Chapter 3: Begging

Elena's pov 

They left after midnight.

I could clearly hear the cars starting. I heard Marcus, Clara and his mother laughing too loudly in the driveway about "finally kicking her out."

They were celebrating.

Then the front door slammed and silence fell over the mansion like a heavy blanket.

I stayed in the dark kitchen. My palm still bled under Adrian's handkerchief, my green dress was stained with red wine and my cheek still throbbed where his mother had slapped me.

I should go upstairs, lock my door and be the obedient wife they want me to be. Instead, I slid down the cold tiled wall and hugged my knees. For the first time in three years, I didn't feel numb.

I felt... seen.

I thought about Damien's burning grip, Adrian going on his knees in the wine for me and Roman pressing me against the wall.

These three men didn't know me but they looked at me like I was something worth looking at instead of a hopeless trash.

The kitchen door banged open hours later and Marcus stormed in, his tie loose and face red from whiskey.

"Elena! Where the hell were you? You disappeared in the middle of dinner!"

He didn't wait for an answer. He grabbed my wrist and yanked me to my feet digging his fingers into the cut on my palm. I winced.

"You embarrassed me tonight," he hissed, his breath reeking of alcohol. "Those men are worth billions. They hold our future. And you… you sat there shaking like an idiot. Do you know what my mother said? She said you acted like a beggar. You were being publicly pathetic so they pity you right?"

I stared at him. Really stared at him.

This was the man that had begged to marry me three years ago when I was still grieving my father, alone and drowning in debt. He was the same person who promised to protect Hart Global for me and went ahead to turn me into a beggar for every ounce of affection that I needed.

"You told me to go to bed when you told me to," I whispered. "You also told me not to answer questions about the company."

"And you couldn't even pour wine properly!" he shouted. "My mother had to clean up your mess!"

"Your mother threw the glass on purpose," I said. My voice was flat now. Dead. "You saw it. You all saw it."

For a second, guilt flashed in his eyes then it vanished.

"Don't start. Don't start with your drama," he muttered, letting go of my wrist like it burned him. He ran a hand through his hair, suddenly nervous. He paced the kitchen.

"Listen. Listen to me, Elena. Those men... I took them to the club to celebrate but they kept asking about you after you left. All three of them. They kept asking about the coastal variance, about your father and about you."

He turned to me, and his expression changed completely. The arrogant CEO mask fell off and now he looked... scared.

"Elena, baby, listen. I may have been a little hard on you lately but it's because of the stress — the company is sinking and you don't understand the pressure I'm under. Your father's company is bleeding money."

"You mean forty-seven million," I said quietly.

He flinched.

"Yes! That! It's just... it's a temporary move. An accounting strategy. I was going to tell you. I swear."

He took a step closer. Then another. And then —

He dropped to his knees.

Marcus Sterling dropped on his knees in the dirty kitchen, in front of me, his expensive suit soaking in the spilled wine.

"Elena, please," he begged, grabbing both my hands, pressing his forehead to my knees. His voice cracked. "Please don't talk to them about the numbers. Please. If they pull out of this deal, we're finished. I'm finished. They will audit everything and I'll go to prison."

So that was it. He wasn't even begging for me. He was begging for himself.

"I've given you everything," he whispered, looking up at me with wet eyes. "A home. My name. I saved you when you had nothing. Doesn't that count for something? Can't you, just this once, be loyal? Be my wife?"

I looked down at the man kneeling at my feet. Three years ago, I would have cried and forgiven him instantly. I would have even knelt with him.

But tonight, after feeling what it felt like to be truly seen by three strangers, I felt nothing but cold disgust.

I pulled my hands out of his grip.

"You didn't save me, Marcus," I said, my voice shaking but clear for the first time in years. "You bought me when I was cheapest. And you and your mother have spent three years making sure I never remembered who I was before you."

I held up my bleeding palm, wrapped in another man's handkerchief.

"You want loyalty? You should have shown me loyalty when your mother slapped me in your study today. When she made me clean blood off your dining room floor like a servant."

His face turned white.

"You... you are still mad about the slap?"

"I am mad at everything now," I whispered.

He scrambled to his feet, his begging turning into panic.

"Elena, where are you going? Don't be stupid. You have nowhere to go! Hart Global is in my name now. The house is in my name. You signed everything and you are nothing without me! You will come crawling back in two days!"

I walked past him and I didn't look back.

I went straight upstairs to our bedroom — no, his bedroom — and locked the door. I took off the ruined green silk dress and let it fall to the floor. In the mirror, I saw a woman with a bruised cheek, a bleeding hand, and empty eyes.

But underneath the bruise, something else was waking up.

Seven years ago, I walked into a boardroom and destroyed three billionaires.

Where is she, Elena? Did you let him bury her completely?

Damien's voice from earlier echoed in my head.

No. He didn't bury me. He just made the real me sleep.

I took Adrian's white handkerchief, still stained with my blood, and pressed it to my cheek.

Then my phone vibrated on the dresser.

It was an unknown number.

I opened it with trembling fingers and there were three words. No name.

"He has signed."

Below it, there was a photo.

A photo of a contract on a mahogany boardroom table with Marcus's signature at the bottom. It was still fresh, signed next to today's date.

And a handwritten note in the corner in sharp, black ink:

You are not Mrs. Sterling anymore, Elena Hart. Come and take back what is yours.

Signed D, A, R

My breath stopped.

Take back what is mine?

My knees gave out and I sank onto the bed, clutching the phone so hard my bleeding hand started bleeding again.

Outside my locked bedroom door, Marcus started banging.

"Elena! Open the door! We need to talk! Please! I didn't mean it! Elena!"

He was begging again and it was louder this time.

He was becoming desperate but for the first time in three years, I didn't open the door.

I stared at the message that just changed everything.

Who were D, A, R?