Elena's POV

I moved in with May as soon as I was discharged. Her apartment was small and nothing like the spacious apartment Mark once provided for me, but it was enough for now.

"Elena, I'm telling you," May said, leaning against the doorframe with the air of someone repeating herself for the hundredth time, "Alpha Eric Thompson is interested. I can smell it from here."

I shook my head as I smoothed out a wrinkled blouse. "You're reading too much into it. He felt guilty, that's all. His sister stole my boyfriend, remember? He probably just wanted to even the score somehow."

"Uh-huh." May's laugh was knowing. "Men like Eric Thompson don't do guilt. They don't do favors for fun, either. They either want something, or they don't bother."

I said nothing.

But images flickered through my mind-the dark intensity in his eyes in the elevator, the way he'd looked at me as if he could devour me without touching me. That had felt like wanting. Like interest. But I refused to dwell on it. I wouldn't fool myself again.

"Look," May continued, a wicked glint in her eye, "even if it is guilt, use it. Thank him. Seduce him, if you have to. Make Mark choke on his own regret."

I spun around. "No. Absolutely not."

She blinked. "Why not?"

"Because I'm done." My voice was firm, final. "I'm not playing revenge games. I want my life back-a job, stability. I don't want Eric's charity. I'll pay him back... every cent... once I'm on my feet."

May snorted. "You're either naive or stupidly noble. Do you have any idea how long it'll take to repay someone like Eric Thompson?"

"However long it takes," I said flatly, meeting her eyes. "I'm done catering to powerful men. Done being someone's convenient entertainment. I want something real this time. Real people. Real life."

May sighed, finally backing down. "You're impossible."

She dropped it after that, but I could see it in her expression-she thought I was throwing away something valuable.

I turned back to unpacking, keeping my hands busy so I wouldn't think about him. About the way Eric smelled, the warmth of his touch, how his voice lingered in my head no matter how hard I tried to forget.

***

Two days later, I walked into Thompson Enterprises like I still belonged there. Four years I'd given this company-weekends, holidays, sleepless nights. I wasn't coming back to grovel. I just wanted what I'd earned.

I approached the HR desk and spoke clearly. "I need to process my severance package."

The woman behind the desk glanced up briefly, then started typing. She frowned at her screen, clicked a few more times, and frowned again. Finally, she looked at me. "Elena, you said?"

"Yes. Elena Grey. I reported to Mark-"

She held up one hand. "No need to explain. Just give me a second to locate your file."

Something in her tone made my stomach clench. She turned her monitor slightly toward herself, squinting at it. "This is odd."

"What's odd?" I asked, leaning forward slightly.

She sat back in her chair. "Your name isn't showing up anywhere in the employee database."

I let out a confused laugh. "That's not possible. I worked here for four years."

She typed again, slower now, more deliberate. "No employment contract. No payroll history. No benefits enrollment under your name."

My smile disappeared. "Then how did I get paid?"

She looked at me directly now. "According to this, all payments associated with your name came through Mark's personal accounts."

The air left my lungs. "Wait. What does that mean?"

She crossed her arms. "It means you were never officially employed by this company. Legally speaking, you weren't our employee."

My voice came out quiet, almost disbelieving. "So you're saying I don't exist in your system?"

She shrugged. "Correct."

Heat flooded my face. "Mark was my supervisor," I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

Her lips curled into something cruel. "Sounds more like he was your keeper."

Rage propelled me forward until I was braced against her desk. "I'm not here begging. I'm here for my severance. I earned it."

Her gaze traveled over me, slow and assessing. "Miss Grey, from the company's perspective, you weren't fired. You were... released from a private arrangement."

"A private arrangement?" I echoed.

She nodded. "And now you're demanding compensation you're not entitled to."

The meaning sank in-ugly and humiliating. I gripped the edge of her desk. "So you're telling me four years of work means nothing?"

Her eyes turned cold. "I'd say you have some nerve, coming here like this."

The room shrank. The air thickened. I finally understood-this wasn't a mistake. It was a calculated humiliation.

