Chapter Two: The Morning Before

The black dress was simpler than anything I usually wore. No embellishments. No designer label. I'd bought it years ago for a funeral and never worn it again.

It fit differently now. Or maybe I did.

I stood in front of the mirror and studied my reflection. Same face. Same dark hair. Same gray eyes that my mother had called storm clouds. I looked twenty-two. I felt a hundred.

My hands had stopped shaking. That was something.

From downstairs, Cecilia's voice carried through the house. She was discussing table settings with the caterer. I could hear the forced cheerfulness, the way my stepmother performed happiness like a costume she couldn't quite fit into.

I opened my bedroom door and listened.

"—and the lilies should be placed at the entrance. Julian specifically requested them. He says they're Elena's favorite."

I closed my eyes. The lilies. Of course.

I walked to the staircase and descended slowly, my hand trailing the banister. The house looked the same as I remembered. The same portraits on the walls. The same fresh flowers in the foyer. The same photograph of my father on the console table, frozen in time, smiling at something I couldn't see.

Cecilia spotted me from the living room. Her face shifted—surprise, then a quick recovery.

"Elena. You're up early." She glanced at the dress. Her smile tightened. "That's... an interesting choice for today."

"It's black," I said. "It's my color."

Cecilia laughed, a short, brittle sound. "Well, the engagement party is this afternoon. I assumed you'd want to wear something more... festive."

"I'm not going to the party."

The words landed like stones in still water. Cecilia's expression flickered—confusion, then concern, then something sharper underneath.

"What do you mean you're not going?"

"I mean I'm not going."

"Elena, that's absurd. The guests are arriving at four. Julian's family is already on their way. You can't just—"

"I can," I said. "And I am."

I walked past her toward the kitchen. I needed coffee. I needed to think. I needed to figure out what came next.

Cecilia followed me. Of course she did.

"Elena, stop. Stop walking. Look at me."

I stopped. I turned.

Cecilia was trying to smile. It wasn't working.

"Whatever is going on," she said, "we can fix it. Is it nerves? Cold feet? That's normal, sweetheart. Every bride gets nervous."

"I'm not nervous."

"Then what? Did you and Julian have a fight? He called here looking for you three times last night. He sounded frantic."

I remembered the calls. Seventeen of them. I'd let them all ring through.

"We didn't have a fight," I said. "I found out he's been sleeping with Mira. And that they're planning to drain my mother's trust fund. So I left."

Cecilia's face went through several expressions in quick succession. Shock. Disbelief. And then—briefly, almost imperceptibly—something like recognition.

"You're mistaken," Cecilia said. "Mira would never—"

"I read the messages. On his phone. I saw everything."

"You must have misunderstood. Julian loves you. Mira loves you. This is—this is a misunderstanding."

I watched my stepmother. The way her hands fluttered. The way her voice pitched higher. The way she couldn't quite meet my eyes.

"You knew," I said.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You knew. About Julian and Mira. You knew."

Cecilia's mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

"That's ridiculous. I would never—"

"You knew," I repeated. "And you let me plan this wedding. You let me choose flowers. You let me stand in that dress fitting and pretend everything was perfect."

Cecilia's eyes filled with tears. I didn't believe them.

"Elena, sweetheart, you're upset. You're not thinking clearly. Let's sit down. Let's have some tea. We can figure this out together."

I felt something cold settle in my chest. Not anger. Not hurt. Something more permanent.

"I'm not your sweetheart," I said. "And I'm not staying."

I turned and walked toward the front door.

"Where are you going?" Cecilia called after me. "You can't just leave! What am I supposed to tell people?"

I paused with my hand on the doorknob. I didn't turn around.

"Tell them whatever you want. You're good at that."

I stepped outside. The morning air was cool against my skin. The garden was in full bloom—roses, peonies, the hydrangeas my mother had planted years ago.

I walked to my car. I got in. I sat there for a moment, hands on the steering wheel, staring at nothing.

I had a plan. Sort of. I knew where I needed to go. I knew who I needed to see.

But first, I needed to breathe.

I started the engine and pulled out of the driveway.

The city looked different in the daylight. Cleaner. Less threatening. I drove past the coffee shop where I used to meet Julian for breakfast. Past the park where we'd had our first date. Past the jewelry store where he'd bought my engagement ring.

I didn't slow down.

My phone buzzed. Julian. I let it ring. It buzzed again. A text this time.

Where are you? We need to talk.

I didn't respond.

Another buzz.

Elena, please. Just tell me you're okay.

I turned off my phone.

The Kane Security building was downtown, a sleek glass tower that reflected the morning sky. I parked in the garage and sat in my car for a long moment.

I knew Adrian Kane by reputation. Everyone did. The billionaire who'd built an empire from nothing. The man who'd been investigated three times and never charged. The businessman who didn't give interviews, didn't attend galas, didn't smile for cameras.

He was dangerous. That's what people said. He was ruthless. He was not someone you crossed.

He was also the only person Julian had ever admitted to fearing.

I got out of the car. I walked into the lobby. The security guard looked up.

"Can I help you?"

"I need to see Adrian Kane."

The guard's expression didn't change. "Do you have an appointment?"

"No."

"Then I can't help you."

I reached into my purse. I pulled out a business card—blank except for my name and number. I handed it to the guard.

"Tell him Elena Voss is here. Tell him I have information about Ashford Holdings that will interest him."

The guard looked at the card. Then at me. Then at the card again.

"Wait here," he said.

He disappeared through a door behind the desk. I stood in the lobby. The minutes passed. I didn't sit down.

The guard returned. His expression had changed—something like respect, or maybe wariness.

"Top floor," he said. "The elevator will take you up."

I nodded. I walked to the elevator. I pressed the button.

The doors closed. The car rose.

I had no idea what I was doing. But for the first time since I'd woken up in my childhood bedroom, I felt like I was moving forward.

The elevator doors opened.

Adrian Kane was waiting.

And when his eyes met mine, something flickered across his face. Something I couldn't name. Recognition. Or maybe grief. It was there and gone before I could be sure.

I stepped out of the elevator.

He didn't offer his hand. He didn't smile. He just watched me.

"Miss Voss," he said.

"Mr. Kane."

"You're early."

"I didn't have an appointment."

"No," he said, and something in his voice shifted. Quiet. Almost sad. "You didn't.”