Chapter 5
My new life in Massachusetts was nothing short of a gilded cage.
And I loved it.
Assistant Lewis didn’t take me to some ordinary apartment.
He drove me to a heavily secured luxury condo in the heart of Boston’s Back Bay. The windows overlooked the Charles River, and the study was bigger than my entire dorm room back home.
“Your schedule, Miss Clare,” Lewis said, handing me a leather-bound iPad. “Mr. Quinn has approved the curriculum. Math at 8:00 a.m., English literature at 10:00, science at 1:00 p.m., and college essay prep at 3:00. Dinner is at 6:00 p.m., prepared by the private chef to support cognitive performance. Lights out at 11:00.”
I stared at the color-coded schedule.
It was intense.
It was suffocating.
It was exactly what I needed.
“Tell Mr. Quinn,” I said quietly, “that I won’t let him down.”
For the next three months, my life became a blur of flashcards, practice exams, and grueling one-on-one study sessions.
The tutors Lewis hired were merciless.
Former Ivy League admissions officers.
PhDs.
People who didn’t believe in “good enough.”
Whenever I felt like crying, I remembered Stella’s mocking voice, and I pushed harder.
And then there was Cyrus.
True to Stella’s description, he was omnipresent.
Even from thousands of miles away, he controlled my life with terrifying precision.
My phone buzzed with his instructions every single day.
Send me a picture of your lunch.
I sent a photo of the grilled salmon and quinoa the chef had prepared.
Eat the broccoli too. You need iron. Your physics tutor said you looked pale today.
Send me your latest practice SAT score.
I sent a screenshot.
1540.
Better. But your reading comprehension in Section 3 dropped. Review nineteenth-century literature tonight. Do not sleep until you summarize three passages and send them to me.
I obeyed him exactly.
And the truth was, I didn’t just tolerate his control.
I thrived under it.
He wasn’t trying to control me so I would stay small.
He was shaping me into something sharper.
Something dangerous.
One evening, after I sent him a picture of myself studying at the enormous mahogany desk in the oversized cashmere sweater he had specifically told me to wear because it was snowing outside, the floating text appeared again.
This is so boring. Where’s the drama?
Why is she just studying?
The male lead is supposed to be a dominant CEO, not a strict academic advisor.
Why is he checking her homework?
Don’t worry. Next week is the quarterly financial summit. The original plot says Cyrus returns to the States incognito. He’ll run into Stella, recognize her voice, and the real romance will begin.
Clare is about to get kicked to the curb.
My heart dropped.
Cyrus was coming back.
Next week.
The panic hit me so fast it felt cold.
Sharp.
I had always known this day would come.
I was a fraud.
I had used Stella’s account.
I had never once spoken to him on the phone, always claiming my microphone was broken or I was in the library, because I knew my voice wouldn’t match the few old voice messages Stella had sent him.
If he came back and saw me, it would all be over.
The tutors.
The penthouse.
Harvard.
Everything.