ELENA

I didn’t get a chance to respond. His phone vibrated violently on the hotel nightstand, and he, without a word, grabbed it and answered. His voice was calm, professional, and measured.

“I have to take this,” he murmured, giving me a brief, almost apologetic glance before slipping out of the room

The hotel room smelled faintly of disinfectant, the kind of sterile scent that reminded me I was still alive, but not really living. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stared at the floor, trying to make sense of the past twenty-four hours.

I got up, dressed quickly, and left the hotel. The city outside was waking, indifferent to the wreckage of my life. I hailed a cab, barely noticing the street signs blur past. When I finally reached my apartment, it greeted me with the same cold silence that had been there for days.

I collapsed onto my bed and I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, letting the weight of rejection press down on me.

The days passed in a haze of exhaustion and despair. I woke, scrolled through my phone for rejection emails, scowled at the trending hashtags, and went back to sleep. The apartment was littered with half-empty coffee cups and crumpled sketches. Every day felt like a repeat of the last, a slow rotation of grief, anger, and disbelief.

On the fourth day, I woke to my phone buzzing incessantly. Groaning, I reached over and unlocked it. The first headline made my stomach drop:

“Clifford Scott Announces Engagement to Lenora Bell. Society Watches in Awe as the Scandalous Ex-Fiancée is Completely Ignored.”

I blinked. Twice. Three times. My throat constricted.

He hadn’t just moved on, he had flaunted it, broadcast it, and the world had cheered him on. I could hear the whispers of my name everywhere I looked, the snide, reproaching comments, the memes, the mockery.

I closed my laptop and pressed my face into the pillow. Rage mixed with despair, boiling under my skin. The betrayal still burned fresh, sharper than any wound I’d imagined.

I thought maybe I could distract myself, reach for something familiar. I picked up my phone and scrolled through my contacts, stopping at a name I hadn’t spoken to in years, Jade, my friend from fashion school. Someone who had once understood the fire in me.

“Hey,” I said, hesitating. “Want to hang out? Coffee, lunch, I don’t care. I just need… someone.”

There was a long pause.

“Uh… Elena,” Jade finally said, her voice cautious, hesitant, “I… I don’t know. People… would talk. I just… I don’t want to…my reputation by being seen around you right now.”

The line went dead. I stared at my phone, gripping it so tightly my knuckles went white.

So this was it. The people I thought would stand by me—friends, colleagues, anyone—had abandoned me.

I curled into myself, letting the despair swallow me whole. Hours passed. I stared at the ceiling. I stared at my sketches. I stared at the clock, the sun dragging slowly across the sky as I sank deeper into the pit of my own helplessness.

Then, just as I had begun to drift into the kind of numbness that promised nothing would ever hurt again, my phone rang.

Unknown Number.

I hesitated, thumb hovering over the green icon. Something in me whispered that I shouldn’t pick up. But curiosity, and a faint, desperate hope won.

“Hello?” My voice was hoarse, fragile.

“Ms. Hart?” The voice was smooth, professional, but there was an underlying warmth I couldn’t place. “This is Wolfe Enterprises. We’ve reviewed your portfolio and would like to speak to you about an opportunity.”

I froze. My brain refused to compute. Wolfe? The name alone made me uneasy—Clifford’s company’s biggest rival. And yet here they were, calling me, offering me a lifeline, when I hadn’t even applied.

“Are… you serious?” I croaked, voice barely above a whisper.

“Absolutely. If you can come to our offices today, we’d like to schedule a meeting.”

I sank onto the edge of the bed, trying to catch my breath. My heart raced with a mix of disbelief, caution, and something else I hadn’t felt in days; hope.

Hope that maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t completely ruined.

The next few hours were a blur. I showered, dressed, and combed my hair as though I were preparing for a battle I wasn’t sure I could win.

Every reflection in the mirror showed the same tired, pale, and broken woman I had been for the past week, but beneath it all, there was a spark I hadn’t realized I still had.

When I reached Wolfe’s office, the marble floors and glass walls were intimidating. The hiring manager, a man with a sneer that made my stomach twist, looked me up and down.

“Ms. Hart,” he said, tone dripping with condescension. “We’re aware of… your current situation. I’m not sure anyone in this company would want—”

A shadow fell over him. I turned, and there he was.

The same man from the hotel, the same man I had barely known, now standing like a wall between me and ridicule. His presence alone made the air feel charged, electric, alive.

“She has an appointment,” he said, calm, unwavering, and with an authority I couldn’t ignore.

“My apologies, Sir,” the hiring manager bowed, his apology sharp.

I stared at him. The man I thought was a stranger… was being referred to as “sir.”

