ELENA
Adrian, I remember him now.
A few years ago I was invited to a fashion event in France a few weeks before my graduation. There was a fire incident, and as I tried to escape that night, there was a man, lying very close to the entrance. He looked dead.
I should've ignored him and ran for my life, but I reached over and checked. He was breathing, but barely. So I helped him.
With strength I didn't know I had, I pulled a man three times my weight out of danger.
He was grateful and he invited me to have coffee. Over the next couple of weeks, we got to know each other. He was Adrian Wolfe, heir to a fashion empire in America.
That was about all I knew of him.
I returned to America and was involved in a car crash that claimed my father's life, while I only suffered a minor memory loss.
And then there was Clifford. He came into my life like a sunrise, right after Dad died, when I thought I'd never feel happiness again. He made me laugh, made me feel beautiful, made me believe love could survive even the worst of losses. I fell for him hard, got engaged to him, and believed in the fairy tale.
And now? Remembering all of it, remembering how utterly he had destroyed me… my chest burned. My hands shook. My fury was a living thing inside me, coiling tight and sharp as I walked into the private restaurant, the crisp autumn air biting at my cheeks.
Clifford had called. Bold, presumptuous, infuriatingly arrogant. He had asked for a meeting, and I had agreed—not because I wanted to forgive him, but because I wanted him to remember exactly who he had wronged.
He was already there when I arrived, sitting in the booth with that practiced, polished smile that never reached his eyes.
"Elena," he said smoothly, sliding in across from me. "Thank you for coming."
I set my jaw. "Don't thank me," I said, voice steady but laced with venom. "I came because I wanted to remind you that some people don't crawl."
He raised an eyebrow, set his face straight and hit the nail on the head. "I called because of the fashion show. You know your designs would steal the spotlight. I want you back, Elena. Back at Wells. I'll clear your name of all the scandals, and there's a huge reward waiting for you at the end of the success of the show."
The words made me want to laugh. Or scream. Or both. "Back at Wells?" I echoed, my voice low and dangerous. "You think money can erase betrayal? You think a cheque can buy forgiveness? You don't get to erase what you did."
He leaned back, irritation flashing in his eyes. "Elena… think carefully. This is an opportunity of a lifetime. No one else could—"
"Could what?" I cut him off, leaning forward so our eyes met. "Be complicit in your lies? Be another pawn in your games? You think I'd fall for that? Crawl back on my knees just because you decide to offer a few pieces of paper with numbers on them?" I laughed, the sound harsh, bitter and unrestrained. "You've humiliated me, Clifford. You've used me, and now you think money can make it okay? You're pathetic."
His jaw tightened. "You're throwing away the chance of a lifetime. Do you even realize what you're doing?"
"I know exactly what I'm doing," I said, voice rising with every word. "I will not return. I will not make your company richer while my name is spat across the globe. You've used me enough and nothing can fix it. Enjoy your life while you can, Clifford. Because when I'm done, the world will see you for exactly who you are. And you'll regret ever thinking you could control me."
I stood, my chair scraping against the floor like a gunshot, and walked out before he could respond, leaving him simmering in silence.
~~~~
Later that evening, I walked into a mansion that smelled faintly of polished wood and expensive furniture. My heart was racing with anticipation.
Adrian had invited me for a business dinner, and we were to discuss the fashion show. I was buzzing with excitement. Wolfe Enterprises would dominate, and I would be the reason. Clifford would see me, not as the woman he'd destroyed, but as the force he could never touch. My first strike was ready.
The dining room was grander than I'd imagined. A polished oak table stretched the length of the room, chandeliers casting light over everyone seated.
Two older men and an older woman sat at the table, eyes sharp, evaluating me before I even stepped fully inside.
Recognition hit one of them like a hammer. "Ah… Ms. Hart," he said, voice thick with disapproval. "You're Clifford Scott's ex-fiancée, aren't you? What on earth are you doing in our home?"
I bristled, opening my mouth to reply, but Adrian stepped between us, his presence a shield I hadn't expected. "She is my guest," he said firmly, leaving no room for argument.
"You can't be serious right now," the man looked really angry, like he wanted to grab me and throw me out immediately.
"Uncle, please." Adrian said. "And for the record, your assumptions are misplaced. What happened with her fiancé—well, it's obvious she was set up, anybody with reasoning can tell. He moved on immediately after their engagement was called, which only proves he orchestrated very likely everything."
I blinked. Defense was one thing, but Adrian's words, firm and unwavering, were like a warm hand on my heart. Shock twisted through me.
The uncle opened his mouth again, but Adrian raised a hand. His eyes scanned the room before landing on his father. "And just so there's no confusion, she is not just my guest, she is my fiancée. Engaged. I will not have anyone insult her under my roof."
Wait, what?