Elara's POV
I followed Ian quietly out of the fashion show, keeping a safe distance so he wouldn't notice me. My heart beat steadily as I hid behind one of the marble pillars near the corridor. From there, I could hear his low, cold voice as he answered a phone call.
"You need to hurry up with Camila," his mother's sharp voice echoed through the line. "You're already thirty-three. Do you think you're still young? This isn't the old days. Stop clinging to nonsense ideals. Marrying her will be good for our family's reputation. You're a businessman, Ian. You should understand the benefits involved."
Her tone softened only slightly before the final blow came. "As long as she can be a good wife, that's enough."
I clenched my fists, my chest tightening. The same cold manipulation — the same woman who once praised me as the perfect daughter-in-law.
Ian's expression didn't change. "I know, Mum."
"You always say you know," she snapped. "But you never act on it."
The line went dead.
Ian exhaled, sliding his phone back into his pocket. I quickly ducked deeper behind the pillar, afraid he might notice me. My pulse hammered in my ears. I waited for a moment, ready to move, when suddenly I heard his voice again.
"Elara…"
My entire body froze.
Had he seen me?
But no — his gaze wasn't on me. I followed his line of sight and saw a woman walking toward the showroom. From behind, she looked exactly like me. Same height. Same dress. Same dark waves of hair cascading down her back.
Ian's body stiffened. His eyes trembled. Without hesitation, he followed her.
I stayed hidden, my breath caught in my throat. Watching him chase after another woman he thought was me stirred a mix of bitterness and cruel satisfaction.
When he finally caught up, he tapped her shoulder. "Elara?"
The woman turned, confusion on her face. She was clearly a stranger.
"What do you want?" she asked, her tone playful when she saw his expensive suit. "Do you want my number?"
His expression hardened. "Sorry. Wrong person."
Without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving her standing there stunned.
She scoffed loudly. "What rubbish! You mistake me for someone else and can't even see properly at night? Are you a mole or what?"
Her insult hung in the air, but Ian didn't even glance back.
Not far from him, I stood hidden in the crowd, wearing the exact same dress as the woman. A small, cold smile curved on my lips.
Ian, I thought bitterly, five years ago, I respected you. I loved you and treasured you with my life. And what did you give me in return? You said I was a nuisance… a burden. Fine.
I adjusted the mask covering the upper half of my face, my lips curving into a darker smile. This time, I'll be your worst nightmare. And I won't give you another chance to hurt me.
The memories clawed at me — his betrayal, the humiliation, Finn's lifeless body. But tonight wasn't about pain. Tonight was about control.
With a deep breath, I stepped into the showroom as the lights dimmed and the fashion show began.
Models strutted down the runway, each more dazzling than the last. The hall shimmered with luxury and applause. I sat silently among the guests, eyes locked on the two people who had once destroyed me — Ian and Camila.
A cold shiver ran down my spine as Camila turned slightly, her gaze sweeping across the crowd. For a moment, our eyes met.
My pulse quickened. Did she recognize me?
Her brows furrowed briefly, then relaxed. The mask did its job.
Evil witch, I whispered under my breath. You tried to end me five years ago. I'm sorry you failed. I'm back — and this time, you'll pay. For me. And for Finn.
A tear pricked at the corner of my eye, but I wiped it away quickly before anyone could see.
Across the hall, Ian tapped Camila's shoulder. "Who are you looking at, Cam?"
Camila forced a smile, cupping his face. "It's nothing, babe. I thought I saw an old friend."
She kissed him. I looked away, not out of pain anymore — but fury restrained by purpose.
When the show ended, Camila was called to the stage to give a speech. She moved gracefully, her aura confident as she held the microphone.
But before she could utter a word, the large screen behind her flickered to life.
A video began to play.
"Camila, please help me… please…"
The voice echoed through the hall — the trembling cry of a woman who looked exactly like me.
The audience gasped.
I had spent weeks preparing this moment. My IT expert had created a perfectly realistic video designed to ruin her.
Camila froze, eyes wide with disbelief. Murmurs spread across the crowd like wildfire.
This is just the beginning, I thought, my voice barely a whisper. The tip of the iceberg.
I raised my glass and crushed it in my hand. The shards glittered like broken pieces of my heart.
Chaos erupted. People began throwing bottles, paper, and anything they could grab.
"What's going on?! What's wrong with everyone?!" Camila shouted, panic creeping into her tone.
She turned toward Ian — but his gaze was cold, fixed on her.
Camila spun back to the screen, her voice trembling. "Who played that video?! Turn it off! TURN IT OFF!"
She rushed backstage, but the reporters swarmed her before she could escape.
"Ms. Camila, what does this video mean?"
"Who is the woman asking for help?"
"Do you know her?"
"I–I don't know!" she stammered, sweating. "How would I know her?"
Her words stumbled, but the cameras didn't stop flashing.
When she finally looked for Ian, his seat was empty.
Panic flashed across her face as she hurried after him. "Ian, listen to me! It's not what you think! It's an accident!"
He stopped abruptly, his voice like ice. "Then what is it, Camila?"
She froze, pale as paper.
Ian's jaw tightened. He released her arm sharply. "Laura, take care of her. If there's anything else, wait for me."
And with that, he walked away — leaving her trembling in the middle of the chaos.
I watched from the corner of the room, the corner of my mouth lifting slowly.
Round one, Camila… welcome to the beginning of your downfall.