One drunken night with mr wolfe

Elara POV I had forgotten how bright Los Angeles looked at dawn, the smog hugging glass towers like a jealous lover, the skyline glittering with all the hollow promises I’d once believed. “Cassian, Evelyn—stop running!” My voice cracked across the polished floor of LAX, echoing too loud. Cassian skidded to a stop in front of an older couple staring at us. Evelyn’s curls bounced as she turned, her big hazel eyes blinking up at me in alarm. “Sorry, Mama,” she whispered. I shut my eyes for a beat, willing my pulse to slow. It’s just a city. Just a place. It can’t hurt you anymore. You’re not that girl anymore. But my hands were trembling as I tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear. The twins began their cute fights, and I tried to smile. Luca stepped forward, his broad frame blocking me from the curious stares of bystanders. He looked crisp as ever in a tailored navy coat, not a single hair out of place. “Elle,” he murmured, his voice the same low timbre that had talked me off so many ledges over the past five years. “Breathe.” I swallowed hard. The name felt foreign even now. Elle Voss. Not Elara Quinn, the gullible girl who’d thought she couldn’t survive the Wolfe’s world. “I’m breathing,” I lied, tugging the twins close. He studied me for a moment, his brown eyes softening. “You don’t have to prove anything, you know. This city didn’t break you. You left on your own terms. With me.” I wished that were true. But if I were honest, I’d never left anything behind. The ghosts had followed me across the ocean—every sleepless night, every nightmare of silver eyes narrowing in cold disgust. “Let’s just get to the hotel,” I said, voice raw. Luca nodded. He leaned down to kiss my cheek, warm and steady. “We’re here together. That’s all that matters.” Cassian wrinkled his nose. “Are you two going to get married now?” I let out a short, brittle laugh. “No, sweetheart. Mama doesn’t need to get married.” But the words tasted like denial. Luca glanced at me, an unreadable expression on his face, before he ushered us toward the waiting car. The ride to the hotel passed in a blur—billboards screaming about Los Angeles Fashion Week, photos of me, airbrushed and retouched, captioned Elle Voss Returns. The city seemed to know I was back before I’d set foot on its soil. By late afternoon, I’d changed into a sleek black gown that hugged my hips and draped off my shoulders—elegant armor. Natalie Sinclair would be at the gala. Damien too. My stomach churned as I adjusted the diamond comb pinning my hair. I could still remember how he’d looked the last time I saw him—smirking with Natalie’s hand resting possessively on his shoulder. I’d run into the storm that night like a madwoman, tears hot on my cheeks, clutching the shredded remains of my pregnancy test. He won’t recognize you, I told myself. He can’t. But part of me wanted him to. When the limo stopped, the twins were already dozing in their car seats, their soft breathing filling the silence. Luca touched my wrist as I reached for the door handle. “You don’t have to face him tonight.” “I do,” I said. “I have to show him I’m not the girl he broke.” I left the car before he could say another word. The paparazzi flooded the walkway, flashes blinding me. “Elle! Elle Voss! Over here!” I paused, posing long enough for them to get the shots. Inside, the ballroom glittered with chandeliers and crystal flutes. Wealth and vanity, married in every corner. I felt the past pressing against my ribs. The first hour blurred. Fashion executives shook my hand. Designers congratulated me. Luca stayed close, his presence a steady buffer. But I could feel him—like gravity, like poison. My eyes scanned the crowd again and again, even when I told myself not to look. Then, across the sea of sequined gowns and tuxedos, I saw him. Damien Wolfe. He hadn’t changed. Still impossibly tall, his hair darker than midnight, his silver eyes sweeping the crowd with that same arrogant detachment. My throat closed. For one impossible moment, our gazes collided. His expression didn’t change, but something flickered—recognition, or maybe just curiosity. I let my lips curve into a cool, unbothered smile. And then I turned my head, dismissing him as if he were no one at all. My heart pounded. Stay calm. You have the upper hand now. “Elle,” Luca murmured, appearing at my side with a glass of champagne. “He saw you.” “I know.” My voice didn’t waver. “Let him wonder.” But inside, I was nineteen again—standing barefoot on cold marble floors while he accused me of things I’d never done. “Elle Voss.” I froze. That voice—silk and ice. My gaze lifted slowly, meeting his. He was only a few feet away now, his face carved in the same handsome lines I’d once memorized. “Mr. Wolfe,” I said evenly, inclining my head. A muscle ticked in his jaw. “We haven’t met, have we?” I gave him a bland, perfect smile. “I don’t believe we have.” His eyes narrowed, searching my face. The air felt electric, all the unspoken history buzzing between us. He opened his mouth—then closed it again, as if unsure whether to call my bluff. Beside me, Luca slipped an arm around my waist, casual but proprietary. “Elle, shall we greet the rest of the board?” “Yes.” I didn’t look back as we walked away. My spine was iron, my heartbeat a war drum. But I could feel Damien’s stare on me—burning, questioning, needing. I needed air. My skin felt too tight, my heart battering against my ribs like a creature desperate to escape. “I’ll be right back,” I told Luca, ignoring the question in his eyes. He let me go without protest. The corridor outside the ballroom was mercifully quiet, the plush carpet swallowing the echo of my heels. I slipped into the powder room, locking the door behind me. My reflection stared back—calm, composed, unrecognizable. But the moment I pressed trembling fingers to the cool porcelain sink, the door swung open behind me. “Elle Voss,” a voice drawled, soft and venomous. I turned slowly. Natalie leaned against the marble counter, her red lips curling in a smirk. The same lips that had once sneered at me from Damien’s side. “Or should I say Elara Quinn?” She tilted her head, studying me like a specimen. “Did you really think I wouldn’t recognize you? You could shave your head or carve up your face—doesn’t matter. I’d know you anywhere.” I swallowed, fighting to keep my voice even. “Step aside, Natalie.” Her smile widened. “Oh, I don’t think so. You’ve come back to steal what isn’t yours. Again.” “I haven’t come to steal anything.” She moved closer, perfume cloying and sharp. “Stay away from Damien. He’s my fiancé now. And whatever pathetic fantasy you’re entertaining—burn it.” My pulse hammered. “I’m not here for him.” “Liar.” She traced a finger along the sink edge, her nails lacquered crimson. “Tell me, did you think changing your name would erase what you did? What we did? Or that night?” I froze. Her gaze glittered with triumph. “You always were good at pretending. But you and I both know the truth.” She leaned in, her whisper a blade. “I’m the only one who knows what you’re really capable of and your little secret.” Later in the night, the storm started just past midnight. I stood by the hotel window, staring down at the city as rain blurred the skyline, each drop like a memory I hadn’t asked to relive. The distant hum of traffic was muffled by the glass, but inside me, everything screamed. Natalie’s voice echoed like a curse. “Your little secret.” The twins were asleep in the next room, their soft breathing a reminder of why I couldn’t fall apart now. I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to still the shiver crawling down my spine. But her words kept looping in my head—vile and sharp, meant to wound. She knew. Or at least she suspected. Five years. I’d kept the past buried for five years. Long enough for Evelyn and Cassian to grow into their own laughter, their own light. Long enough for me to become Elle Voss—a woman who could stare down flashbulbs and ballrooms. But in a single whisper, Natalie had pulled me back to that night. That night.