She leaned forward, lowering her voice. "Every proposal you touched had Mark's name first," she said. "Profit sharing, credit, approvals-all his."

"That doesn't erase my work!" I shot back. "I drafted those proposals. I ran those projects. Ask anyone on the floor."

A thin smile. "And how would we verify that?"

"Check the records," I said. "Emails. Meeting minutes. Performance reports."

She shook her head. "System access has been revoked. You're locked out."

My heart hammered. "Then pull the security footage!" I insisted. "You'll see me here every day. Early mornings. Late nights. Four years of my life isn't something I imagined!"

Her expression hardened. "Security footage is confidential."

"And stealing someone's labor isn't?" I snapped.

Her lips pressed together. "Be careful, Miss Grey."

"Careful?" A bitter laugh escaped me. "Careful about what? That I gave four years to this company and I'm nothing but... what? Mark's shadow?"

She didn't answer immediately. Then, in a voice cold and precise, she said, "Perhaps your... contributions... weren't limited to the professional realm."

Silence crashed down. I stared at her. "What does that mean?"

A tilt of her head. "Mark was first on every project. Who's to say what you truly brought to the table?"

My hands shook. "Say it," I demanded.

She met my eyes without flinching. "People might assume your influence came from... elsewhere."

The insult landed like a blow. "You're accusing me of sleeping my way through four years of work?" I whispered.

"I'm saying," she replied calmly, "that from the company's perspective, Mark Dalton was the asset. Not you."

Something inside me snapped. "I'm taking this public," I said. "Right now."

She pressed a button on her desk. "Security," she spoke into the intercom. "HR, please."

Two guards appeared in the doorway moments later.

"This woman is no longer employed here," she said, rising. "Escort her out."

I stepped back. "You can't do this."

She met my gaze. "We already have."

The guards advanced. I didn't fight. Couldn't. As they steered me out, heads turned, whispers followed.

Four years. Erased. And I was being dragged out like an intruder, like I'd never belonged at all.

The moment I was shoved out of the office, I stumbled straight into a solid chest.

Warm. Familiar. Hard.

I froze. I didn't need to look up. The scent-deep, earthy, laced with something dangerous-wrapped around me like a net. My breath caught before I could stop it.

And then his voice rolled over me, low and unmistakable.

"Why is it that every time I run into you... You look like the world just finished chewing you up and spitting you out?"

Elena's POV

I didn't know whether to curse my luck or thank it. Why was it that every time I hit rock bottom, Eric Thompson happened to be standing right there? Did he have some kind of humiliation GPS installed on me?

The moment I found my footing, I stepped back-away from his heat, his scent, his overwhelming presence-and murmured, "Thank you."

Something flickered in his eyes. A frown, barely there, as if he disapproved of the distance I'd put between us.

"What are you doing here this early?" His voice was low, controlled. "Is it the hospital-"

Before I could respond, the HR manager appeared in the doorway. The moment she saw him, she snapped to attention, her spine stiffening. "Sir. Apologies. We were just... handling a situation."

"I'm not a situation," I cut in, my voice quiet but steady.

"We were just escorting her out," the manager added, shooting me a nervous glance. "She caused a scene, but it's being resolved."

I ignored her entirely, focusing every ounce of my attention on Eric. He was the real authority here. The only chance I had. And I seized it.

"Sir." I met his storm-gray eyes directly. "I came for my severance. She's telling me I don't exist in this company."

"There are no employment records for any Elena Grey at Thompson Crest Enterprises," the manager interjected sharply, clearly expecting this revelation to devastate me.

My chest tightened. "But I worked here for four years. I was on projects. I collaborated with teams. I got paid every month. How can I just... not exist?"

"Sir, there's simply no-" The manager's words faltered under Eric's gaze.

Those gray eyes pinned her where she stood, sharp and cold, as if he could peel back the layers of her lies with sheer force of will. She swallowed hard.

"Mr. Dalton hired her personally," she finally admitted. "All her paperwork went through him. I don't know where he kept it."

Rage simmered in my chest. Mark hadn't just betrayed me-he'd tried to erase me.

