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.”

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.