The venom in his words stung, but Elena refused to break.
"I'm Della's husband now," Damian added cruelly. "So stop acting like a desperate fool."
With that, he spun on his heel and walked away, Selena clinging to his arm.
Elena stood frozen, her heart numb.
But as the weight of his betrayal settled over her, something shifted inside her—a resolve that burned brighter than her pain.
This wasn't the end.
Damian and Selena would regret this, and so would Vivian.
One day, she would make them all pay.
Irene Cross stared at Damian Blackwell's retreating back, her chest tightening with anguish. Tears blurred her vision, but she clenched her fists, refusing to let them fall.
This would be the last time she, Elena Cross, shed a single tear for that man.
As if feeding on Elena's pain, Selena Cross's lips curled into a triumphant smile. "Elena, did you really think you could compete with me for a man? You're delusional if you believe you deserve the title of Mrs. Blackwell. Honestly, you're better suited for that sick, pathetic old man the Cross family pawned you off to."
Elena's eyes burned with fury. "Selena Cross," she said through gritted teeth, "you walk around with your head high, but what are you really? You're nothing but the illegitimate daughter of a mistress. Like mother, like daughter—a homewrecker through and through. Oh, and by the way, Damian is just an illegitimate heir himself. Perfect match, don't you think?"
In the past, Elena would have never uttered such scathing words. But today was different.
Selena's face contorted with rage. "How dare you?" she hissed. "Your mother was the real mistress! My father loved my mother first. It was your scheming mother who stole him away. You're just as shameless as she was, trying to steal Damian from me!"
Selena's hand shot out, landing a sharp slap across Elena's cheek.
Pain flared, but Elena had reached her breaking point. Years of injustice and cruelty from the Cross family boiled over.
No more.
Rolling up her sleeves, Elena fought back with ferocity.
What she didn't realize was that a man in a nearby car was watching the entire scene.
Damian Blackwell's half-brother, Victor Hale, leaned against the wheel, a smirk tugging at his lips.
"Well, well," he murmured to himself, "looks like my wife's a fighter."
Elena was relentless. Selena, delicate and pampered, was no match for her. When Elena finally had enough, she stood up, brushing herself off, and looked down at Selena, who lay sprawled on the ground, disheveled and humiliated.
"I don't think you'll hold onto the title of Mrs. Blackwell for long," Elena sneered. "Damian doesn't take you seriously either."
Selena's face was swollen and bruised, her hair a tangled mess, her designer dress torn and filthy. She looked like a crazed woman as she screamed, "Elena Cross, you insane witch! I'll make you pay for this!"
Elena's lips curled into a smirk. "I'd love to see you try."
She straightened her spine, dusting off her clothes. The grudge she had carried against Selena for over a decade finally felt lighter.
What hurt Elena the most wasn't the scheme orchestrated by Vivian and Selena. It wasn't even the humiliating events of the previous night.
No, what broke her was Damian's betrayal.
The man she had once dreamed of marrying had shown his true colors, abandoning her for power without a second thought.
To him, the love she cherished had meant nothing.
Dizziness washed over her as the alcohol coursed through her veins. Stumbling, she sank onto the sidewalk, waiting for a taxi.
Minutes passed before a sleek black car pulled up beside her.
Her vision blurred, and reasoning dulled by alcohol, Elena mistook it for a taxi. She climbed in without hesitation and slurred her address, "1404 Briar Street… thanks."
Then she collapsed onto the back seat and passed out.
Victor Hale glanced at her through the rearview mirror, his dark eyes glinting with amusement and rare affection.
As he drove, Elena stirred and muttered, "Stop the car… I'm gonna throw up…"
Victor quickly pulled over and got out, intending to help her out of the car.
But before he could reach her, she fixed him with watery, defiant eyes.
"Men are trash," she declared with conviction.
Victor blinked, momentarily speechless.
"I beg your pardon?" he asked dryly.
She didn't answer, instead swaying dangerously before suddenly vomiting right in front of him.
Victor's expression darkened as he looked down at his now-ruined shirt, the stench wafting up to meet him.
A neat freak to his core, Victor pulled a long face.
"Elena Cross," he muttered under his breath, "you really are full of surprises."
Despite himself, a rare smile tugged at his lips as he moved to help her again.
When Elena Cross opened her eyes, the sunlight streaming through the window made her wince. Her head throbbed, and a dull ache settled behind her eyes.
Blinking against the harsh light, she sat up slowly, taking in her surroundings.
A sleek black car.
Wait…
Memories of the previous night were hazy, fragmented by alcohol and emotion. Her gaze shifted to the driver's seat, where a man was reclining, his head tilted back against the headrest, eyes closed in sleep.
It was Damian Blackwell's estranged half-brother, Victor Hale.
And for some reason, he was shirtless.
Elena's eyes widened. What on earth happened last night?
Her heart raced as she racked her brain for answers, but all she could remember was getting into the car, muttering her address, and then… nothing.
She pressed her fingers against her temples, groaning at the pounding headache. Stepping out of the car, she stumbled slightly but caught herself. The world was quiet, devoid of the usual bustling sounds.