The morning sunlight kissed her skin, but Elena felt no warmth.Every heartbeat reminded her — five years. She had five years before the night she died.Five years to destroy everything they built on her trust.
She stared into the mirror. The reflection was familiar, yet foreign —younger, softer, full of hope she no longer believed in.
Her lips curved."Hope is a luxury I can't afford anymore."
8:00 a.m. — Cross Group Headquarters
The lobby was just as she remembered: glass walls, chrome accents, and that smell of money and power.Back then, she used to walk in timidly, waiting for Damian's attention.Now? She walked in as if she owned the place.
"Miss White?" the receptionist blinked. "Mr. Cross is expecting you upstairs for your engagement briefing."
"Of course he is," Elena said smoothly, stepping into the private elevator.Her fingers brushed the silver ring in her pocket — the same one he'd later give to Clara.
She wasn't here to get engaged.She was here to rewrite fate.
The elevator chimed open.Damian stood there — black suit, sharp jaw, cold eyes.He was every inch the man she'd loved… and the one who'd killed her.
"Elena," he greeted, eyes scanning her like she was a checklist item. "You're late."
She smiled. "Only by three minutes. You've gotten stricter, Mr. Cross."Her tone was calm, but it made him pause — this wasn't the docile Elena he remembered.
Before he could speak, the door opened again — Clara stepped in, radiant in designer silk.
"Oh, Elena!" Clara cooed, hugging her dramatically. "I'm so happy for you! Damian's been planning your engagement for weeks."
Elena's gaze lingered on Clara's manicured hands — the same hands that would hold a gun to her chest one day.
"Yes," she said softly, "I'm sure he's full of surprises."
Damian frowned. "You sound... different today."
Elena tilted her head, meeting his eyes with a faint smirk."I suppose dying changes people."
He froze. "What did you just say?"
"Nothing." Her smile was ice and silk. "Shall we begin the meeting?"
As Clara prattled about flower arrangements and photographers, Elena watched them — not as the naïve fiancée, but as the woman who'd seen the ending.Every gesture, every lie, every whisper — she remembered it all.
But this time, there would be no wedding.This time, the engagement that sealed her death would never happen.
At the end of the meeting, Elena stood and smoothed her blazer."I've made some changes," she said.
Damian arched a brow. "Changes?"
She slid a document across the table. "I'll be signing a prenup. And I want joint control of my shares in White Corporation."
Clara's smile faltered. "Elena, isn't that… unnecessary?"
"No," Elena said, eyes locked on Damian. "It's called self-preservation."
A tense silence filled the room.For the first time, Damian didn't have a comeback.
Elena picked up her purse, turned, and walked out.He watched her go — something unreadable flickering in his eyes.
For the first time, he didn't feel in control.