Two years ago, I was a woman consumed by love—no, a woman lost in it. A woman who gave everything she had to a man who would never return it. I had been his wife, his shadow, and for what? For him to travel the world with his "white moonlight" while I bled in the night, alone and abandoned. But today? Today, I was no longer that woman.
As I stepped off the plane, the familiar hum of the city filled my senses. The streets I had once walked with my head down, the towering skyscrapers that seemed to mock my smallness, now seemed welcoming.
I wasn't that naive, heartbroken woman anymore. I was Elizabeth Steele—no longer bound by the name of a man who didn't deserve me.
The transformation had been a slow and painful process, but as I walked through the airport, a new version of me emerged with every step. My heels clicked with authority on the cold tile floor, my posture straight, my chin high. No longer was I the fragile woman waiting at home for a husband who never came back.
I was untouchable now.
---
Flashback: The Journey of Transformation
The first six months after I left Dante were the hardest. I had no one but myself to rely on. No family, no friends who understood what I had been through. Just me in my small apartment, crying in the dark when the loneliness became unbearable. The silence of the apartment echoed in the night, only broken by the sound of my heartbeat, beating loudly in my chest as I faced the crushing reality of what had happened. I had lost everything.
The pregnancy, the baby, the love I had given so freely—it was all gone. But grief had a way of blurring reality, making it hard to see the truth. It had taken me months to understand: I wasn't grieving for the child I lost, nor the man who had shattered my heart. I was grieving for the woman I used to be—the woman who had thought she was enough for someone.
But as the weeks turned to months, something changed inside me. I couldn't stay in that fragile place forever. I wasn't weak.
And I was tired of waiting.
---
I started by looking at myself in the mirror one evening. The woman who stared back at me wasn't the same one from before. Her eyes were red from crying, her skin pale and tired, but there was something else—something fierce, something resolute.
I had lost my baby, my marriage, and my dreams. But I still had one thing: myself.
I made a decision that night. I would rebuild.
---
The following months were an intense blur. I took on consulting work, first for small businesses, then eventually for bigger ones. At first, the work wasn't much—it was just a way to keep my mind occupied, a way to distract myself from the pain. But slowly, the work grew. My skills, honed over years of trying to please Dante, were now being used for something real. Something for me.
As I walked into meeting rooms, my hand firmly shaking the hands of potential clients, I noticed the way people looked at me. They weren't just looking at my sharp business mind—they were looking at me. The woman who had walked away from the wreckage of her life, the woman who had risen from the ashes.
It wasn't long before I realized that this was my rebirth.
I started wearing expensive clothes that made me feel powerful. My wardrobe was carefully chosen a reflection of the new Elizabeth—the woman who no longer had to hide in shadows. I dyed my hair, changed my makeup, and most importantly, changed my mindset. I was no longer Elizabeth Steele, the abandoned wife. It was Elizabeth. Just Elizabeth. And that was enough.
---
Present Day: The Return
The car ride to Steele Enterprises was uneventful, but my heart raced as the familiar streets flashed by. The city had changed in my absence, or perhaps I had changed. Either way, it felt like a new world.
The city streets, once full of painful memories, now seemed like a challenge to conquer, a world I could dominate. When the car stopped in front of the towering glass building of Steele Enterprises, I could almost feel the pulse of power reverberating through the air. My lips curved into a smirk as I adjusted my blazer.
The same building where I had once been nothing but a shadow now felt like my stage.
I walked into the lobby, my heels clicking loudly on the marble floor. The receptionist, a young woman with wide eyes, watched me with an expression that flickered with recognition. She fumbled for a moment, then quickly reached for the phone. "Mr. Steele," she said with uncertainty, "There's a Ms. Elizabeth here to see you."
Her pause was more than just an awkward moment—it was a moment of realization. She knew who I was. And so did he.
"Send her up," came the reply over the phone.
As I stepped into the elevator, my reflection stared back at me in the polished metal. My face was composed, my posture perfect. The woman who had once walked through these halls with a broken heart now stood before the gates of power.
When the elevator doors opened, I took a deep breath and stepped out, my heels echoing with every step.
---
The Confrontation
Dante's office was just as I remembered it—sleek, cold, and modern, with a panoramic view of the city below. He stood at the window, his back to me. Tall, powerful, and radiating the same dominance I remembered from our marriage. But something was different. He was no longer the man I once adored.
"Elizabeth," he said, his voice thick with a mix of surprise and something else I couldn't place.
"Dante," I replied, keeping my tone cool and even.
He turned around slowly, his eyes scanning me, his gaze lingering on my face as if trying to piece together the woman standing before him. I could see the recognition in his eyes—he knew who I was, but I wasn't the woman he thought I was.
His lips parted, and for a moment, he seemed lost for words. "I didn't expect to see you back here." His voice was softer than I expected, almost hesitant. "I thought… I thought you had moved on."
"I have," I said simply.
Alexander took a step toward me, his eyes filled with a mix of confusion and longing. His gaze never left mine, as if searching for the girl he had once loved. But that girl was gone.
"You look… different," he muttered, his voice betraying the emotion he didn't want to admit.
I smiled, but it wasn't the smile of the woman he had known. "That's because I am," I said coldly. "I'm not the same woman who waited for you to love her. I'm not the same woman who lived in your shadow, hoping you would see me."
I took a step closer, and the space between us charged with tension.
"Why are you here, Elizabeth?" he asked, his voice hoarse. "I thought we were done."
I smiled, but it was a smile of power, not affection. "We are," I said, my voice steady and filled with finality. "But I came to remind you of something."
"What's that?"
"That no matter how far you go, no matter how much you think you've moved on, you will always know who I am. I will always be the one who got away."