Chapter 5
1037 Words
Elena stood beneath the floodlights of the Vale Studios set, a soft breeze from the ventilation brushing against her skin as fabric stylists adjusted the hem of her silk gown. Her body posed with precision—shoulders angled just so, chin tilted like power had been stitched into her bones.
But inside, she wasn’t posing.
She was unraveling.
The lights flashed.
“Beautiful,” the photographer called out.
Another flash.
“Give me more intensity. More... longing.”
Click.
Longing?
She didn’t have to fake that.
Not when the man standing just beyond the camera was Jaxon Vale—arms crossed, jaw tense, eyes trained on her like he could see through the silk and skin and right into her soul.
She held the pose. Barely.
But in her mind, she was somewhere else.
---
Flashback — Five hours after leaving Jaxon in Rome.
The plane had landed in Barcelona at dawn. Elena hadn’t slept. Her hands were still shaking as she rushed through the airport terminal, her phone pressed to her ear.
“No one called the ambulance?” she snapped into the phone. “You just left her there?”
“She begged me not to,” said the voice on the other end. “She said if anyone found out, she’d lose custody.”
Her sister, Lena Rivera, had always been the wild one—fiery, unpredictable, and deeply broken after the accident that killed their parents. Elena had become her guardian before she turned twenty, hiding her sister’s addiction from the press and modeling agencies for years.
But that night… things had gotten out of control.
Lena’s ex had shown up drunk. There had been a fight. A fall. Blood.
When Elena arrived at the rundown apartment on Carrer de València, she found Lena curled on the bathroom floor, arms scratched and bruised, eyes wide with terror.
“I didn’t mean to,” Lena sobbed. “He pushed me. I thought he was going to kill me.”
Elena dropped to her knees and pulled her sister into her arms, holding her like she was trying to keep her alive by force.
“You’re safe now,” she whispered. “I promise. No one’s going to hurt you again.”
It was that promise that changed everything.
A promise that made her walk away from Rome. From Jaxon.
From the only night she had ever felt like she belonged.
---
Present — Manhattan.
"Elena," Damien called out from behind the lens. “Let’s take a short break. I need to reset lighting.”
She blinked, like waking from a trance. A stylist handed her a robe. She slipped it over her shoulders and stepped off the platform, weaving through cables and softboxes until she reached the edge of the set.
Jaxon was waiting.
His arms were still crossed, but his face had softened, just slightly.
“You were somewhere else,” he said.
“I was working,” she replied, tugging the robe tighter.
“No,” he said. “You were remembering.”
She looked away. “What does it matter?”
“Because I want to understand you.”
Elena turned back, staring at him. “Since when?”
“Since the night you ran.”
Her throat tightened. “I didn’t run. I protected someone.”
He stepped closer. “Your sister?”
She flinched. A crack, just enough to let something real slip through.
“You don’t know what it’s like to be responsible for someone else's life,” she said. “To hold their pain in your hands and still have to smile for a camera.”
“I know more than you think,” Jaxon replied quietly. “But I’m not your enemy, Elena.”
“You were once.”
His jaw clenched, but he didn’t deny it.
“Let me help you now,” he said.
“You can’t,” she whispered. “This is something I have to carry.”
Jaxon leaned in, just slightly. His voice was lower now, intimate. “We never finished what we started.”
She looked at him, vulnerable despite herself. “We weren’t supposed to start anything at all.”
He reached out, brushing her cheek lightly with the back of his fingers. She didn’t pull away.
“I need to know what happened,” he said. “All of it.”
A beat passed.
Then she spoke, slowly.
“My sister was in an abusive relationship. She almost died the night I left Rome. I had to fly to Barcelona to save her. No press. No police. Just me and her. I stayed with her for two months until she was clean. Until she was safe.”
He blinked, digesting it all.
“You should’ve told me,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
“I couldn’t. I didn’t trust you. I didn’t trust... love.”
He exhaled slowly. Then, to her surprise, he said, “I get it.”
She tilted her head. “You do?”
He nodded. “My mother stayed with my father until she broke her back falling down stairs. She said it was an accident. I was nine.”
Elena stared at him, heart stalling.
He’d never told anyone that.
“I swore I’d never let a woman I care about live in fear again,” he said. “Maybe that’s why I need to know the truth now.”
Their pain mirrored each other—shadows from different corners of the same world.
“I never stopped thinking about you,” he said, voice rough.
“And I never stopped running from you,” she admitted.
Their eyes met again.
And this time… neither of them looked away.
---
But just outside the studio, Damien stood near the monitors, watching everything through a small camera feed.
He zoomed in slowly, eyes narrowing.
“Secrets and scars,” he muttered. “Let’s see how long they stay hidden.”
In his coat pocket, his phone buzzed.
He glanced down at the screen. A message from a blocked number:
> Did you get the files?
She can’t know what’s coming.
Damien typed back:
> She won’t. But Vale will. Soon.
---
- Writer
