The Woman From His Past
1414 Words
Elara Vale.
She still wasn’t used to hearing the name, even silently in her own thoughts, but every time it echoed through these palatial rooms, every time a servant uttered it with crisp deference, it chipped away at the wall she’d built between who she used to be and who she was pretending to be.
She stood barefoot on the wide stone balcony outside her suite, arms folded tightly over her pale blue robe, staring at the distant line where the ocean met the sky. The morning breeze smelled of salt, pine, and tension.
Behind her, inside the suite, lay a bed too large for one person and silence too heavy for comfort.
She hadn’t slept.
Not after the conversation with Sienna. Not after Cassian’s unexpected visit. And definitely not after the dinner, where Genevieve Sinclair had curled her perfectly painted fingers around Cassian’s arm like she was trying to stake a claim.
Elara didn’t care. She had no reason to care.
Except her stomach had twisted at the sight. Except she’d gripped her wineglass so hard her knuckles turned white. Except she’d memorized every look Genevieve gave her—sweet, calculating, poisonous.
The world Cassian lived in wasn’t simply rich. It was weaponized wealth—gilded power with teeth. And Elara, with her quiet strength and paper-thin confidence, had just been dropped in the middle of the battlefield.
Footsteps behind her.
Elara turned.
Genevieve Sinclair stood there in a cloud of silk and expensive perfume. Her champagne-colored robe floated like smoke around her statuesque frame. Her face was unmade, and somehow, she looked even more intimidating that way; raw beauty, untouched by effort.
“I thought I might find you here,” she said with a pleasant smile, as if they were old friends meeting for brunch.
Elara gave her a cautious glance. “Can I help you?”
Genevieve leaned against the railing, facing the sea. “We haven’t had the chance to speak properly. Yesterday was so... formal.”
“I thought you said everything you wanted to.”
Genevieve laughed softly. “That was just the appetizer.”
She turned, meeting Elara’s gaze.
“You're not what I expected.”
Elara arched a brow. “And what was that?”
“Desperate. Calculating. One of those simpering social climbers who think marrying into the Vale name will solve all their problems.”
“I didn’t marry for status,” Elara replied evenly. “I had no interest in being part of this world.”
“And yet here you are.”
Elara didn’t answer.
Genevieve tilted her head. “Did he tell you about Marseille?”
Elara’s spine stiffened. “What do you know about it?”
“Oh, darling. I lived it.”
She stepped closer.
“Cassian was a different man then. Fierce. Ruthless. Magnetic. We were…” she paused, then gave a wistful smile, “complicated.”
“Were you in love with him?”
“Yes,” Genevieve said, without hesitation. “And I think, in his way, he loved me too.”
The honesty knocked Elara off balance.
Genevieve continued, “He invested in a project in Marseille five years ago. It was supposed to change the city. Breathe life into the old docks. Partnered with a young, idealistic architect, David Amdi. Brilliant man. From Senegal originally. He had vision.”
“I’ve heard his name.”
“You should’ve heard his story.”
Elara’s heart pounded. “Cassian told me the basics. That it ended badly.”
“That’s one way to put it.”
Genevieve’s face turned grim.
“David was arrested for fraud and bribery. The French media crucified him. But the whispers were worse: that Cassian orchestrated the whole thing, used him as a scapegoat to get exclusive rights to the land.”
Elara’s eyes widened. “Did he?”
“No. But no one could prove otherwise. David was left to rot. He took his own life before his trial.”
Elara felt the cold settle into her bones. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because you should know what you’re married into.” Genevieve stepped back. “You’re the pawn in a game that started long before you showed up. And believe me, sweetheart, the people who hate Cassian won’t stop at him.”
Elara stared at her. “Do you hate him?”
Genevieve smiled, sad and sharp. “I wish I did. It would make things so much easier.”
With that, she walked away, her robe whispering across the marble like a ghost.
Elara found Cassian two hours later in the estate’s massive private library. He sat at a long mahogany desk, reviewing documents, a silver pen tapping rhythmically against a folder.
The room smelled of leather and ink and money. Floor-to-ceiling shelves surrounded them, filled with books that looked more decorative than read.
“Genevieve came to see me,” Elara said, skipping all pretense.
Cassian looked up slowly. “And?”
“She told me about Marseille.”
He didn’t react. Just leaned back in his chair, hands folded in front of him.
“I was going to tell you,” he said after a long pause. “Eventually.”
“Why wait?”
Cassian’s gaze was unreadable. “Because the story is more complicated than a dinner conversation.”
“Try me.”
He stood and walked to the window, staring out at the ocean.
“David was smart. Talented. I liked him. He had ideas that could transform a city—but he had enemies, too. People in Marseille who didn’t want change. Corrupt officials. Racists in power.”
He exhaled sharply.
“They came after him. Used fake evidence. Twisted every part of the project. I tried to help. Hired lawyers. Tried to buy him out of trouble.”
“But it wasn’t enough.”
“No.” His voice cracked. “He killed himself. And I wasn’t there when it happened.”
Elara stepped closer. “You blamed yourself.”
“Still do.”
They stood in silence.
“I don’t think you’re a monster,” she said softly.
Cassian turned, eyes searching hers. “You should.”
“I think you’ve made hard choices. I think you carry guilt like armor. But I don’t believe you meant for any of it to happen.”
“I didn’t,” he said quietly. “But that doesn’t matter to the people who lost him.”
The rest of the day passed in a haze. The estate buzzed with distant conversations and whispered judgments. The weekend gathering was winding down, but the tension had only thickened.
Elara found herself alone on the cliffs behind the property late that afternoon, a journal in hand. She hadn’t written since the wedding—there hadn’t been time, or space, or peace.
But now the words spilled out.
Not about Cassian, exactly. But about her.
The girl who used to plan every detail, who feared chaos, who studied civil engineering because building things felt safer than feeling them.
That girl was still inside her.
But the woman writing now was different. Stronger. Sharper.
She heard footsteps.
Cassian joined her, his tailored coat billowing slightly in the breeze. He didn’t speak at first. Just stood beside her, watching the waves.
“You’re not the first person to walk away from me after learning about Marseille,” he said at last.
“I’m not walking away.”
He turned to her.
“I told myself this marriage would be business. That you’d play your part, and I’d play mine. No emotions. No complications.”
Elara smiled faintly. “We’re both failing at that.”
He nodded.
Then, after a long silence, he said something she didn’t expect.
“I’ve never had anyone look at me the way you do.”
She frowned. “How do I look at you?”
“Like you’re trying to see past the armor.”
“I am.”
“And it terrifies me.”
Elara’s breath caught.
Not because he was vulnerable, but because he trusted her enough to show it.
Cassian Vale, with all his power, was scared of what he felt when he looked at her.
Maybe she was scared too.
But something inside her shifted.
For the first time since this whole thing began, she didn’t feel like a prop in someone else’s story.
She felt like a woman with the power to change it.
- Writer
