From Unwanted Ward To Unattainable Queen

Ellie POV

Three years later.

The air in Florence was heavy and warm, thick with the scent of jasmine and grilled bread. I stood on the balcony of a villa, holding a glass of prosecco that caught the golden light of the setting sun.

I wasn't the same girl who had once cried over a sketchbook.

That girl was gone.

My hair was shorter now, cut sharper against my jawline. My dress was black silk, backless, and daring.

"You look stunning," a voice murmured behind me.

I turned to find David.

He was everything Marcus wasn't. Warm. Open. Safe. He smiled at me, his eyes crinkling at the corners with genuine affection. He was a fellow artist, a man who saw the world in vibrant colors, not black-and-white contracts.

"You're biased," I teased, leaning back into him.

"I'm honest," he corrected.

He kissed my forehead. It was a soft, lingering touch that made my shoulders relax, melting away the tension of the day.

"Ready for the toast?" he asked.

"Ready."

We walked inside. It was a small engagement party—not ours, but a friend's—though we were celebrating my gallery opening, too.

"Ellie!" someone shouted over the low hum of music. "Video call! It's the Arizona team!"

My stomach dropped to the floor.

A laptop was set up on the main table among the platters of antipasti. The screen flickered, and suddenly, there he was.

Marcus.

He looked older. There were silver threads weaving through his dark hair now. He was sitting in his office, the same cold, imposing glass fortress I remembered. Chloe was nowhere to be seen.

"Hello, everyone," Marcus said. His voice was tinny through the speakers, but it still commanded the room with effortless authority.

Then, his eyes found me.

He stopped.

He stared at the screen. His gaze raked over my dress. He stared at the way I was standing, confident and poised, a stranger to the girl he used to own.

"Ellie," he said. It wasn't a greeting. It was a question.

"Hello, Marcus," I said. My voice was steady. I didn't shake.

David stepped up beside me, his presence a solid wall of heat. He wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me close. It was a natural gesture, but also a possessive one.

Marcus's eyes dropped to David's hand on my waist. His jaw tightened visibly. I saw a flash of something volatile in his eyes—shock? Anger?

"Who is this?" Marcus asked, his tone dropping to absolute freezing.

"This is David," I said, smiling up at the man beside me. "My partner."

Silence.

Marcus looked like he had been punched in the gut. He opened his mouth, but no words came out.

"Nice to meet you, sir," David said cheerfully. He leaned down and kissed my temple, right on camera. "Ellie has told me... well, actually, she hasn't said much about you."

It was a lie, but a perfect one.

Marcus flinched.

"Ellie," Marcus said, his voice strained tight.

"We need to discuss your return schedule. The flight is next week."

"I know," I said. "I'll be there."

"Good. Be careful," he said automatically. It was a reflex. A habit.

"I'm always careful," I said. "And I'm not alone anymore."

I saw his hand clench into a fist on his desk, knuckles turning white.

"David," someone called out from the kitchen, "Cut the cake!"

"Coming!" David grinned. He looked back at the screen. "Bye, Mr. Thorne."

I reached out to close the laptop.

For a split second, before the connection cut, I saw Marcus's face. The composure was gone. He looked lost. He looked furious.

I clicked End Call.

The screen went black.

I took a deep breath of the humid Florence air.

I was going back to Arizona in a week. But I wasn't going back to him.

I looked at the ring on my right hand—not an engagement ring, but a promise ring David had given me.

I was ready.

Let the games begin.