Now
The headlines hit by morning.
> "Elina Rivers and Damon Sinclair: A Love Rekindled?"
"From Summer Lovers to Corporate Power Moves?"
"Sinclair Heir Spotted With Former Flame at Charity Gala."
Elina stared at her phone in disbelief, half-dressed in her apartment, the city's skyline glowing behind her.
She hadn't even spoken more than five sentences to Damon. But now they were trending.
A knock came at her door.
She opened it, unsurprised to find him standing there, looking infuriatingly calm with two coffees in hand.
"Really?" she asked. "You just show up at my place like it's still 2017?"
"Figured you'd be awake," Damon said, stepping in. "Figured we should talk."
"I don't do small talk with liars."
He set the coffee down on the counter, unfazed. "This isn't small talk. PR is already on fire. The media thinks we're back together. That's... an opportunity."
Elina blinked. "You think I'll fake a relationship with you? Are you out of your mind?"
But then her phone buzzed again—her nonprofit sponsor was pulling out, not wanting to be "entangled in a potential scandal."
Her chest tightened.
Damon noticed. "This hurts you too, doesn't it?"
She didn't answer.
---
Then — Seven Years Ago
The lake behind Damon's family's estate had been their secret place. At night, they'd sneak out and lie on the dock, talking about everything and nothing.
"You never talk about your family," Elina had whispered, her head resting on his chest.
"There's nothing to say," he murmured. "They're not like us."
She didn't press. Back then, she thought love was about waiting for people to open up. Damon had made her feel seen, protected, adored.
He kissed her like the world didn't exist outside their little bubble. And she believed it.
Until the morning she woke up to an empty room…
And found out he was a Sinclair.
A billionaire heir. The same family that owned the land her family rented on.
He was never just a dreamer. He was the boy born with a silver crown—and she was the girl he used to escape his world.
---
Now
"I don't want anything from you," she said, voice sharp.
"I don't believe you," Damon replied.
She hated how easily he could look through her. Like he knew the anger was armor and the pain still lived underneath.
"If we do this…" she started, then caught herself.
He smirked. "So you're considering it?"
"If we do this, there are rules. No touching. No pretending in private. This is just damage control."
He stepped closer. "Whatever you need."
But as he held her gaze, something in her chest twisted—because even now, despite everything...
Part of her wanted to believe him.