Elena
The gala was everything I expected it to be elegant, opulent, and filled with the kind of people who spoke in whispers but wielded power with thunderous results. The Grand Concorde Hotel shimmered under a thousand chandeliers, each crystal refracting light onto the polished marble floors and gilded walls. Every detail reeked of wealth, ambition, and pretense.
This was Marcus's world, a kingdom he had built brick by brick after demolishing my father's empire.
I adjusted the neckline of my black evening gown and stepped into the ballroom, my heels clicking against the marble floor in a steady, deliberate rhythm. Heads turned as I entered, whispers following in my wake, but I kept my head high, ignoring the curious stares.
Six years ago, I would have faltered under their scrutiny. I wasn't that woman anymore.
I scanned the crowd, searching for him. My pulse quickened, though I wasn't sure if it was from anticipation or dread. For years, I had imagined this moment, rehearsed what I would say when I finally stood face-to-face with Marcus Sinclair again. Would I confront him outright? Deliver a cutting remark to leave him speechless? Or would I let my silence do the talking, forcing him to reckon with the weight of my presence?
"Miss Carter," a deep voice interrupted my thoughts.
I turned to see the host of the evening, an aging philanthropist with a dazzling smile and a handshake that lingered a second too long. He introduced himself as Jonathan Whitmore and welcomed me to the event, his words polite but probing.
"I wasn't aware we'd be graced with your presence tonight," he said, his tone dripping with curiosity. "You're something of a legend in Val crest, you know. The prosecutor who's never lost a case."
"Yet," I replied with a tight smile.
Whitmore chuckled. "And what brings you here? Business or pleasure?"
"Business," I said, my voice sharp enough to cut the conversation short. His smile faltered, but he quickly excused himself, leaving me to my search.
And then I saw him.
Marcus was standing near the bar, surrounded by a small crowd of admirers. He was dressed in a charcoal suit that looked custom-made to fit his tall, athletic frame, his presence commanding as ever. His dark hair was neatly styled, his jaw clean-shaven, but it was his eyes that held my attention.
They hadn't changed.
For a moment, I couldn't move, caught in the force of his gaze even from across the room. It was as though time had folded in on itself, pulling me back to the nights we'd spent laughing over wine, his hand on my cheek as he whispered promises he'd never keep.
But then I remembered the papers, the lies, and the sound of the door closing behind him for the last time.
I squared my shoulders, forcing myself to breathe.
This wasn't the time to falter.
The moment he saw me, I knew.
Marcus's smile froze mid-sentence, his eyes locking onto mine as if I were the ghost of his past come to haunt him. The crowd around him faded into irrelevance as he took a step forward, his expression a mix of shock, disbelief, and something else I couldn't quite place.
"Elena," he said, his voice low but steady as he closed the distance between us.
"Marcus," I replied, my tone cool, almost detached.
Up close, he was just as infuriatingly handsome as I remembered. The years had been kind to him too kind, given the destruction he'd left in his wake.
"You're… here," he said, as though the very idea was incomprehensible.
"Surprised?" I tilted my head slightly, letting the weight of my gaze settle on him. "I thought you'd have heard by now. Valcrest is my city again."
Something flickered in his eyes, a flash of guilt or regret, but he masked it quickly. Marcus had always been good at hiding his emotions behind a carefully constructed facade.
"Why now?" he asked, his voice softer this time. "After all these years…"
The question was loaded, but I wasn't about to give him an easy answer.
"Why not?" I countered, brushing past him to pick up a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. I took a sip, savoring the sharp bubbles against my tongue, before adding, "I figured it was time to see what you've done with the place."
Marcus's lips pressed into a thin line, his jaw tightening. He wasn't used to being on the back foot, and I could tell it was taking everything in him not to press me for more.
"You look…" He trailed off, his eyes scanning me briefly before landing on my face. "You look amazing, Elena."
I met his gaze, my expression unreadable. "You didn't think I'd come back broken, did you?"
He opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, another voice cut in.
"Marcus, darling!"
A woman appeared at his side, draping herself over his arm with practiced ease. She was beautiful, in that effortless way that only money could buy, her blonde hair perfectly coiffed and her emerald dress clinging to her in all the right places.
"Introduce me to your… friend," she said, her smile polite but sharp as her eyes darted to me.
"Elena Carter," Marcus said after a brief pause, his tone carefully neutral. "A… former acquaintance."
"Charming," I said, extending a hand to the woman. "And you are?"
"Clarissa," she said, her tone dripping with disdain as she took my hand briefly. "Marcus's fiancée."
Ah.
I smiled, letting the revelation roll over me without so much as a flicker of emotion. I had prepared for this moment and expected it, even. Marcus had always been a man who needed someone by his side, a partner in ambition if not in love.
"Well, congratulations," I said smoothly, raising my glass in a mock toast. "I'm sure you two will be very… happy together."
Clarissa's eyes narrowed slightly, but before she could respond, Marcus stepped in.
"Clarissa, could you excuse us for a moment?" he asked, his tone leaving little room for argument.
She hesitated, her perfectly manicured nails tightening on his arm, but eventually, she relented with a tight smile. "Of course."
As she walked away, Marcus turned back to me, his expression unreadable.
"Elena, I—"
"No," I interrupted, my voice firm. "You don't get to explain. Not here. Not now."
His jaw tightened again, but he didn't argue.
"Then why are you here?" he asked instead, his tone laced with frustration. "If you don't want an explanation, what do you want?"
I took a step closer, lowering my voice so only he could hear.
"What I want," I said, my words slow and deliberate, "is to watch you burn, Marcus. The way you burned my family. The way you burned me."
For a moment, he said nothing, his eyes searching mine as though looking for the woman he used to know. But she was long gone, buried under the weight of his betrayal.
"I'll see you soon," I said, stepping back and leaving him standing there, alone in a sea of people.
As I walked away, my heart was pounding, my breath unsteady, but I refused to look back.
This was just the beginning.