Eric's voice cut through the tension, calm but final. "If your direct supervisor hired you personally and terminated you personally, I can't overrule that. I made a promise to my sister-I won't undermine Mark's authority here."

My stomach knotted, but I refused to crumble. Of course. He was Mark's brother-in-law now. Why would he side with me?

He glanced at his watch, already moving on, and pulled out his phone.

Moments later, his PA appeared.

"Give her a blank check." Eric's voice was flat, disinterested. He gestured vaguely in my direction, not quite looking at me. "Let her fill in whatever she thinks she's owed. I have a meeting."

He didn't wait for a response. He stepped into the elevator, and the doors slid shut behind him.

I stood there, empty-handed, reeling. The HR manager stared at me with helpless, flustered eyes.

When his assistant handed me the blank check, I looked down at the paper in my palm-feeling nothing but a strange, hollow ache. Relief, maybe. Or humiliation. I couldn't tell anymore.

***

Back at May's apartment, I collapsed onto the couch, the day's chaos still reverberating through my skull. "You won't believe what happened," I murmured, spilling everything.

May shook her head, her expression soft with concern. "Elena... I can't believe Mark did that to you. Erased you. Like you never existed." She exhaled slowly. "I'm so sorry. That's just... it's vile."

I shrugged, clinging to what little dignity I had left. "It's over. I just need to move on."

Her eyes drifted to the envelope in my hand-the blank check Eric's assistant had given me.

A wicked grin tugged at her lips. "So... let me get this straight. You could fill this out for any amount, and Mr. Big Shot Alpha wouldn't even notice? He's got more money than God. This is your chance to actually live, Elena. On your terms."

I hesitated. For a moment, I let myself imagine it. A number. Any number. Enough to pay off my grandmother's medical bills. Enough for a real apartment. Enough to breathe.

But then I remembered the way Eric had looked at me in that HR office-sharp, assessing, as if he could see right through me. A shiver ran down my spine.

I shook my head, clutching the envelope tighter. "No. That's not who I am. I'll take what I'm owed. And I'll deduct the hospital bills he paid. I'm not going to let him think I'm some kind of gold-digger. Or a con artist."

May sighed, leaning back with a mixture of exasperation and admiration. "You're impossibly stubborn, you know that? And ridiculously principled." She shook her head. "Mark has no idea what he threw away."

I pressed the envelope to my chest, the strange mix of relief and humiliation still churning inside me.

"No, May. You don't get it. Nothing in life is free. Every gift comes with a price tag-whether you see it or not. And I'd rather sleep soundly with what's mine than toss and turn over what isn't."

The next morning, I stood in May's cramped apartment, my suitcase half-packed, guilt coiling in my stomach. "I really can't stay here any longer, May. I need to stand on my own," I said, zipping the bag with finality.

May frowned, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Elena... you've been through enough. Are you sure? Why the rush? I mean, this place is a shoebox, but-"

"I know." I softened, reaching for her hand. "And I'm grateful, May. More than you know. I wouldn't have survived these past weeks without you. Your love... your care... it's the only thing that kept me from falling apart completely."

Her eyes glistened, and then she pulled me into a quick, fierce hug. "Just promise me one thing: take care of yourself, okay? And don't let anyone-Mark, Eric, or anyone else-walk all over you again."

"I promise," I whispered, pulling back with a shaky smile. "I just... need to try."

***

The next few weeks blurred into a relentless grind.

After sending money home to cover family debts and my grandmother's medical expenses, I used what little remained to rent a tiny studio-barely larger than a closet, but mine. Then I threw myself into the job market with everything I had.

Dozens of resumes. Customized cover letters for every position. Interview prep until my eyes burned.

My phone became a graveyard of rejection emails:

"Thank you for your interest in Edward & Co. Unfortunately, we have decided to pursue other candidates..."

"We appreciate your time, but the position has been filled..."

"After careful consideration, we regret to inform you..."

On and on they came. Each one stung-a small, sharp ache I forced myself to swallow. Temporary, I reminded myself. This is temporary. I'll find something.

