Elena's POV
Elena leaned back in her chair, champagne glass in hand. The Paris show was a success. The headlines were all about her. The once-broke designer who fought her way into the biggest fashion houses, now running her own empire.
She closed her eyes and smiled. I did it. I actually did it.
Not just for her — but for the little girl who once stitched old clothes in a tiny room, for her parents who never lived to see this, and for every door that had been slammed in her face.
Adrian was by her side. Sophie too. She felt blessed, lucky, untouchable.
This is the life I dreamed of, she thought, lifting her glass higher.
But somewhere across the room, someone else's smile didn't reach their eyes.
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Sophie's POV
Sophie stood in the corner, clapping like everyone else. But in her head, her voice hissed.
Elena, Elena, Elena… always Elena. It used to be us, remember? Two girls sketching designs in the dark, crying when the world slammed the door. We promised each other we'd shine together. But look at you now — queen of the stage, and me? Just your shadow.
She smiled bitterly, lowering her glass. You're not better than me. You just got lucky. Lucky with timing. Lucky with a rich husband. Lucky with everything I should've had.
Her nails tapped against her phone screen. Why not me? Why not Sophie?
The thought that had haunted her for months rose again, louder this time.
She opened Adrian's contact. He'll understand. He's always understood.
She pressed call. "Adrian… can we see?..."
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Adrian's POV
Adrian Moreau sat in his study, swirling his drink, the city lights bleeding into the glass.
Look at her… Elena the great. Elena the genius. Elena the empire. He gritted his teeth. And me? The husband that smiles and claps. The man in the background. Her company should've been mine too — my name, my signature, my power. I didn't marry her to play second fiddle.
A hard voice in his head spoke up: Be a man. Stop living in her shadow. You built pieces of this too. You found the money. You opened doors. Why is your name an afterthought?
His gaze slid to the window.
Her company should answer to me as well. I should have a key to every room. If she can make moves, then so can I. I won't stay small while she grows larger than the house we built.
Silence. Then his thoughts slipped, almost on their own, to Sophie.
God… Sophie.
He saw her the way he always did: the dress hugging her like a promise. Her breasts—full and round, pressing against silk, daring him to keep eye contact and fail. Her waist tight under his hands in the daydreams he shouldn't have. The flare of her hips. And that ass—high, perfect, the kind of curve that makes a man forget his name.
Heat pooled low in his belly.
How many nights have I pictured it? Sophie under me, legs wrapped around my waist, those breasts warm against my chest, her nails digging into my back. Her mouth open, moaning my name. The sound of her riding me until I can't think. Elena gives me pride. Sophie would give me fire.
His phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen. SOPHIE.
He let it ring.
Not now. I'm busy thinking.
It vibrated again. He sighed and picked up.
"Adrian," her voice slid in, low and steady. "Can we see? Just us. Nothing serious. We should talk."
He went still. Careful.
"When?" he asked, keeping his tone flat.
"Tomorrow. Same café. Noon."
He stared at the window a beat longer, then answered, "Fine. Tomorrow."
He ended the call and set the phone down, breathing out. Sophie's body stayed in his head like a sin he didn't want to confess.
Elena trusts me, he thought. If only she knew what I think when I look at her best friend.