Chapter 13
The gala wore on, a glittering affair of polite small talk, shallow toasts, and camera flashes. But to Elena, it was a battleground laced with silk gloves and subtle digs.
People she hadn’t seen in months approached her like nothing had ever happened.
“Elena! You look radiant.”
“So sorry to hear about everything. Men can be so… foolish.”
“I always knew you’d land on your feet. You’ve got that survivor’s spirit.”
She smiled politely, never revealing the storm behind her calm eyes. They weren’t checking on her—they were watching her, waiting to see if the woman once scorned would crack.
But Elena didn’t crack.
She glowed.
Across the room, Andrew barely touched his drink. Chloe whispered something to him, but he barely reacted. His eyes kept drifting back to Elena—especially whenever she leaned toward Sebastian with a smile or tossed her hair back in laughter.
Finally, he snapped.
He crossed the ballroom and appeared before her like a ghost she’d already buried.
“Elena,” he said tightly, nodding toward Sebastian in a forced gesture of civility.
Sebastian raised an eyebrow, unmoved.
She met Andrew’s eyes, the noise of the room fading.
“I didn’t expect to see you here,” he said.
“Well,” she said smoothly, “it’s hard to turn down such a… public invitation.”
His jaw tightened. “Can we talk?”
“About what?” she asked, feigning confusion. “The marriage you threw away? The baby you made with my best friend? You’ll have to be more specific.”
His nostrils flared. “This isn’t the place—”
“Then maybe you should have thought of that before you made your mess public.”
He leaned in slightly, voice dropping. “I know Sebastian’s been helping you. Don’t trust him. He’s not who you think.”
She laughed, a cold, elegant sound. “And you are?”
Andrew didn’t reply.
Sebastian stepped forward. “You’re not in a position to warn anyone, little brother. Elena’s done being manipulated. You lost that privilege.”
Andrew’s eyes darted between them, panic flickering beneath his surface. “This isn’t over.”
“Oh,” Elena said with a small, victorious smile. “It is. You just haven’t accepted it yet.”
He walked off stiffly, and Chloe rushed after him, clutching his sleeve.
Elena exhaled slowly. That had felt… good.
But Sebastian wasn’t done.
“Come with me,” he said.
She blinked. “What?”
“Come on.”
He took her hand—not in a romantic way, but with urgency—and led her out through one of the side doors into a quieter garden terrace wrapped in soft light and climbing vines.
There, far from prying eyes, he turned to her.
“You handled that with class,” he said. “But I know it took something out of you.”
Elena looked away. “I didn’t think it would still sting. But it did.”
“That’s not weakness,” he said. “That’s proof you cared. You don’t have to apologize for that.”
She nodded slowly. “Thanks.”
He studied her face, the city lights painting gold across her skin. “You don’t owe them anything, Elena. Not even your pain.”
She blinked, her throat tightening unexpectedly.
“I want you to remember,” he continued, “that everything you’ve built—this strength, this fire—it’s all you. Not me. Not Andrew. You.”
Then he stepped back, giving her space.
But in that moment, Elena stepped forward.
She placed a soft hand on his chest and whispered, “I know.”
And for the first time, she leaned in, brushing her lips gently against his.
It wasn’t about forgetting the past.
It was about claiming the future.