One rainy afternoon, after a disastrous interview at a mid-sized marketing firm, I lingered near the lobby to make a phone call. But a sinking feeling stopped me cold.

"Yes, Jeniffer?" The receptionist's voice drifted through a glass partition, her conversation unmistakable. "...Yes, I understand... No, we can't hire her... I've spoken with Mr. Dalton already... Yes, he's firm on this. She's not a fit. No exceptions."

My stomach plummeted.

I pressed my hand to my mouth, listening as my future was dismantled by someone who didn't even know me. Someone Mark had spoken to. Someone he'd convinced I was unfit. unqualified. unworthy.

Rage ignited in my chest.

Mark. Mark was sabotaging me.

I dialed his number before I could think better of it. The line clicked.

"Elena?" His voice-familiar, infuriating, smug-came through.

"Mark!" I hissed, my voice trembling despite my best efforts. "What the hell are you doing? Are you seriously trying to destroy my life? Sabotaging every job I apply for?"

A pause. Then that lazy, condescending drawl I knew too well. "Elena... I think you're overreacting. It's not as serious as you're making it out to be."

"Not serious?" My voice dropped, ice-cold. "There's nothing left between us, Mark. You got your Bella. You got your shiny new life. So why are you trying to erase me? Why are you trying to ruin my future? What gives you the right?!"

"Calm down." His tone was placating, the kind you'd use on a hysterical child. "Look... I'm willing to talk about this. Meet me. Bluebird Café. Three o'clock."

"Bluebird Café?" I echoed, disbelief sharpening my voice. "You want me to meet you at Bluebird Café? Are you serious right now?"

"Just hear me out, Elena." And then he was gone, the line dead in my hand.

I stood there in the rain-soaked lobby, my phone clutched so tight my knuckles went white. Every instinct screamed at me to refuse. To hang up. To walk away and never look back.

But I needed answers. I needed to understand how the man I'd loved had become someone capable of such calculated cruelty.

So I went.

Elena's POV

The bell above the door chimed softly as I stepped into Bluebird Café, and for a moment, I couldn't breathe.

Nothing had changed.

The warm lighting. The low music. That familiar scent of roasted coffee and vanilla-it all wrapped around me like a ghost, pulling me back to a time I'd rather forget.

My eyes found the window table automatically. Our table. Where it all began. But I didn't go there. Instead, I chose a seat near the counter, tucked behind a tall ficus where I could watch the door without being watched myself. Sitting at that table would feel like accepting something I no longer believed in.

Why did Mark choose this place? After everything he'd done, how dare he?

Fine. Let it end here. Where it started.

I ordered orange juice and kept my hands folded in my lap, checking my phone every few seconds. No messages. Typical.

Despite myself, the café's strange magic worked on me. The barista still hummed while working, just like before. The same unhurried rhythm animated the staff. Memories I didn't want surfaced unbidden.

Mark's face across the table-relaxed, confident, effortlessly charming. His hand reaching for mine, his fingers warm and solid as they wrapped around my knuckles.

"I've never loved anyone the way I love you, Elena."

I remembered how my cheeks had burned. How my heart had stuttered at his touch.

"A position at Thompson Crest is waiting for you," he'd said smoothly. "An apartment too. You'll never have to struggle again. I'll take care of everything."

He'd kissed my knuckles then, his eyes locked on mine with all the sincerity in the world.

A bitter laugh escaped me now. How stupid I'd been. How blind.

I forced the memories away, focusing instead on the condensation sliding down my glass. Counting droplets. Watching them disappear.

Minutes passed. Then more.

I was about to leave-convinced he'd stood me up, again-when the bell jingled.

Mark strolled in like he owned the place. Like he wasn't twenty minutes late. Like making me wait was his God-given right.

Then I saw them-the dark marks on his neck. Fresh. Obvious. Carelessly displayed.

My chest tightened, but I held my composure. Whatever this meeting was about, I wouldn't let him see how deeply he could still wound me.

He slid into the chair across from me, one leg crossing lazily over the other. Leaning back, draping an arm along the booth's curved back, radiating that infuriating arrogance I'd once found so attractive. A smirk tugged at his lips.

