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Chapter 1 – The Divorce
The courthouse doors burst open, and the first thing Elena Moore felt was the sting of cold winter air against her flushed cheeks. The second was the blinding flicker of camera flashes.
"Miss Moore! Miss Moore! Is it true you cheated on Mr. Blackwell?"
"Elena, look here! Did you only marry him for money?"
Their voices were knives, each one sharper than the last. She tightened her grip on the thin folder of papers in her hands — her divorce decree — and forced her chin up.
A snowflake landed on the creamy envelope, melting instantly, just like her marriage had over the last two years.
"I have no comment," she said, her voice flat.
A reporter leaned in too close, shoving a microphone toward her. "What about the rumors that you're leaving with nothing? Is it true the pre-nup—"
She didn't let him finish. Without breaking stride, she walked straight to the curb where a black sedan waited.
The driver opened the door for her. "Miss Moore."
She slid in, exhaling once the door shut and the chaos was muted behind glass.
It was done. She was free.
---
*Back then… – Two Years Ago*
She still remembered the first time she met Alexander Blackwell. Tall, impossibly composed, eyes like polished steel — and entirely uninterested in her.
Their families had arranged the marriage to merge two businesses. It was supposed to be a partnership.
But somewhere between the cold, polite breakfasts and the endless empty nights, she'd fallen for him. Hard.
The problem was… he never did.
The final straw had been six months ago.
She'd gone to his office with a home-cooked dinner — something she rarely did because he worked late. The door had been ajar, and she'd heard him on the phone.
> "I don't love her. She's… convenient."
She never asked who he was talking to. She didn't need to.
---
*Back in the present*
The sedan pulled up outside a small café. Elena didn't want to go home yet — home felt too big, too quiet.
The smell of roasted coffee beans greeted her as she stepped inside.
She ordered a cappuccino and found a table in the corner. For the first time in months, she allowed herself to imagine what came next.
No Alexander. No cold mansion. No loveless marriage.
"Excuse me."
She looked up.
A man in his mid-forties stood beside her table, dressed in a tailored charcoal suit. His salt-and-pepper hair gave him a distinguished air, but his eyes were sharp and assessing.
"Do I know you?" she asked cautiously.
He smiled faintly. "Not yet. But I know you, Miss Elena Moore… or should I say, Elena Hayes?"
Her stomach tightened. "You've mistaken me for someone else."
"I never mistake faces," he said, sliding a business card onto the table. "Your mother's family has been looking for you for over twenty years. And now… it's time you came home."
Before she could react, he walked away, leaving the card behind.
---
That Evening
Elena returned to her apartment, the man's words echoing in her mind.
She'd grown up with her father's family. Her mother had died when she was little, and her father never spoke about her side of the family.
But… Hayes? The name tugged at something deep in her memory.
Her phone buzzed.
Unknown Number: You're a Moore… but you're also a Hayes. Call me before midnight.
She stared at the screen, heart racing.
A knock at the door made her jump.
She crossed the living room and opened it — and froze.
Alexander Blackwell stood there in his tailored coat, his expression a mix of anger and something she couldn't place.
"When exactly," he said slowly, "were you planning to tell me you're an heiress, Elena"
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Chapter 1 – The Divorce
The winter wind howled against the glass as Elena stared at Alexander Blackwell, her freshly divorced husband — or ex-husband, she corrected herself, though the word felt foreign on her tongue.
The last time he'd stood in her doorway like this, he'd been dressed for an evening gala, silk tie perfectly knotted, cologne subtle yet expensive. Tonight, he wore the same pristine image, but the tension in his jaw hinted he'd come here for war, not dinner.
"When exactly," he repeated, voice low, "were you planning to tell me you're an heiress, Elena?"
Her hand tightened on the doorframe. "You must have me confused with someone else."
A humorless smile curved his lips. "Don't waste my time. Moore Conglomerate's latest shareholder list was made public this afternoon. Imagine my surprise when your name appeared beside a ten-percent stake."
She forced a laugh, though her chest was tight. "Ten percent? That's impressive. I suppose I should check my bank account."
