CHAPTER 2 – The Forgotten Wife
662 Words
Elara couldn’t sleep that night. Every time she closed her eyes she saw him again, the way he looked at her like he knew every lie she’d ever told. She tried to convince herself it was nothing, just nerves, but the feeling clung to her like perfume she couldn’t wash off. In her apartment, she stood by the window watching the city lights blur. Two years ago she’d woken up in a hospital with broken ribs and a blank mind. They said she’d been in a car accident. They said she was lucky to be alive. No family came. No one claimed her. A charity foundation paid her bills. She rebuilt her life piece by piece, new name, new career, new everything. But sometimes she dreamed—fire, glass, a voice calling her name. Always that voice.
Morning came too quickly. Her phone buzzed with a message from an unknown number: “Business proposal. Meet me at Cross Tower. Noon.” No signature, but she knew who it was. Her hands trembled before she typed back: “Who is this?” No answer. She should delete it, ignore it, tell Ethan. Instead, she found herself in a cab six hours later, staring up at a wall of black glass that touched the clouds.
Inside the lobby, everything smelled of steel and money. A receptionist led her to a private elevator that rose faster than her heartbeat. The doors opened to a silent office with floor-to-ceiling windows and a view of the city like it was something he owned.
Damien turned from the glass. “Miss Quinn,” he said, voice smooth. “Thank you for coming.”
She crossed her arms. “You didn’t give me much choice.”
“I rarely do.”
He gestured to a chair. She sat but didn’t relax. “What do you want?”
“Your work,” he said simply. “I’ve seen your designs. My company is launching a new project, and I need someone who can see things differently.”
“Why me?”
He leaned closer, and she caught that same scent from the gala, subtle and devastating. “Because you already have.”
Her breath caught. “What does that mean?”
“It means you remind me of someone I used to know,” he said quietly. “Someone I lost.”
The air grew heavy. She looked away. “I’m engaged, Mr. Cross.”
“I know.” His tone didn’t change. “That’s why this is only business.”
He slid a contract across the desk. “One month. Exclusive design consultant. Generous pay.”
Her eyes scanned the figures and widened. “This is too much.”
“Consider it an investment.”
In what? she almost asked, but something in his gaze warned her not to. She signed.
As she rose to leave, he said, “One more thing. You’ll work from my private office. I don’t trust outsiders.”
Her pulse stumbled. “I’m not—”
“An outsider?” He smiled faintly. “You’d be surprised.”
She walked out before he could see how much her hands were shaking. In the elevator, she pressed her fingers to her temple. For a split second, the metallic hum became the echo of another elevator, another life. A flash of rain. His voice whispering her name like a vow.
Downstairs, her phone buzzed again. Another unknown message: “Be careful. He knows more than he says.”
She looked around, but the lobby was empty. Outside, Damien watched from his window, the glass reflecting both their faces.
“She’s starting to remember,” he murmured.
And somewhere deep inside, Elara felt the same cold truth—whoever she had been before the crash wasn’t finished with her yet.
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