HIS FAKE WIFE, HER REAL HEART

Elena's POV “You're telling me I have until Friday.” Elena Marchetti kept her voice steady, even though her grip on the phone was tight enough to make her knuckles ache. Around her, the office had gone quiet. It was after hours, but several lights were still on, casting a pale glow across the workstations and the clothing racks. The company looked almost peaceful. It didn't feel peaceful. It felt like something waiting to die. “I'm telling you the board votes Friday,” Richard Alden said. He was her lead investor, and he had the same calm voice he probably used when firing people. “If Marchetti House can't show a realistic path to profitability by then, we pull our position. All of it.” Elena closed her eyes. “We have a five-year plan.” “You have a five-year-old plan,” Alden replied. “Your mother wrote it.” There was no anger in his voice. That somehow made it worse. “Elena, I liked your mother. I like you. But I have a fund to answer to. Sentiment isn't going to change the numbers.” “I can fix the numbers.” “I hope you can.” The line went dead. Elena stared at her phone. That was it. No argument. No final warning. No more time. She put the phone down carefully and looked around the office. Her mother's office was still down the hall. Her mother's old moodboards still covered one wall. There were unfinished sketches, fabric samples and photographs from collections that had once felt like the beginning of something rather than the end of it. Nine years. Nine years of her life were tied up in this place. And she had four days to save it. Friday. The word kept repeating in her head. She should have gone home. Instead, twenty minutes later, she was standing on the rooftop of the Ashworth Hotel in the black dress she kept in her office for emergencies. This counted. The Cultural Preservation Trust's annual fundraising gala was exactly the sort of event she would normally enjoy. Old money, new money, expensive champagne and people pretending they weren't discussing investments while discussing investments. Tonight, she had no interest in any of it. She needed money. And she needed someone willing to move quickly. Elena smiled when she needed to smile. Nodded when someone spoke. Accepted a glass of champagne she didn't drink. She had just started talking to a woman from a private equity firm about diversification when she stopped listening. Because across the rooftop stood a man she hadn't seen in five years. At first, she thought she'd imagined him. It couldn't be him. The man standing near the edge of the terrace was taller than she remembered. Or maybe he simply carried himself differently now. The boy she'd known had worn secondhand jackets and always looked uncomfortable at her mother's parties. He used to apologize when he interrupted someone. This man didn't apologize to anyone. His suit looked like it had been made specifically for him. Elena's stomach tightened. No. It wasn't possible. Then he turned. Their eyes met. Everything around her seemed to go quiet. Five years disappeared in one second. It was him. Damian Cole. Elena barely remembered what excuse she'd given the woman beside her. Something about the restroom, she thought. Then she was walking. She crossed the terrace, moving past waiters and tables, until she reached the far edge where the noise from the party became distant. She placed both hands against the stone railing. Breathe. She was fine. She was a grown woman. She had a company to save. She was not going to fall apart because a man who had abandoned her before their wedding had suddenly appeared in front of her. Especially not him. Especially not tonight. “You are fine,” she whispered. “You're talking to yourself now?” Her entire body went still. She hadn't heard him approach. That was unfair. The second unfair thing was his voice. Lower than she remembered. Rougher. But still his. “Elena.” She didn't turn around immediately. She wasn't sure what her face would do if she did. Finally, she straightened. “Damian.” She forced the name out calmly. “I didn't realize you were back in the city.” “I never left.” She turned. He was standing several feet away. City lights reflected behind him, cutting his face between gold and shadow. Five years should have changed him beyond recognition. Instead, she knew him immediately. “You never left,” she repeated. Her voice sounded smaller than she wanted. “You mean you left me.” His expression shifted. “You know there's a difference.” He didn't deny it. Didn't explain. And somehow, that made the anger inside her burn hotter. “Why are you here?” “I heard about Alden.” Her stomach dropped. “What about him?” “His position. Friday's vote. The board.” She stared at him. “How do you know that?” “I know a lot of things.” “I only found out an hour ago.” Damian said nothing. Elena studied him. “How could you possibly know?” He looked at her for several seconds. Then he stepped closer. “Because I'm the reason he's pulling it.”