Chapter 8
A storm brewed outside, but inside Elena’s apartment, it was calm—too calm. The kind of quiet that came after a decision had been made, after the heart stopped begging for closure.
She didn’t cry after Chloe’s call.
Not because she wasn’t hurt—but because the pain had finally turned into something stronger. Cold, focused resolve.
Let Chloe be pregnant.
Let Andrew try to play house with her.
She wasn’t going to look back anymore.
Elena had other things to focus on.
And the first step was reclaiming her name.
The next morning, she walked into the city registrar’s office and filed the paperwork to legally change her name back to Elena Hart. Not Elliot. That name had become a symbol of betrayal and heartbreak.
She wanted her own name. Her own life.
She signed the forms with steady hands and didn’t hesitate when the clerk asked, “Are you sure?”
“I’ve never been more sure.”
On her way out, her phone buzzed.
A message.
Sebastian: Lunch? Or do I need to send another gift to your doorstep to get your attention?
She stared at it for a moment.
Then typed: Just send the food. I’m busy rebuilding my empire.
His reply came with a laugh emoji and a simple: I’ll bring wine too.
True to his word, Sebastian showed up later that afternoon with a bottle of red in one hand and a small paper bag in the other.
He didn’t knock.
He let himself in like he belonged.
And strangely, Elena didn’t mind.
She was curled up on the couch with her laptop, surrounded by notes and documents.
“Planning world domination?” he asked, setting the wine on the table.
“No,” she said, glancing up at him. “Just setting the pieces. The game hasn’t started yet.”
He smirked. “I like this version of you. The one who’s done pretending.”
“I don’t remember asking for your opinion.”
“Then it’s free,” he replied casually, pouring two glasses. “What’s next on your revenge tour?”
She took the glass and sipped, her eyes never leaving his. “You tell me. You’ve known Andrew longer than anyone. What’s his weakest spot?”
Sebastian leaned back on the couch beside her, swirling the wine in his glass. “He hates losing control. Hates when someone else pulls the strings. You want to hurt him? Don’t scream. Don’t cry. Just start taking away the things he thinks he owns.”
Elena nodded slowly. “That’s the plan.”
There was a beat of silence.
Then Sebastian said, “What about Chloe?”
Elena’s expression darkened. “She’s carrying his child.”
Sebastian blinked, then gave a short, humorless laugh. “Of course she is. That’s the cherry on top.”
“I thought it would crush me,” Elena admitted. “But I feel… nothing.”
“That’s because the version of you who would’ve cried over them doesn’t exist anymore.”
She looked at him. “Is that supposed to comfort me?”
“No,” he said. “It’s supposed to remind you that you’ve already survived the worst part.”
She held his gaze for a second longer than necessary. There was something in the way he looked at her—something that didn’t ask for permission or forgiveness. It was just… honest.
“I still don’t know who you really are,” she said quietly.
He smiled. “Maybe that’s a good thing.”
And just like that, the conversation shifted. He told her about some of his investments, his travels, and a scandal involving a rival business family that had recently imploded in the headlines.
Elena listened. She even laughed once or twice.
It felt strange.
But it also felt good.
That night, as Sebastian left, he paused at the door.
“You know,” he said, turning to her, “for someone who got stabbed in the back by the two people she trusted most, you’re doing damn well.”
“I don’t have time to fall apart,” she said simply. “Not when there’s still so much left to take back.”
He nodded slowly. “You’ll get there. And when you do, they won’t even recognize the woman you’ve become.”
He left after that.
And Elena stood at the door for a moment, staring at the space where he’d just been.
She didn’t trust easily anymore. But something about Sebastian made her feel like maybe—just maybe—she didn’t have to do this alone.
Not completely.