Chapter 3
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The next morning, Elena stood in front of the full-length mirror of her penthouse suite in SoHo. The sunlight spilled through gauzy white curtains, illuminating her bare skin like a confession.
She still hadn’t replied to Jaxon’s message.
Her phone sat face-down on the vanity, silent now. But his words lingered.
> You shouldn’t have walked away.
Not again.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she clasped the thin strap of her bra. She hated that her body remembered him so vividly. Every kiss. Every pressure point. The way his hands knew exactly where to touch her—like they were made for her skin.
But it wasn’t just the lust.
It was the way he looked at her when he thought she wasn’t watching. That night in Rome, when they lay tangled in sheets and silence, she had caught him staring—like he was memorizing her.
As if he already knew she would leave.
And he’d been right.
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She pulled on a silk blouse and stepped into a high-waisted skirt, her outfit screaming control even when her insides were chaos.
By the time she arrived at the Vale Industries studio downtown, the energy had shifted.
The air inside buzzed with tension—assistants whispered, models rushed by in heels too high, and stylists barked orders in three languages. Lights flashed. Music pounded in the background. But none of it touched her.
Because he was in the building.
Elena felt Jaxon’s presence before she even saw him. Like gravity bending toward him.
And when their eyes met across the showroom—him in a slate-gray suit, arms folded, jaw clenched—her pulse skipped. He looked like control itself. Cold. Untouchable.
Until his eyes landed on her.
They burned.
She held his gaze, chin lifted. Daring him.
He turned away.
That stung more than she expected.
“Elena,” a voice called behind her.
She turned to find Damien Hale, a top photographer—and an ex-lover—approaching with his usual smirk. His silver rings clinked as he adjusted the strap of his camera.
“Still causing trouble, Rivera?”
“Always,” she replied smoothly, but her voice had a slight edge.
Damien leaned closer. “Rumor is, the dragon king himself had you in his office last night.”
Elena narrowed her eyes. “What do you want, Damien?”
“Only to remind you,” he said, voice dipping low, “that secrets have a way of crawling out when you least expect them.”
She felt her stomach tighten. “Is that a threat?”
He smiled. “A memory. Of Rome.”
Her body went cold. “You were there?”
He gave a slow, deliberate nod. “I saw you leaving his hotel suite that morning. Alone. Crying.”
Her throat closed.
He leaned in even closer, brushing her ear with his breath. “You disappeared for a reason, Elena. But if Jaxon finds out what really happened after you left… what do you think he’ll do?”
Before she could answer, a shadow fell over them.
Jaxon.
He stood beside them like a storm ready to break.
“Am I interrupting something?” he asked, voice ice-cold.
Elena swallowed hard. “No. We were just—”
“Done,” Jaxon cut in sharply, his eyes fixed on Damien. “We’re done.”
Damien didn’t flinch, but his smirk faded.
“I think we’ll let the lens speak for itself today,” he said casually, before walking away.
Jaxon turned to Elena. “You really know how to pick company.”
“So do you,” she shot back, stepping past him.
But he reached out, grabbing her wrist—not hard, but firm. “Don’t walk away again.”
Their eyes clashed.
“You can’t order me around,” she whispered.
“I don’t want to,” he replied. “But I can’t do this if I don’t know what you’re hiding.”
She stared at him. And for a moment, her mask slipped.
“Then stop looking at me like you still love me,” she said softly, pain flickering in her voice. “Because if you do… it’ll destroy us both.”
She pulled her arm free.
And Jaxon stood there, staring after her, knowing she was right.
But still—unable to stop himself.
---
- Writer
