Elena's POV
"Elena Vale is a liar!"
A silence followed each syllable. Sharp edges hung in the air after they spoke.
A hush falls. Arms hang suspended, drinks were untouched. Words trail off into silence. All faces turn my way at once.
A heavy quiet settles in, like the air just before rain. Yet deep down, something knows - this changes everything.
That is when he appears.
There he stood - Marcus. The man I'm set to marry. Onstage now, a mic gripped tight, wearing the crisp suit he swore he'd save for this moment. This night, meant to feel flawless.
The way the chandelier spills its warm light makes shadows curl softly across the walls. Tables hold single white roses, placed just so, each bloom too still to ignore. This dress I wear, picked by him, presses close, suddenly stiff, almost sharp at my chest.
Forward I go, asking under my breath what it is that I'm doing.
Now his eyes hold nothing like warmth. Gone is the softness that used to linger there. Love has been replaced by stillness, a quiet kind of distance. Every glance feels measured, deliberate.
"You thought I wouldn't find out?" he says into the microphone.
The screen behind him lights up.
Pictures stored on a phone. Messages sent back and forth. A room reserved under two different names. His identity listed beside me.
My face turns cold, like something inside just left. A chill moves through me fast.
"This isn't real," I whisper, shaking my head. "Marcus, that's fake. You know it's fake."
A sudden laugh of his slices the air, cold and cutting, slicing past speech like a blade.
"I was going to marry her," he says to the crowd, "but I refuse to marry a woman who sells herself to my competitors."
Her voice echoes. My gut clenches on those two syllables.
I step forward, my voice trembling. "You expect everyone here to believe that?"
"Yes! Because it's true!"
Hush slips across the space. Lips press shut behind palms. Shoulders twitch downward. Air grows thick with blame.
"I stood by you!" I scream, feeling tears sting my eyes. "When your board doubted you. When the press attacked you. I stood by you!"
"And you stood in another man's hotel room too."
Cold moves into my arms, slow and deep. The air in my ribs turns heavy.
"Marcus, look at me," I beg. "Look at my face and tell me you believe this."
Staring at each other. There it is - just a flicker of pleasure, instead of the hesitation I wanted.
This was planned.
"Security," he says.
One guy takes hold of each arm. The second man pulls tight without saying a word.
"No - wait! Marcus, why are you doing this?" I shout.
He doesn't answer.
Something changes in the room. He looks beyond me, distant. The silence grows thick, like pressure before a storm.
There he is, suddenly in view.
He stands there - Damian Blackwood. Still. Not a word, just eyes that catch everyone without trying. Height adds weight to his silence. A still face, hard to read. One hand hidden in his coat like he owns the moment. Power doesn't shout here. It seeps into your chest before you notice. You know it deep down, even if you don't want to.
A hush slips from my lips - did you already know? The roar around us drags it away before it lands.
Backward I'm pulled by the guards. Heat swallows my words, thick with embarrassment. Stumbling ahead, the dress clings - damp, heavy - toward the exit.
"Throw her out," Marcus commands.
Footsteps echo as the entrance gives way. Cold air spills inside, followed by night. Rain hits hard, pavement wet underfoot. A sudden gust closes the exit with a bang.
Falling hard against the steps, water hammers down. My hair sticks, wet and heavy on skin. Black lines run where tears mix below eyes. Air won't come - each pull sharp, thin, taken by chill.
Again I tell my own ears: I did not break any rules. The words crawl out quiet, like they're afraid.
A buzz against my palm. Words stack up in my mind before I glance
Blackwood Heir Reveals Fiancée Cheating
Money hunter caught red-handed. Status seeker exposed in shame.
Breath after breath feels thin, far away, edged with cold. A tightness locks my chest, sudden, unshakable.
Out of nowhere, a sound cuts through - the groan of steel. Not harsh, but deep. Refined. It slides closer, wrapped in rain. Machine precision moving under chaos.
A drip of light vanishes across the pavement. Suddenly my heart skips.
Damian.
A man stands still, rain soaking through fabric. His jacket clings, yet something about him stays beyond reach. Not running, not shielding himself - just there, untouched by the downpour.
Rise up, he murmurs, steady but firm.
My eyes stay fixed on him. There he is - calm, like the world's noise doesn't reach his ears.
"Did you come to watch?" I ask bitterly.
"No," he says.
"Did you know?"
For a moment, his gaze moves across my face. He says it quietly - like he already knew what would happen. Just needed proof
"You suspected?" My voice cracks. "And did nothing?"
"It was not my decision to interfere," he says evenly.
"You were going to marry my son."
"You are no longer."
What he spoke struck deeper than any of Marcus's lines ever could.
"Why are you here?" I demand.
"To make you an offer."
I laugh bitterly. "An offer? After all this?"
"Yes."
"What kind of offer?"
A step forward. Way too near now. The damp fabric clings, warmed by what radiates off him. That smell - bitter, deep - it drags something loose inside, quiet-like.
He asks if I will marry him.
Shaking, my voice cracks - "What?".
"Marry me."
"You're insane."
"I am practical."
"You watched your son destroy me!"
"And I am offering to rebuild you."
"I don't want your pity!"
"It is not pity, it's an opportunity for both of us."
A loud noise splits the sky. My heart feels squeezed.
"Why would you marry me?" I whisper.
"My son made a public mistake. You were humiliated. I dislike injustice."
"You're using this."
"Yes. But at least I am honest."
"You need protection," he says softly. "By morning, your reputation will be poison."
"And what do you get?" I whisper.
"Control. Over the situation."
A heavy squeeze presses against my ribs. Your skin feels like ice
"No. Efficient."
Close he moves. Against the wall of rock I stand, chilled by its touch.
Up comes his hand, sweeping away the wetness - water maybe, or tears - from my cheeks. It feels warm. Alive. Soft in its touch.
"You are stronger than you think," he whispers.
Fingers slide toward my hip. "Women who stand firm make it through," he whispers.
"You shouldn't touch me," I whisper.
"And yet," he murmurs, voice low, "you are not stopping me."
"You're my fiancé's father."
"You are no longer engaged. That doesn't change this. It makes it more complicated."
Breath tightens as I speak. Something here does not fit
"Yes."
"Dangerous," I whisper.
"Danger is not always something to fear."
"You barely know me."
"I know enough. You did not cheat."
I freeze. "You don't believe him?"
"No."
"Then why didn't you stop it?"
"That is not a question for tonight."
"You let him destroy me."
"I offer power in return."
"I don't want power."
"You will."
"Marry me," he says again. "And I will make the city bow when you walk into a room."
"And if I say no?"
"Then you face them alone."
A crack tears through clouds. Her medical costs pile up. What comes next fades away. Everything burns down.
"I need time," I whisper.
"You have until morning," he says.
A shadow fills the space he once occupied. Cold air settles in, replacing what was warm.
Foot on the pavement, he pulls the door wide. "Go Inside," he tells me.
"Why?"
"You are not going back."
"I don't know if I should trust you."
His fingers reach out slowly. "You can rely on this."
My eyes lock on it. This is the hand - belonging to the one who holds all power. He sired the man who shamed me.
I take it.
Fists tight at his sides, Marcus stands beneath the glow of the entry lamps, anger burning behind his eyes.
Door clicks closed. Next to me, Damian takes his seat. The engine roars to life.
"You just made him angry," I whisper.
"Good," he says.
It hits me now - tonight might be the riskiest move I've ever made.