Chapter 10: Storm Warning
1020 Words
By the time they returned to New York, the snowstorm had turned to rain, painting the city in glistening streaks of gray. The moment Elara stepped back into the penthouse, she felt the shift in energy. Gone was the peaceful calm of Vermont. In its place was the hard edge of reality—and the gnawing echo of Lucien’s phone call.
“She doesn’t know yet…”
Those words haunted her.
Lucien had been different after the call. Distant. The warmth that had started to grow between them was now buried beneath layers of tension, like the city’s skyline lost behind storm clouds.
He’d said it was “just business.”
But Elara had spent enough time around boardrooms and backstabbing to know when someone was lying.
Lucien disappeared into his office as soon as they returned. No explanation. No conversation.
And so, Elara was left alone.
Again.
---
The next morning, she walked into the living room to find Lucien dressed in a charcoal suit, checking his watch with military precision. His eyes flicked up when he saw her.
“You have an appointment today,” he said, voice clipped. “My assistant scheduled it. A stylist will come by at noon to prepare you for the foundation gala tomorrow.”
Her brow lifted. “You're not going with me?”
“I’ll meet you there. I have meetings all day.”
“Of course you do.”
The sarcasm wasn’t lost on him. His jaw twitched, but he said nothing.
Elara folded her arms. “Are we going to talk about Vermont?”
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
“That’s a lie,” she said, voice rising. “You opened up to me, Lucien. You kissed me. You held me. Don’t pretend that didn’t happen.”
His expression shuttered, face hardening into the cold, unreadable mask she’d seen so many times before.
“It was a moment,” he said flatly. “Let it go.”
She flinched.
It was like watching a door slam shut.
Elara nodded slowly, every ounce of pride keeping her upright. “Understood.”
Without another word, she turned and walked away, her heels echoing down the marble hallway.
He didn’t stop her.
---
The stylist arrived at noon, as promised. A petite woman named Rochelle, all red curls and bright lipstick, unpacked an array of gowns and accessories like she was preparing a royal bride for coronation.
Elara went through the motions—trying on dresses, letting the woman tug and pin, powder and blend. But her heart wasn’t in it.
“Something on your mind, sweetheart?” Rochelle asked gently as she adjusted the bodice of a deep emerald gown.
Elara forced a smile. “Just tired.”
Rochelle gave her a look that said she didn’t believe that for a second, but didn’t press.
When they settled on a dress—silk, backless, clinging to Elara’s figure like a secret—Rochelle clapped her hands with satisfaction.
“He won’t know what hit him.”
Elara gave a hollow laugh. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
---
The night of the gala, the city glittered like a galaxy come to life. Cameras flashed as Elara stepped out of the limo in her emerald gown, head high, smile practiced. Her hair was swept into soft waves, her lips painted a rich berry hue.
To the world, she looked every inch the glamorous CEO’s fiancée.
Inside, she was falling apart.
Lucien arrived twenty minutes later, as promised. He looked devastating in a midnight black tuxedo, tailored to perfection. As he approached her on the marble steps of the venue, the photographers went wild.
He took her hand. Their fingers intertwined.
And she smiled, because she had to.
“Picture perfect,” he murmured, leaning close. “As always.”
The words made her want to scream.
They moved through the ballroom like royalty, stopping to greet board members, donors, and high-profile guests. Every time Lucien touched her waist or whispered in her ear, it felt like a blade pressed to her skin.
This wasn’t love. It was theater.
And suddenly, she didn’t want to be part of the show anymore.
---
Later, she stood alone on the balcony, away from the music and the noise. She gripped the railing, breathing in the cool night air. Snow had started again, soft and slow.
Lucien found her there.
“Elara—”
“Don’t,” she said, turning to face him. “Don’t give me another performance. I’m not the press. I’m not your shareholders.”
He ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident. “This is bigger than you think—”
“Then tell me,” she snapped. “Stop shutting me out. You said you wanted to know who we are without the noise. But the moment we get close, you retreat like I’m the enemy.”
Lucien’s eyes blazed. “Because I can’t afford to be vulnerable, Elara. Not in my world. Not with what’s at stake.”
“Then why drag me into it?” she demanded. “Why kiss me like I mattered? Why bring me to that cabin and tell me things no one else knows if none of it meant anything?”
He stepped closer. “It meant everything.”
“Then act like it!”
Silence fell between them.
Elara’s voice broke. “I’m tired of pretending. I can’t keep living in your shadows, smiling for the cameras, pretending I don’t feel anything. Because I do, Lucien. I feel everything.”
Lucien stared at her like she’d cracked open something inside him.
But he said nothing.
And that silence was her answer.
Elara took a step back, blinking away tears. “I’m going home.”
“Wait—”
“No,” she said, voice shaking. “You don’t get to stop me this time.”
She turned and walked away, leaving him on the balcony.
The snow fell harder now.
Cold.
Silent.
And for the first time, Elara wondered if she had made a terrible mistake marrying the cold-hearted CEO.
- Writer
