เข้าสู่ระบบELENA Nine months pregnant, and I can officially confirm that pregnancy amnesia is real, because at some point I agreed to do this again.I am enormous. Beautiful, obviously, but enormous.Thirty-eight weeks and five days pregnant, waddling through our bedroom at three in the morning because sleep has abandoned me like a bad investment.Damian stirs as I shift beside the bed.“You okay?” he asks instantly, voice thick with sleep but alert in a second.“I need to pee. Again.”He exhales softly. “That’s the fourth time.”“Are you counting?”“Yes.”“Stop counting.”He sits up anyway, as if I might collapse mid-walk.“I can make it to the bathroom alone.”“I’m accompanying you.”“It’s five steps.”“High-risk zone.”I glare at him and he glares back. We both know he’s not joking.*** Two days later, at exactly 6:14 a.m., I wake up to a sensation that feels… different. It is not the dramatic movie water-breaking scene. Just a deep, low tightening that wraps around my spine and abdomen.I
ELENA Two years later, and my life looks nothing like it did the day I almost lost it. The Golden Star Foundation now has three centers across the state. We’ve expanded education programs, trauma therapy units, and scholarship funds. The walls are brighter, the waiting lists are shorter, and the laughter is louder. I thrive here. Give me children with complicated pasts and stubborn hope; I will build empires out of that. Give me corporate boardrooms, volatile investors, and men who measure worth in quarterly returns; I will develop a migraine. After my recovery, I tried going back to Hart Capital Management. I really did, but sitting at the head of that table again felt like wearing shoes that no longer fit. Every financial dip felt personal, every aggressive investor call reopened wounds I didn’t know I still had, and when clients began pulling out after the instability… it snowballed. The media whispered, the board panicked, annnd competitors circled. I didn’t sleep for weeks, un
DAMIAN I’ve negotiated billion-dollar mergers without breaking a sweat, I’ve stared down men who thought they were untouchable, and I’ve taken bullets and didn’t flinch, but standing at the end of a white floral aisle in my own garden, waiting for Elena... my hands are sweating.This is ridiculous. It’s a small ceremony: intimate and private. No press, no spectacle, just close friends, family, and the people who matter.The garden has been transformed. White roses climb the archway, soft ivory drapes flow gently in the breeze, and rows of elegant chairs line the grass, each tied with silk ribbons. The late afternoon sun filters through the trees like it was personally invited.I adjust my cufflinks for the fifth time.“Relax,” Garrick mutters beside me.I glance at him.He’s dressed sharply, but there’s something softer in his expression today. Protective and proud.“You look like you’re about to go to war,” he adds.“I am,” I reply dryly. “Marriage.”He snorts under his breath.“You
ELENA If you had told me two months ago that I’d be sitting in my glam room, voluntarily curling my own hair for my second wedding to the same man, I would’ve laughed, probably dramatically, but here I am.The room smells like vanilla setting spray and fresh peonies. Soft daylight filters through the sheer curtains, painting everything in a golden glow that feels intentional, like the universe is finally behaving.My wedding dress hangs behind me on a mannequin. Silk, minimal lace, and elegant. No cathedral train this time. The first wedding was a spectacle, but this one is a choice.Angela is downstairs with Marina, wearing a tiny ivory dress that she insisted must “sparkle like Mama’s.” She’s been practising walking down the aisle for three days like it’s a runway show, and today she’s going to watch her parents choose each other.Again.That matters more than the flowers, more than the ring, and more than the guest list.My phone lights up on the vanity. It is from Golden Star Fou
ELENA One month ago, I couldn’t feel my legs, now I’m standing, shaking, sweating, and cursing internally, but standing.The private rehabilitation wing Damian had built into the west side of the house smells faintly of eucalyptus and polished wood. Floor-to-ceiling windows let sunlight spill across the therapy rails like something hopeful and dramatic. Very Damian. If I’m going to relearn how to walk, apparently I’m going to do it with a skyline view.“Chin up, Elena,” my physiotherapist says behind me, her accent warm and firm. “You don’t negotiate with gravity. You tell it who’s boss.”Dr. Naledi Maseko. Flown in from South Africa because my husband does not believe in “second best.”Apparently she’s worked with Olympic athletes, trauma survivors, and once insulted a rugby captain into walking again. I like her, but I also hate her a little.My hands grip the parallel bars tightly. My arms are stronger now. My legs... my legs feel like stubborn strangers.“Weight shift,” she instr
DAMIAN My footsteps echo down the corridor as I walk towards Elena’s room. It is 3 AM, and the guards straighten when they see me. Four of them armed and alert. No one is getting within breathing distance of her again. I nod once and step inside. The room is dim, lit only by the soft blue glow of the monitors and the city lights bleeding in through the window. Machines hum steadily, and the IV drips rhythmically. She looks smaller and that’s the first thing that hits me. Elena has always filled rooms without trying. Presence, fire, and stubborn elegance. Now she’s still and fragile. Her hair spills across the pillow like silk, her skin is pale but no longer as deathly as it was earlier. There’s colour returning. I pull a chair closer and sit beside her bed. For a moment, I just watch her. I’ve faced men with guns pointed at my head, negotiated with criminals who’d gut someone over a misplaced comma, but this? This terrifies me. I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “You
DAMIAN After the performance, Elena walked off the stage, earning a round of applause. “How have you been these past few years, Elena?” It wasn't until Isabelle’s voice rang out that me realise that the woman standing next to Paulina was actually Elena. The smile she had that was meant for Pa
DAMIAN Isabella was never the reason I was here. She was an excuse, a shield I could hold up to the world while I chased the ghost of a man I needed to find.Elena’s man. The stranger in the photographs that haunted me every night.I had combed New York for months, spent enough on private inves
ELENAThe child had pulled through, for now. “Temporarily out of danger,” the doctor said, as if temporary could ever be enough. And so I stood there again, rooted like a statue, my forehead pressed against the cold glass, my breath fogging up the barrier between me and her. They all whispered b
DAMIAN“Let’s get a divorce.”The words landed in my chest like a stone hurled into still water, ripples spreading until they rattled through every bone in me. I had imagined this moment; hell, I had demanded it. I had a lawyer draft the agreement, sign it, Elena. End this farce.And yet… hearin







