook her wrist, the silver charms clinking mockingly. "She told me the truth, Julian. You're using me as a human shield."
Julian finally turned. His eyes weren't dark with guilt; they were bright with that terrifying, addictive thrill.
"She's right," he whispered, pulling her close. "I am using you. And you're using me. You love being the only one who can save me. You love that you're the only person in this world who won't walk away when the fire gets hot."
He pulled a small velvet bag from his desk and dropped it into her hand. It was heavy. Elara opened it to find the diamond pavé earrings. They weren't Sophia's. They were a second pair.
"I didn't give her yours," he said. "I gave her the set she needed to pay off her own debts. These? These are the price of your loyalty. Welcome to the firm, Elara."
Elara looked at the diamonds, then at the man she had just committed perjury for. She realized she wasn't the Anchor anymore. She was the storm.