Nine Years Of Auditions, Then I Walked Away Chapter 01

Nine Years Of Auditions, Then I Walked Away Chapter 01

Time after time, Sebastian Whitmore chose his ex’s plain oatmeal during the Approval Trials.

The Whitmores glanced at my gourmet banquet with something like pity before showing me the door.

I let out a hollow laugh, grabbed my purse, and walked out.

When I got home, Mom asked me carefully, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Elara? Did Sebastian pick you this time?”

I stared at her red-rimmed eyes, then at the cold, untouched dinner sitting on the table.

Year after year, I’d missed every single one of her birthdays. 　　I was too busy running to the Whitmore Estate, trying to prove I could be the perfect wife.

Sebastian swore he loved me. Swore I was the only one he’d ever marry.

Every socialite in the city gnashed her teeth over it.

They couldn’t stand that a nobody from The Flats had snagged Sebastian Whitmore’s attention.

But the moment his ex came back from Europe, everything changed.

Every time, he claimed he was just protecting Seraphina’s fragile ego. And every time, he chose her.

Tonight made it official. By Whitmore tradition, Seraphina had passed her Initiation. She was his fiancée now.

I wasn’t going to waste another second on a dead-end love.

Not when my mom was the one who actually loved me.

***

The hurt hit me all at once. I curled up in the entryway and sobbed.

Mom didn’t know what to do. She just held me.

A few cold tears dripped onto my cheek. She whispered, “Elara, you still have me.”

After I’d cried myself out, I got up and reheated dinner. 　　I made her a stack of birthday pancakes.

It was almost laughable. To become Sebastian’s perfect wife, I’d spent many years in Cordon Bleu culinary courses.

I could carve roses out of radishes. Julienne tofu into silk threads.

But I’d never once cooked a meal for my own mother.

Under the dim kitchen light, Mom quietly reached for the syrup she hated.

It felt like someone was carving up my heart with a dull blade. I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood.

For nine years, I’d memorized Sebastian’s aversion to cilantro. I knew his mother hated ginger.

I could recite the dietary quirks of twenty-odd Whitmores like a prayer.

But I’d forgotten my own mom couldn’t stand syrup.

Tears blurred my vision. My phone lit up. A message from Sebastian.

“Large, ultra-thin. Bring them to the penthouse suite at The Harrington Hotel.”

Then came a pathetic excuse, tacked on like an afterthought.

“It’s just part of the Trials. I’m not in a room with anyone else.”

I let out a sharp breath and wiped my eyes.

Last week, Sebastian made me deliver chicken soup in a downpour. He said his mom had lost her appetite.

When I got there, he poured it into the dog’s bowl right in front of me.

When he saw I was pissed, he panicked and held me, murmuring apologies.

Just part of the Trials.

And last winter, he asked me to showcase my talents for the Whitmore uncles.

Terrified of looking bulky, I wore nothing but a thin slip dress.

Barefoot in the snow, I danced until my feet went numb, arms floating through the air like I was weightless.

When I finished, the applause was thunderous.

I thought I’d finally won their approval. My heart soared.

Then they said, “The hired help really knows how to put on a show.”

Sebastian nodded along, raising his glass. He asked me to sing another song.

I cried so hard that night my eyes nearly swelled shut.

I asked him what I even was to him.

He said I was being too sensitive.

Mom placed her hand over mine and glanced at my phone screen.

I shut it off on instinct. She got up and came back with a debit card.

The card was worn down to the plastic. It held every cent we’d saved to pay off the mortgage on the Homestead.

“Elara, pay him back. Clear the debt.”

“I can’t watch you beg for scraps from him anymore. I can’t stand it, Elara. The way he treats you, like you’re nothing.”

I bit my lip so hard it split. My voice came out rough.

“Mom, if we spend this money, we lose the Homestead. For good.”

“Dad’s ashes are still in that yard. That’s home. Not some apartment.”

She forced the card into my palm. Her eyes went red all over again.

“Elara, home is wherever you are.”

The tears fell whether I wanted them to or not. I called a cab and headed for the hotel.