His eyes narrowed. "Who contacted you?"
"Why do you care?" she shot back, irritation flaring. "Our marriage is over. My life is none of your business."
Alexander stepped forward, closing the gap between them. The faint scent of cedar and musk invaded her senses — achingly familiar, yet now almost suffocating.
"When a competitor suddenly gains resources that could threaten my company," he said, "it becomes my business."
There it was — not concern for her, but for his empire.
---
*Back before the divorce their Last Dinner*
She remembered the final dinner they'd shared before she filed for divorce.
They'd sat at opposite ends of the long mahogany table, the clink of cutlery on porcelain filling the silence.
"Pass the salt," he'd said without looking at her.
She'd done it without a word, wondering if this was what the rest of her life would feel like — polite exchanges with a man who couldn't even meet her gaze.
That night, she'd lain in bed staring at the ceiling, realizing she couldn't remember the last time he'd touched her without it feeling obligatory.
---
Back in the present, she folded her arms. "If this is about business, speak to my lawyer."
"I don't want your lawyer," Alexander said, stepping into the apartment without waiting for permission.
Elena's pulse jumped. "You can't just walk in—"
"Old habits die hard," he said dryly, glancing around the modest but stylish living room. "Downsizing suits you."
She bristled. "Not everyone needs a mansion to prove they're happy."
He turned back to her, gaze sharp. "You're avoiding the question. Who brought you into Moore Conglomerate?"
She hesitated. The man from the café had given her no reason to trust him — but Alexander? He'd given her plenty of reasons not to.
"No one," she said finally.
His expression darkened. "You've always been a terrible liar, Elena."
---
A knock on the door made them both glance over.
Elena frowned. "Were you followed?"
Alexander's lips pressed into a thin line. "Stay here."
He opened the door to reveal a delivery man holding a slim envelope. "For Miss Elena Moore," the man said, handing it over.
Elena took it, heart thudding as she broke the seal. Inside was a single sheet of thick cream paper, embossed with a gold emblem she didn't recognize — a hawk with outstretched wings.
Welcome home, Miss Hayes.
Beneath the words was a phone number.
Her fingers tightened around the paper.
Alexander caught the change in her expression. "Who sent that?"
She slipped the note back into the envelope. "Like I said… none of your business."
---
She still remembered…– The First Betrayal
The first time she'd realized Alexander could hurt her wasn't the night she overheard him on the phone. It was months earlier, when she'd found out through a tabloid that he'd bought a luxury penthouse — and never told her.
When she'd confronted him, he'd shrugged and said, It's an investment, not a home.
But the photographs had shown him on the balcony, champagne in hand, another woman laughing beside him.
He'd claimed it was business. She'd chosen to believe him.
She didn't make that mistake twice.
---
Back in the present, Alexander's gaze swept over her face, searching for cracks in her composure.
"You're in over your head," he said finally.
"Funny," she replied, "I was in over my head for two years, and you didn't seem to mind then."
For the first time, something flickered in his eyes — regret, maybe, or frustration. It was gone in an instant.
He reached into his coat pocket and placed a sleek black business card on her coffee table. "If you find yourself in trouble… call me."
She stared at the card but didn't touch it. "Good night, Alexander."
He hesitated, as if wanting to say more, but finally turned and left, the door clicking shut behind him.
---
The silence that followed was deafening.
Elena sank onto the couch, the envelope with the hawk emblem still in her hands.
Her phone buzzed again.
Unknown Number: You have less time than you think.
---
She stood abruptly and crossed to the window. Outside, the city lights glittered against the night sky. Somewhere out there, someone knew her real name, her real past — and wanted her to step into it.
The problem was, she didn't know if stepping into it meant freedom… or another kind of cage.
She glanced at Alexander's card on the table.
For two years, he'd been the man she loved and the man who broke her heart. Now, he might be the only one who could help her survive whatever this was.
Her phone buzzed again.
This time, there was no text — just an image.
It was a photograph of her as a child, maybe five or six years old, standing in front of an old stone mansion she didn't recognize.
On the back, scrawled in ink, were four words:
Come home, Elena Hayes.
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