"You kept me waiting," I said, my voice steady despite the pounding in my chest. "What's this about, Mark? What do you want? I'm out of your life. Why are you sabotaging my interviews? Blacklisting me from every job I apply for?"

He chuckled. "Elena... I just wanted you to see something." He tilted his head. "I wanted you to see what happens when you try to survive without me. You think you're independent? You're not. Without me, you're nothing."

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to stay calm. "And? What do you expect? That I'll fall at your feet and beg you to let me live?"

"Exactly." He spread his hands, as if this explained everything. "I invested so much in you-every paycheck I approved, every apartment I arranged, every luxury you enjoyed. And what did I get in return? Nothing. You didn't take care of me, Elena. No gratitude. Not even a single massage. Worst return on investment I've ever made."

My stomach churned. "You're calling using me an investment?" I snapped, my voice trembling with fury. "I earned everything I had. I don't owe you anything!"

His eyes darkened, something predatory flickering in their depths. He leaned forward. "You do owe me, Elena. But we can settle it. One last night with me-give me something sweet to remember-and we're even. After that... you can have your life."

Something inside me detonated.

My fingers found my glass before I could think. The orange juice flew from my hand, arcing through the air, splashing across his face in a golden explosion. It dripped from his chin, soaked his collar, ran in rivulets down his expensive shirt.

"You disgusting creature!" I was on my feet, my chair scraping violently against the floor. "You think money and power make you untouchable? I trusted you! I loved you! And this-" my hand shook as I pointed at him, years of hurt and rage pouring out, "-this is who you really are? You're pathetic!"

The café went absolutely silent.

For one glorious moment, Mark just sat there, frozen, orange juice dripping from his perfect hair, his tailored shirt ruined.

Then he was half out of his chair, sputtering, his face purple with rage. "You'll pay for this, Elena!"

I didn't stay to hear the rest.

I walked out of Bluebird Café with my head high and my heart pounding, leaving Mark behind-soaked, humiliated, and utterly dismantled by a girl who refused to be anyone's property.

***

The month that followed my confrontation at Bluebird Café taught me a brutal truth: Mark's words, his arrogance, his reach-none of it had been bluffing.

Every application I submitted hit a wall. Offers were rescinded without explanation. Interviews ended abruptly, prematurely. I could feel his invisible hand pressing down on every opportunity, squeezing until nothing remained. My grandmother's mounting medical bills loomed like a storm cloud I couldn't escape. Eventually, a bartending job became my only option.

So I ended up at The Moonlight Lounge-the highest-paying night shift in the neighborhood.

The uniform was... humiliating. A skintight, ridiculously revealing "catwoman" ensemble that covered almost nothing. I tugged at the fabric as I tied my apron, trying to salvage what little dignity remained.

"First night?" A coworker sidled up to me, amusement glinting in her eyes. "Don't psych yourself out. Just smile, serve drinks, and survive the shift. That's the motto."

I nodded silently, forcing myself to focus. The lounge hummed with noise-clinking glasses, low music, the buzz of too many people in too small a space. I wove between tables, keeping my hands steady and my mind blank, suppressing the anxiety coiling in my chest.

The first customers were fine-tipsy office workers, college kids-until they walked in.

A pack of men with hungry eyes spotted me immediately. Before I could escape, they'd cornered me near the service station. One of them laughed, shoving a drink toward my chest. "Come on, sweetheart. Have one with us."

"I'm working." I forced the words out. "Please. Leave me alone."

That only encouraged them. Their grins turned cruel. One hand found my waist, pulling me closer. My heart hammered-not again, please not again-

"Loosen up," another taunted, pressing the glass to my lips.

I tried to pull away, but they tightened around me, blocking every exit. Panic clawed at my throat.

A shadow fell over them.

"Take your hands off her. Now."

Every head turned. Even the men harassing me froze mid-motion. That voice-I knew that voice.

Alpha Eric Thompson stood there, tall and radiating pure, lethal authority. The very air seemed to shift around him, charged and electric.

No. Not now. Humiliation burned through me as my heart stuttered in my chest.