The interior of the car was like stepping into another world.
Gone were the cold rain and harsh reality of the street. Here, everything was warm leather, soft lighting, and the subtle scent of expensive cologne. Classical music played softly from hidden speakers, something haunting and beautiful that I couldn't identify.
But it was the man sitting across from me who commanded all my attention.
He was perhaps the most beautiful person I'd ever seen, and that thought should have been ridiculous given my current circumstances. But there was something almost otherworldly about him sharp cheekbones that could cut glass, dark hair that looked like it had been styled by shadows, and eyes so pale they were almost silver in the dim light of the car.
He was older than me, maybe early thirties, with the kind of presence that suggested he was used to being the most dangerous person in any room. Despite the casual elegance of his dark suit, there was something predatory about the way he watched me, like a panther deciding whether I was worth his time.
"Elena Hartwell." His voice was velvet over steel, carrying just the hint of an accent I couldn't place. "You look like hell."
I couldn't help it I laughed. After everything that had happened today, his blunt assessment struck me as absurdly honest.
"Thank you. That's exactly what every woman wants to hear when meeting a stranger." I settled back against the leather seat, suddenly aware of how I must look soaked hair, ruined makeup, clothes that clung uncomfortably to my skin. "Though I suppose you have the advantage of knowing my name while I don't know yours."
"Damien Blackthorne." He said it like he expected me to recognize it, and something about the name did seem familiar, though I couldn't place where I might have heard it.
"Should that mean something to me?"
A ghost of a smile played at the corners of his mouth. "Perhaps not yet. But it will."
The car was moving smoothly through the city, but I had no idea where we were going. The windows were tinted so darkly that I couldn't see much of the outside world, and for the first time since getting in, I wondered if I'd made a terrible mistake.
"Where are you taking me?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
"Somewhere dry. Somewhere safe. Somewhere you can think clearly without the distraction of rain and heartbreak."
"And what makes you think I need either of those things?"
He leaned forward slightly, and I caught the full impact of those silver eyes. They seemed to see straight through me, past all the defenses I'd built up over the years, down to the raw, wounded core I was trying so hard to protect.
"Because three hours ago, you walked away from everything you've ever known with nothing but your pride and eighty-seven dollars in cash." His voice was matter-of-fact, as if he were commenting on the weather. "Because you're currently homeless, friendless, and completely alone in a city that's about to watch your ex-fiancé marry your stepsister in what should have been your wedding."
The accuracy of his assessment hit me like a physical blow. "How do you—"
"Know so much about your situation? I make it my business to know things, Elena. Especially when those things concern people who might be... useful to me."
"Useful." I repeated the word, tasting its implications. "And what exactly would I be useful for?"
Instead of answering immediately, he pressed a button on the console beside him. A panel slid open to reveal a small bar, complete with crystal decanters and glasses that probably cost more than my monthly car payment.
"Drink?" He poured himself something amber and expensive-looking.
"I don't drink with strangers who kidnap me off the street."
"Kidnap?" His eyebrows rose in apparent amusement. "You got in willingly. In fact, I believe you were standing in the rain looking remarkably like someone with nowhere else to go."
He wasn't wrong, but I wasn't about to admit it. "You've been following me."
"Yes."
"For how long?"
"Since you left your family's house this morning." He took a sip of his drink, studying me over the rim of the glass. "You handled that confrontation with admirable composure, by the way. Though I suspect you're not quite as calm as you appeared."
The casual admission that he'd been watching my most private, painful moments sent a chill down my spine. "You were there? You saw"
"Everything. The revelation about your inheritance, your stepmother's manipulations, your father's betrayal." His voice was clinical, detached. "Quite the family drama. Though I have to say, you showed remarkable restraint. I might have burned the house down."
I stared at him, trying to process what he was telling me. This stranger had witnessed the worst morning of my life, had seen me stripped of everything I'd believed about myself and the people I loved.
"Why?" The question came out as barely more than a whisper.
"Why was I watching? Because I've been interested in your family's business for some time. And you, Elena, are the key to getting what I want."
"Which is?"
His smile was sharp as a blade. "Revenge."
The word hung in the air between us, dark and promising. The car had stopped moving, I realized, though I hadn't noticed when. Through the tinted windows, I could see the blurry outline of what looked like a very expensive building.
"Revenge against who?"
"Against everyone who wronged you today. Your stepmother, your stepsister, your pathetic excuse for a fiancé." He leaned back, completely at ease. "Against the father who chose his new family over his own daughter."
"And what would you get out of helping me?"
"Let's just say our interests align. The Hartwell family has something that belongs to me, and I intend to take it back. With interest."
I felt like I was standing at the edge of a cliff, looking down into darkness. Everything rational in me screamed that this was insane, that I should demand to be let out of the car immediately. But the rational part of me had gotten me exactly nowhere. Maybe it was time to listen to the part that was tired of being the victim.
"What kind of revenge are we talking about?" I asked quietly.
"The kind that gives you back everything they stole from you. The kind that makes them beg for forgiveness they'll never receive. The kind that ensures they never underestimate Elena Hartwell again."
"And all I have to do is..."
"Be yourself. Be the woman you were before you spent six years making yourself smaller for a man who never deserved you. Be the heiress who should have been running Hartwell Industries instead of playing the grateful daughter."
The car door opened, and I saw we were parked in front of a gleaming glass tower that stretched up into the gray sky. A uniformed driver stood waiting, umbrella in hand despite the fact that the rain had stopped.
Damien stepped out first, moving with fluid grace, then turned to offer me his hand. "Come, Elena. Let me show you what your life could look like if you stopped apologizing for taking up space."
I stared at his outstretched hand long fingers, expensive watch, a silver ring on his pinky that caught the light. Taking it would mean crossing a line I could never uncross. It would mean accepting help from a man I knew nothing about, trusting someone whose motives were still completely unclear.
But as I sat there in the back of his luxury car, I thought about Sophia wearing my grandmother's pearls. I thought about Margaret's satisfied smile as she'd told me I had nothing. I thought about my father's weak voice asking me to come home and play my part like a good daughter.
I thought about Adrian, who was probably standing at the altar right now, waiting for his bride to walk down the aisle in a dress that should have been mine.
I took Damien's hand.
His grip was firm, warm, and surprisingly gentle as he helped me out of the car. The building towered above us, all glass and steel and modern elegance, the kind of architecture that spoke of serious money and serious power.
"Welcome to Blackthorne Tower," he said, guiding me toward the entrance. "Your temporary home."