Chapter 3

Lena’s POV

By Saturday morning, it was over.

Just like that.

Alexander Knight signed the divorce papers without drama, without hesitation, without even looking at me for more than a second. His signature was sharp. Confident. Final. The same way he signed billion-dollar deals, the same way he signed me out of his life.

The judge spoke. Lawyers murmured. Words like settlement, assets, agreement floated past me, meaningless and hollow. I nodded when I was supposed to. Stood when told. Signed where they pointed.

And then it was done.

I walked out of that courtroom no longer a wife.

No longer his.

The doors closed behind me, and for the first time in a long time, I felt something strange and unfamiliar settle in my chest.

Freedom.

It did not feel loud. It did not feel celebratory. It felt quiet. Heavy. Real.

I stood on the courthouse steps, my heels planted firmly on the ground, and inhaled deeply. The air felt different. Lighter. Like I had been holding my breath for years without realizing it.

I was a free woman.

The first thing I promised myself was simple.

Erase Alexander Knight from my life.

The memories, if possible. The habits. The reflex of checking my phone when it buzzed, expecting his name. The instinct to plan my day around someone else’s schedule. The version of myself that shrank to make him comfortable.

I wanted all of it gone.

Of course, that was easier said than done.

I was exhausted. Emotionally. Mentally. Physically. Divorce did that to you. Even when you wanted it. Even when you needed it.

So I went home, took a long shower, and let the hot water wash over me like it could rinse the past off my skin. I stood there longer than necessary, eyes closed, letting myself feel everything I had postponed for months.

When I finally stepped out, wrapped in a towel, I looked at my reflection in the mirror.

I looked… okay.

No. I looked strong.

Tired, yes. Bruised on the inside, definitely. But still standing.

Still here.

That night, I slept like someone who had fought a long war and finally laid down her armor.

By Monday morning, I was ready to move forward.

Harrington Industry.

The name sat bold and intimidating on my screen as I reread the application details for the third time. A reputable company. Global reach. Ruthlessly professional. Exactly what I needed.

No emotional ties. No history. Just work.

I dressed carefully. Nothing too flashy. Nothing too timid. Clean lines. Neutral colors. Confidence stitched into every seam. I tied my hair back neatly and applied light makeup, just enough to look polished.

This was not the woman Alexander Knight married.

This was the woman he underestimated.

The building itself was massive. Glass and steel stretching toward the sky, reflecting ambition and money and power. My heels echoed against the floor as I stepped inside, my heart thudding but my posture steady.

At the front desk, I gave my name.

“Elena Miller.”

It still felt strange. My maiden name. Untouched. Mine.

The receptionist smiled. “You’ve already passed the CV stage. Congratulations. You’ll be having a direct oral assessment with the CEO.”

I blinked. “The CEO?”

“Yes. He prefers to meet candidates himself for this role.”

My stomach flipped.

Okay. Okay, Lena. You can do this.

I was led through sleek hallways, past glass offices and focused employees, until we stopped in front of a large door.

The receptionist knocked once, then stepped aside.

“Good luck.”

I pushed the door open.

And forgot how to breathe.

The office was stunning. Floor-to-ceiling windows. Minimalist decor. Everything screamed control and refinement. And then there was him.

Lucian Valentino.

He stood near his desk, tall and composed, dressed in a perfectly tailored suit. Dark hair, sharp features, eyes that seemed to miss nothing. There was something undeniably commanding about him, the kind of presence that filled the room without effort.

When he spoke, his accent caught me off guard. British, smooth, layered with something deeper, something that hinted at travel and privilege and danger.

“It’s nice to have you here, Elena Miller.”

My name sounded different on his tongue. Intentional.

For a second, my brain stalled.

Okay. Okay. Focus.

“Good day, sir,” I said, stepping forward. “I’m Elena.”

His lips curved slightly. “I figured that part out.”

I laughed before I could stop myself. Soft. Nervous. Human.

“I applied for the position of Personal Assistant,” I said, regaining control.

“I know.” He gestured for me to sit. “Tell me why you want this job.”

The question was simple. The weight behind it was not.

I straightened my back. “Because I’m disciplined. Observant. And fully capable of handling pressure. I give my work my complete attention. When I commit to something, I commit fully.”

His eyes sharpened, studying me like I was a puzzle.

“And what makes you think you can give me that level of devotion?” he asked.

The word lingered. Devotion.

I met his gaze without flinching. “Because I no longer divide my focus. My work will come first. I understand boundaries, priorities, and discretion. You will not have to question my loyalty to my role.”

Silence stretched between us.

Then he smiled.

Not amused. Interested.

He asked more questions. About organization. Time management. Crisis handling. Confidentiality. He pushed. Tested. Interrupted. Observed how I reacted when challenged.

I answered calmly. Thoughtfully. Honestly.

At some point, he leaned back in his chair and said, “Call me Lucian.”

I hesitated for half a second. “Okay… Mr. Lucian.”

That made him laugh. A real laugh.

“Fair enough,” he said.

As the interview drew to a close, I realized something unsettling.

He was not just evaluating me.

He was measuring me.

And somehow, without meaning to, I felt like I had stepped into something much bigger than a job.

When I stood to leave, he held my gaze for a moment longer than necessary.

“We’ll be in touch,” he said.

I nodded. “Thank you for your time.”

As I walked out of Harrington Industry, the sun warm on my face, one thought echoed clearly in my mind.

This was not a coincidence.

I did not know how yet.

But I had the unsettling feeling that erasing Alexander Knight from my life would not be as simple as signing papers and changing my name.