Elena
The thrill of seeing Marcus unbalanced still lingered as I left the ballroom, the noise and laughter fading behind me like the hum of a distant storm. My heels clicked against the polished marble of the hotel hallway, a steady rhythm that matched my pulse.
He hadn't expected me. That much was clear. The Marcus Sinclair I remembered never let anyone catch him off guard, and yet tonight, I'd watched him stumble, his carefully constructed mask slipping for just a moment.
It was a small victory, but one I intended to savor.
"Miss Carter," a voice called behind me.
I didn't have to turn around to know who it was. Marcus's voice had haunted me for six years, threading itself into my nightmares and lingering in the corners of my mind even when I tried to shut him out.
I stopped but didn't turn, forcing him to come to me. It was petty, perhaps, but I wanted to feel that control, to hold the upper hand in this moment.
"Elena," he said again, softer this time, as he came to stand beside me.
I glanced at him briefly, noting the way his tie was slightly askew, his expression strained. Marcus Sinclair didn't rattle easily, but tonight, he looked shaken, like a man grasping at the edges of something he couldn't quite hold onto.
"What do you want, Marcus?" I asked, my tone sharp, cutting.
"You shouldn't have come here," he said, his voice low.
I laughed, the sound bitter and cold. "And here I thought you'd be happy to see me. Isn't that what you always wanted? A little drama to spice up your perfectly curated life?"
His jaw tightened, and for a moment, I thought he might walk away. But then he surprised me by stepping closer, his voice dropping to a whisper.
"Why are you here, Elena? What are you trying to do?"
I turned to face him fully, meeting his gaze with a steady, unflinching stare. "You don't get to ask me that," I said, my voice calm but laced with venom. "Not after what you did. Not after what you took from me."
For a moment, the mask slipped again. His eyes softened, filled with something that looked like regret, but I didn't let it sway me. Regret was easy. Regret didn't change the past.
"I know I hurt you," he said finally, his voice almost too quiet to hear.
"Hurt me?" I repeated, the words sharp and incredulous. "You didn't just hurt me, Marcus. You destroyed me. You destroyed my family. And for what? Your ambition? Your precious career?"
"It wasn't like that," he said quickly, his tone defensive now. "You don't know the whole story."
"Oh, don't I?" I shot back, stepping closer. "I know enough. I know you helped dismantle my father's company. I know you left me with nothing but a pile of lies and a signature on a divorce agreement. I know you walked away from me, from us, without a second thought."
He flinched at that, and for a moment, I thought he might fight back, argue his case. But instead, he just sighed, running a hand through his hair.
"You're right," he said finally, his voice resigned. "I did all of that. And there's nothing I can say to change it."
I didn't expect his honesty, and it caught me off guard. But I refused to let it weaken my resolve.
"Good," I said, my voice steady. "Because I didn't come here for apologies. I came here to make sure you pay for what you've done."
He stared at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable.
"You've changed," he said finally, almost to himself.
"Good," I said again. "Because the woman you left behind is gone. And the one standing in front of you doesn't forgive."
With that, I turned and walked away, my heels clicking against the marble floor once more. This time, he didn't follow.
I stepped into the crisp night air, letting the cool breeze wash over me. The city skyline stretched out before me, a glittering tapestry of lights and shadows, and for a moment, I just stood there, breathing it in.
I thought seeing Marcus again would bring me closure, that confronting him would feel like taking back the power he'd stolen from me. But instead, it felt like opening a wound I'd thought had healed.
The sound of my phone buzzing in my clutch broke through my thoughts. I pulled it out and glanced at the screen, my heart softening as I saw Daniel's name flash across it.
I swiped to answer. "Hey, baby," I said, my voice immediately softening.
"Hi, Mommy," Daniel said, his voice bright and cheerful. "Guess what?"
"What?" I asked, smiling despite the weight pressing on my chest.
"I drew a picture for you!" he announced proudly.
"Did you? What's it of?"
"It's a surprise!" he said, giggling. "You'll see when you get home."
My smile widened, and for a moment, the weight lifted. Daniel had that effect on me. He was my light, my anchor, the reason I'd managed to pull myself out of the wreckage Marcus had left behind.
"I can't wait," I said, my voice warm. "I'll be home soon, okay?"
"Okay. I love you, Mommy."
"I love you too, baby."
As I hung up, my resolve hardened. I wasn't just doing this for myself. I was doing it for Daniel, for the future he deserved.
Marcus Sinclair might have shattered my world once, but this time, I held the pieces. And I would use them to build something stronger, something he couldn't tear down.
Inside the cab, I replayed the conversation with Marcus in my mind, dissecting every word, every expression. He had been honest, at least in part, but honesty didn't absolve him. It didn't erase the years of pain or the consequences of his actions.
When the cab pulled up to my townhouse, I paid the driver and stepped out, the soft glow of the porch light welcoming me home. Inside, Daniel was already asleep, his small body curled under his favorite dinosaur blanket.
I stood in the doorway of his room for a moment, watching him breathe, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. He was so peaceful, so innocent, and it made me ache to think of how much he'd already been through.
Kneeling beside his bed, I brushed a strand of hair from his forehead and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. "Sweet dreams, my love," I whispered.
As I stood, I caught sight of the drawing he'd mentioned, propped up on his desk. It was a simple picture—just the two of us holding hands under a bright yellow sun—but it made my throat tighten with emotion.
Daniel was my everything. He was the reason I couldn't let Marcus get away with what he'd done.
But as I turned off the light and closed the door behind me, I couldn't shake the memory of Marcus's face, the way his voice had cracked when he admitted his guilt.
Part of me wanted to believe him, to believe that he was more than the man who had walked away from me all those years ago. But I couldn't afford to let myself hope.
Not yet.
The next morning, I stood in front of my office window, sipping a cup of coffee as the sun rose over Valcrest. My office was sleek and modern, a far cry from the shabby cubicle I'd worked in when I first started out as a prosecutor. Back then, I'd been fueled by desperation and anger, determined to claw my way to the top no matter what it took.
Now, I was here. And I wasn't just a prosecutor. I was the prosecutor—the one people called when they wanted results, when they wanted justice.
My phone buzzed on the desk behind me, and I turned to see a text from my assistant, Mia.
Mia: Got the files on Sinclair's company. You're going to want to see this.
A thrill of anticipation shot through me as I grabbed my phone and headed to her office.
This was it. The first step in dismantling Marcus's empire.
And I was ready.