ELENA
I felt Clifford's stare long before I allowed myself to acknowledge it.
That sharp, familiar burn pressed against the side of my face every time his eyes cut toward me. I didn't look at him. I refused to.
Not tonight, not after everything he'd taken and certainly not when I finally had a chance to reclaim something for myself.
Adrian stood beside me, tall, composed, hand warm against mine. To any outsider, we looked like a united front, two people who belonged to each other. But on the inside, my nerves were a vibrating wire.
Still, I held my chin high, smiled at strangers, and I ignored the whispers and the occasional flash of cameras.
Because tonight was not about surviving, it was about winning.
Music and murmurs filled the air as designers took turns presenting their collections. Each piece was accompanied by heartfelt explanations; heritage, heartbreak, nostalgia, rebellion.
I listened politely, but my mind buzzed with anticipation. The minutes crawled until finally—
"Wolfe Designs, please take the stage." My pulse kicked.
Adrian squeezed my hand lightly, a silent you've got this, before we stepped forward.
The lights dimmed.
The spotlight snapped on.
My models walked out with a grace that made the room ripple with awe.
Fabric sculpted like liquid gold, silhouettes sharp yet feminine, colors bold but elegant. Every stitch, every curve, every bead was intentional. Every look told a piece of my story; resilience, rebirth, defiance.
But most importantly…
None of this had Clifford's fingerprints on it, this was mine. And the audience felt it.
Murmurs rose. Gasps followed. A few stood. Phones lifted to record. I caught sight of my ex-fiancé's jaw tightening, the tendons straining. Lenora's painted smile faltered, cracking around the edges.
Good, let them watch, and let them fucking choke on it.
When the final model exited, the applause was thunderous. Adrian looked at me with that unreadable, dangerous glint; part pride, part something deeper I wasn't ready to name.
We returned to our seating positions and watched the remaining designers display designs that didn't come close to mine.
Then came the announcement.
"And the award for Best Overall Collection goes to… Wolfe Designs!"
A roar erupted, my breath hitched and Adrian's arm circled my waist firmly, grounding me as the crowd swarmed.
I barely remembered stepping onstage, all I remembered was the overwhelming wave of validation.
The applause, the flashes, the whispers of admiration.
People who had written me off, who had smeared my name across headlines, were now applauding my work.
Not the company I designed for.
Not Clifford.
Me.
For the first time in months, I felt alive.
~~~~
After the event, the hall shifted into the typical post-award chaos; networkers approaching, reporters shouting questions, designers embracing or sulking.
Adrian had been pulled away by investors, leaving me alone for a moment near one of the decorative pillars. I exhaled, finally allowing myself a small smile.
Of course, the peace didn't last more than ten seconds.
"Well, well," a voice sliced through the air. "If it isn't the queen of scandals herself."
Lenora.
She stood there in her floor-length emerald dress, lips curved in that patronizing smile she'd perfected. She looked me up and down, slowly, as if cataloging flaws that didn't exist.
"Joining my husband's rival to get back at him?" she sneered. "How creative. Desperate, but creative."
I crossed my arms, my expression calm. "And you're still talking like you weren't the woman warming his bed while he promised me a wedding?"
Her face jerked.
Good.
"You should really thank me," I said sweetly. "I cleared the spot for you. Though honestly, you must be truly cheap to settle for a man who cheats on his fiancée."
Her nostrils flared. "Clifford chose me. You were—"
"A placeholder?" I finished for her. "Funny. Because if I were a placeholder, you wouldn't be so bothered by my existence."
Her face reddened, fury twisting her features.
I leaned forward, lowering my voice. "Don't worry, Lenora. He'll use you and dump you just like he did to me. Leopards don't change their spots. You just got the version he doesn't bother hiding."
The slap came so fast the sound echoed.
CRACK.
A hot sting exploded across my cheek, and I stumbled back. Gasps erupted around us. Heads turned. A few cameras lifted.
Lenora looked triumphant for exactly one second.
Because that was when Adrian appeared.
His expression was murderous—cold, sharp, and barely restrained.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he growled, stepping between us. His voice didn't rise, but it cut like steel.
"She…she provoked me…" Lenora stammered.
"Who the fuck do you think you are to lay hands on my fiancée?"
The room froze.
Whispers spread like wildfire. Fiancée? Fiancée?
I blinked. Adrian said it so naturally, so fiercely, like it was an undeniable fact rather than a staged arrangement.
Clifford spun around, face draining of color. "Fiancée?" he echoed, stunned. I didn't even notice him get here.
Adrian didn't even look at him yet. His fury was still pinned on Lenora.
"You'll be hearing from my lawyers," he continued, voice glacial. "You assaulted my woman in public. That alone is grounds for a lawsuit. And trust me, I will make an example of anyone who thinks they can disrespect her."
My breath caught.
He said "my woman" like he meant it.
Not like a line in our fabricated contract, not like an act for the cameras.
No.
He said it with a possessive certainty that sent a shiver down my spine—equal parts alarming and… something else.
Something I didn't want to name.
Lenora's mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air, but before she could spit out whatever excuse she was scrambling for, Clifford finally found his voice.
"So this is what you've been doing?" he snapped at me, his face blotchy with anger and humiliation. "Running into the arms of my biggest rival? Pathetic, Elena. Absolutely pathe—"
Adrian turned toward him with the slow, deadly precision of a man who could end someone without raising his voice.
"Careful," Adrian murmured, brows lowering. "You're talking to my fiancée."
The word hit Clifford again like a blow, and he actually staggered.
His anger, his pride, his need to dominate—none of it could quite mask the shock swirling behind his eyes.
"What is wrong with you?" Clifford hissed. "You're really going to associate yourself with her? After all the headlines? The scandal? The tape—"
Oh, he shouldn't have said that.
Adrian's jaw twitched, a silent warning.
"You mean the tape you conveniently benefited from?" Adrian asked softly, dangerously. "Because I find it hard to believe you had no hand in ruining her career and reputation after she left your precious company."
Clifford stiffened. "You're accusing me—?"
"Yes," Adrian snapped. "I am, and here's the thing. When I uncover evidence proving you orchestrated that setup, when I find the ones who filmed her without consent, drugged her or coerced her, or whatever the hell you allowed to happen…"
He stepped closer, so close Clifford had to tilt his chin upward.
"I will bring your company to its knees. And you know I can."
A hush rippled across the hall, phones angled discreetly.
Clifford swallowed, fury shifting into something tighter; fear.
"You don't have proof," he said, but the words came out small, uncertain.
"Not yet," Adrian murmured. "But I will."
He let that hang, heavy and lethal.
Then he turned his cold glare back to Lenora, who visibly flinched.
"And as for you," Adrian's voice sharpened, "touch my fiancée again, even breathe in her direction the wrong way, and I'll ensure you regret it more than he will."
The possessiveness in his voice, the fury in his stance, it didn't feel like acting anymore. And the most terrifying part?
I wasn't sure I wanted it to be.
"Let's go," he said finally, turning to me with a gentle hand on my lower back—an intimate contrast to the lethal storm he aimed at them.
I let him guide me away, still dazed, still processing the whiplash of emotions. His touch was steady, warm, grounding, and the room parted for us like we were royalty.