He gestured for me to follow him into his office. My mind raced as I took tentative steps. Every instinct screamed that this was too good to be true, that there must be some ulterior motive.

The tag on the door sucked out all of my breath. “ADRIAN WOLFE—CEO”

Oh, my goodness.

“Why me?” I asked as soon as we were alone. My voice trembled, but I forced it out. “Given… My scandal… my reputation… Are you using me as some pawn? To attack Clifford? Or for some vendetta?”

He blinked, genuinely confused. “What?”

“Don’t play with me. You’re just trying to use me too. Just like my ex fiancé.”

“Who the fuck is Clifford?”

Ain’t no way he didn’t know who Clifford is. His business rival for fuck’s sake.

“I just returned to the country. I know nothing about him, your relationship, or the scandal you’re referring to. I only know what I saw in your designs at the hotel. I saved your card, I called you, and now I’m offering you a contractual position to design masterpieces for Wolfe Enterprises. Nothing more. Nothing less.”

I blinked, overwhelmed, my mind trying to process the absurdity and the hope of it all.

“But… my scandal…” I whispered, voice small. “Everyone… thinks I…”

He cut me off gently, firmly. “I don’t believe it. I don’t believe that’s you. You are not that person. And I know you aren’t. I don’t need the internet, or rumors, or opinions. I need your talent, your creativity, and your integrity. That’s what brought you here.”

The words struck me with a force I hadn’t expected. Warmth spread through my chest, chasing out a little of the bitterness, and for the first time in days, I allowed myself to breathe.

“Thank you, Mr Wolfe,” I murmured, the memory rushing back. France. The bar. The club. The moment he saved me.

“Just Adrian.”

“Adrian,” I repeated.

He gave me a small, almost imperceptible smile. “Yes. That’s me.”

I sat back, stunned, the weight of the past week pressing against me, and yet… for the first time, there was a glimmer of possibility.

A possibility that maybe my life wasn’t over. Possibility that I could rise from the ashes Clifford left behind. Possibility that not everyone had turned against me.

And most importantly, a possibility that someone saw me for who I truly was.

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?

ADRIAN

“You think you can run this company while living like a libertine?” My father’s voice sent a shrill down my spine.

Just a few hours ago, I had been stopped on my way to my study by Mr. Gerald Wolfe, his words like sharpened knives slicing through the brief calm I had managed to carve for myself in France.

I had assumed, foolishly, that the quiet I’d maintained overseas would shield me from his scrutiny, that my life in Paris; long nights, reckless indulgences—would remain my secret. But no. Somehow, he’d found out.

His presence filled the room with an authority I couldn’t ignore. His eyes, icy and calculating, bore into me. “I’ve watched you spiral, Adrian. You’re reckless. Immoral. And I won’t allow it to taint Wolfe Enterprises. Effective immediately, I am stepping you down as CEO and handing over control to my brother.”

My blood had gone cold at that word. Every instinct screamed that my uncle had orchestrated this entire ambush.

He had been waiting for a single misstep, a single indulgence, to undermine me, to paint me as unfit to lead the empire I had fought so hard to inherit. And now, my father, swayed by whispers and lies, was ready to believe him.

I tried to reason with him, to temper the storm. “Father, I’ve changed. I’m not that man anymore,” I said, my voice steady but laced with urgency. “I’m… I’m serious about my future. About responsibility. About…”

“About what? You’ve not had a stable girlfriend since you moved back to the states. Is this what you want to do with the rest of your life?”

I didn’t know what else to say to salvage the situation.

So I lied, the smoothest lie I could craft: “I have a fiancée. Someone I intend to marry, start a family with. We’re… committed.”

He froze. His eyes narrowed, sharp and cold. “A fiancée? And somehow we never heard of this fiancé until this moment?”

“I wanted to keep it away from the media's eyes until I was sure it was something serious. And it is,” I lied so effortlessly

“Who is she?” His words were not just a question; they were a challenge, a dare. “I want to see her. Today. Regardless of where she is. If you fail to prove this to me, I will take action.”

I had no time. No contingency. No way to conjure a woman from thin air who could withstand the scrutiny of the Wolfe family and convince my father of her existence. And then, as if fate had thrown me a lifeline wrapped in perfect chaos, Elena Hart arrived.

She walked into the room with a fire I hadn’t seen since France—the same fire that had first made her impossible to ignore. In that moment, I knew she was the solution I hadn’t dared to imagine. Unaware, unprepared, yet perfectly poised to become my lifeline.

I leaned toward her, careful to keep my voice low, barely a whisper. “Play along,” I murmured when they weren’t looking , my eyes locking onto hers.

