Elina smiled for the cameras.
Damon's hand rested on her lower back. He leaned in, whispered something charming and forgettable. She laughed on cue. Click. Flash. Snap.
They looked like the dream everyone wanted to believe.
But behind her lashes, Elina was watching everything.
Calculating.
Planning.
Because she was done being blindsided.
---
That night, when the event ended and Damon dropped her off, she kissed him on the cheek and said, "Goodnight, love," like it meant nothing.
Then she doubled back.
Not to her apartment.
But to an address she hadn't visited in years—her godmother's home, deep in the Bronx. A woman who knew everything about the accident that changed her life. A woman Elina had avoided… because facing her meant facing the truth.
---
The old woman opened the door slowly, blinking behind thick glasses.
"Elina?" she gasped. "You look so grown. So... tired."
Elina managed a smile. "Hi, Auntie Ro."
She stepped inside the cozy, cluttered home that smelled like cinnamon and memory. Old photos lined the walls—her parents, younger versions of herself.
They sat on the couch, knees almost touching.
"I need to ask about the accident," Elina said softly. "The night my parents died."
Auntie Ro's expression changed instantly. The warmth vanished.
"Elina, why dig this up now?"
"Because I think… I know who was behind the wheel."
Auntie Ro looked down at her wrinkled hands. "Your parents had gone out that night to celebrate your mother's new job offer. You were with me. You remember?"
Elina nodded. She remembered falling asleep waiting for them to come home.
"They were hit by a black sports car," Ro whispered. "The driver fled. We never got a full name—just whispers. But someone told me later… the boy was from money. Big money."
She met Elina's eyes. "I think they paid to bury it."
Elina's heart twisted.
She pulled out the police file and slid it across the table.
"I think it was him," she whispered. "Damon Sinclair."
Ro's expression broke. She reached for Elina's hand. "Oh, baby. You fell in love with the man who might've taken your parents from you."
Elina's eyes stung. "Not might've. I'm going to find out. I need proof."
Ro hesitated. Then stood and walked to a shelf, pulling out a small box. From it, she retrieved a worn photo—a blurry shot of a young man being pulled into a black car the night of the crash, paparazzi-style.
Elina's blood froze.
Same jawline. Same stance.
It was Damon.
---
Meanwhile…
Damon stared at his phone, thumb hovering over Elina's name. He was supposed to tell her. He'd practiced the words.
"I was the one behind the wheel."
"I never meant for it to happen."
"I tried to disappear because I couldn't live with myself."
But he couldn't send them. Not yet.
Not when she was starting to smile at him again. Not when he was beginning to believe he could earn her back.
---
Back in the Bronx
Elina tucked the photo into her coat pocket.
She stood at the door, heart pounding with purpose.
She wasn't going to ask Damon anymore.
She was going to destroy him.
From the inside out.
Even if a part of her still ached when he touched her.