Chapter 4
963 Words
The dressing room was quiet—too quiet.
Elena sat on the velvet chaise, staring at her reflection under the harsh glow of the backstage bulbs. Her hands rested on her knees, perfectly manicured but clenched. She tried to slow her breath. Tried not to think about Damien’s words. About Rome. About the pain she left buried under lace sheets and whispered promises.
But it was impossible.
Because Jaxon was outside that door.
And because Damien knew.
How? How much did he see? Did he only watch her leave that morning—or did he know what happened in the hours after? The call. The blood. The mistake that wasn’t hers… but became hers anyway.
She reached for her bag, fingers brushing against a folded paper hidden inside a zippered pocket. A photograph. Old and worn, like her.
She hesitated, then unfolded it.
A woman stared back at her. Brown eyes. Familiar smile. A mirror of herself—but softer. Sadder.
Her mother.
Dead ten years now, but Elena still remembered her voice clearly.
> “When a man looks at you like you’re fire, be careful. You’ll either warm him… or burn him.”
She wondered which one Jaxon had become.
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Across the hall, Jaxon stood by the studio window, arms folded. His jaw was set tight as he watched models mill around the showroom. His mind wasn’t on the campaign or the press. It was on her.
Elena.
He could still taste her name. Still feel the way she looked at him like she was about to shatter—but refused to let him see the pieces.
What was she hiding?
Rome had broken something in both of them. But he had spent months trying to forget. He buried himself in work, in power, in women who looked like her but never felt like her.
And now she was back.
More beautiful. More distant. And still tangled in his veins like poison.
Damien’s presence had been a cruel reminder that Elena had always kept things from him. Jaxon never liked Damien Hale. Too clever. Too smug. Too close.
And too damn observant.
“Mr. Vale,” his assistant interrupted, stepping into the room. “The Paris investor call has been rescheduled to next week.”
“Push it again,” Jaxon said flatly. “And hold all meetings for the next hour.”
The assistant hesitated. “Sir?”
“I said hold them.”
He grabbed his phone and walked out.
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Elena had just finished adjusting her blouse when the door opened.
She didn’t need to look to know it was him.
“You can’t stay away, can you?” she said without turning.
“Neither can you,” Jaxon replied, closing the door behind him with a quiet click.
They stared at each other, silence thick with everything unspoken.
“What do you want, Jaxon?” she asked, arms crossed.
He stepped closer, his voice low. “I want the truth.”
She gave a dry laugh. “That’s rich, coming from you.”
“I didn’t lie to you in Rome.”
“No. You just promised me the world,” she said, voice rising. “Then disappeared like it meant nothing.”
“You left me, Elena.”
“I had to.”
“Why?”
He was in front of her now, too close again. Too familiar.
Elena stepped back. “Because something happened.”
“Tell me.”
“I can’t.”
“Try.”
“I got a call—at 4 a.m.,” she said, eyes burning now. “It was my sister. Crying. Bleeding. In trouble. I had to leave. I couldn’t explain. There wasn’t time.”
Jaxon’s eyes narrowed. “You have a sister?”
She froze.
The silence that followed was deafening.
“You never told me,” he whispered.
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
He ran a hand through his hair, pacing now. “You made me believe I meant something to you. Then you walked out. Do you know what that did to me?”
She swallowed hard. “You think I didn’t feel it too? You think I didn’t want to stay?”
“Then why didn’t you come back?”
Elena’s voice broke. “Because I made a promise.”
His eyes snapped to hers.
“To who?”
“To myself,” she said quietly. “That I’d never let love destroy me again.”
Jaxon’s face changed. Slowly. Pain flickering beneath the cold.
“You think I’d destroy you?”
“You already did,” she said. “But worse… I let you.”
He looked away. And for a moment, neither of them moved.
Then, softly, he spoke. “My father used to say love was a weakness. I spent years believing him. But the moment I saw you, Elena… I wanted to be weak.”
Her breath caught.
He stepped toward her again—slower this time. No fire. Just heat. Constant. Steady.
“I’m not asking for everything,” he said, voice low. “Just honesty.”
Her lips parted, but no words came.
Jaxon reached out, fingers brushing hers.
And instead of pulling away, she let him.
“I’m scared,” she admitted, finally.
“So am I.”
Their hands stayed joined. Warm. Real.
And for the first time in years, Elena allowed herself to breathe—just for a moment—in his presence.
But the knock on the door shattered it.
Damien’s voice floated in.
“Elena… we need you on set.”
She didn’t move.
Jaxon’s hand slipped away slowly.
“I’m not done,” he said.
Her voice was soft, but steady. “Neither am I.”
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- Writer