Her eyes widened, disbelief etched across her features. I could see the storm brewing–anger, suspicion, and that sharp brilliance that always made her impossible to underestimate. I swallowed my amusement. She wasn’t the type to bend easily. Good. That would make this far more interesting.

The questioning began almost immediately. My uncle’s voice cut through the tension like a blade. “Dating someone you’ve just met and already engaged to her? Really, Adrian? You expect us to believe this?”

I held her gaze, steady and calm. “We knew each other before the scandal. We were in the same fashion school in France.” I said simply. The truth. A fragment of our past, carefully placed, giving weight to a narrative they couldn’t discredit outright.

Questions followed. Sharp, pointed, intrusive. My fayher and my uncle were relentless. They probed Elena—testing her knowledge of Paris, of me, of our supposed interactions. And she answered. Every question she could, with intelligence and poise, surprising me with her quick wit. For the few gaps she couldn’t fill, I filled in details quietly, seamlessly. Every nod, every small smile, every piece of corroboration solidified the illusion.

By the end of the dinner, I knew we had survived.

My father, partially satisfied, was less inclined to intervene immediately. My uncle, however, had only been stoked by our audacity. But I had the upper hand. Elena was a wild card, brilliant and unpredictable, and I was beginning to realize how much I enjoyed her fire.

Later, after the formalities and the stifled smiles, Elena confronted me. The moment the door closed behind the last of my family, she turned, hands clenching, eyes alight with fury. “You! What you just did… you can’t just declare me your fiancée! Do you know how utterly insane that is?” Her voice cracked slightly, the raw emotion beneath the outrage palpable.

I studied her, my chest tightening from the sheer force of her intensity. “I didn’t have a choice,” I said evenly. “And frankly, it wasn’t just about the family. It was about you.”

Her brow furrowed. “Me? You’re using me, aren’t you? Just like every other woman you’ve ever—”

“No,” I interrupted firmly, my voice low but unwavering. “Not this time.” I stepped closer, lowering my tone, allowing only a fraction of the intensity I felt to surface.

“But I need you to play a role. A very specific one. A contract. A fake marriage, it’s temporary And you—” I paused, studying her reaction. “You set the terms.”

She blinked, utterly gobsmacked. “A… a fake marriage contract? You can’t be serious.”

“I am,” I said evenly, masking the twinge of vulnerability I didn’t dare show. “We just have to pretend for a while. And no attachments.”

She crossed her arms, jaw tight.

“And you can ask for anything. Any amount of money you need, I’ll write a Cheque immediately.” I added, hoping to persuade her.

I smirked, expecting the usual demands, the standard outrageous terms. But she surprised me. Her eyes were fierce, unwavering. “I don’t care about money. I want to bring down my ex-fianc. I want my name cleared. And I want your help to do it.”

My heart skipped. Not for the reasons she expected. This was a woman who refused to be bought, who refused to bend. My ego, bruised and exhilarated, felt the strange thrill of challenge. “Bring him down? And clear your name? That’s… ambitious.”

She nodded. “Ambitious, yes. But possible with you, with your influence. I need your support. Find whoever set me up that night. Expose them. And then we deal with him. Publicly. Professionally. Personally. It doesn’t matter. He hurt me, and I will make sure he pays.”

I couldn’t help the smirk that crept across my face. “Consider it a done deal.” Two reasons motivated me more than any money or status. First, she had saved me once, in France. That act alone had marked her as someone extraordinary. Second… I couldn’t resist digging into the dirt of the powerful and arrogant. If Clifford had orchestrated this… he would regret it. Deeply.

We shook on it, the pact silent but potent. Her fire, my cunning—a recipe for chaos.

~~~

Elena’s designs had been brought to life under my direction. Every seam, every fold, every brushstroke of color was a statement, a declaration that she was more than the scandal that had consumed headlines.

And now, the day had arrived.

The grand hall of the fashion event glittered with wealth, power, and expectation. I watched as Elena moved through the crowd, every head turning, every eye following her. She wasn’t just my employee today, she was my fiancée. Our hands intertwined naturally, a silent agreement that we would face this together.

The stares were immediate. Whispers trailed behind us like shadows, some admiring, some envious, most curious. And then we saw them.

Clifford and Lenora.

Clifford’s eyes widened in horror. Lenora’s smugness faltered, replaced by unease, a shadow of uncertainty crossing her features.

We didn’t speak. Our fingers remained entwined, our posture flawless, confident. The world was watching, and Elena Hart had transformed from a scandalized, broken woman into a figure of power, control, and defiance.

I leaned slightly toward her, whispering with a touch of amusement and satisfaction. “Ready?”

Her eyes met mine, sharp and brilliant. “More than ever.”