His Wife On Paper

CHAPTER 4: Eliora

Eliora's POV

The cold air hit me first as I stepped out of the car, followed by the blinding flashes of camera lights bursting in my direction.

Elijah’s hand stretched out toward me. “You look amazing.”

It sounded more like reassurance than a compliment, but I still smiled.

“Thank you,” I said softly, placing my hand in his and stepping out fully.

Standing tall, I held onto the sides of my floor-sweeping, off-shoulder wine silk dress — the fabric hugging my curves like it knew exactly what it was doing: smooth, bold, and impossible to ignore.

My right arm instinctively clutched Elijah’s left as we stood side by side, smiles plastered on our faces — just what the cameras needed to see.

“Are you ready for this?” Elijah asked. His calm voice reached my heart… but it did nothing to quiet the storm growing in there.

I’d done this before — stepped into the limelight again and again — but somehow, I never got used to the lights.

Neither did I ever grow fond of the questions. Always loud. Often baseless. Usually fed by gossip.

“Eliora! Look here! Just one question!” a short male reporter yelled.

“Rumor has it you just signed one of your bestsellers into a movie — and that you returned to New York to start your own writing firm. Can you confirm any of these?”

“We hear wedding bells, Eliora. When’s the wedding?”

“Elijah! Any ties between you and her sudden—”

My thumb instinctively twisted the diamond ring on my finger, like it belonged there — like it wasn’t part of a bigger, messier picture.

Of course, they thought I had it all: famous author, bestsellers, a handsome fiancé.

What else could a woman in her twenties ask for?

If only they knew the truth.

Until now, I’d stayed in the shadows. No one really knew the face behind those chart-topping novels.

I didn’t show up tonight just for headlines.

I showed up because I was done hiding.

The second reason I came? Zoey.

She’d promised me — swore up and down — that based on her findings, there was no chance anyone from the Donovan family would be here tonight.

God, I hoped she was right.

Because no matter how prepared I felt, I wasn’t sure I was ready to see him again.

“Come on, babe,” Elijah’s hand pressed gently against my lower back. “Let’s go in,” he said, leading me toward the entrance. His dark brown hair was slicked back to perfection, and a small smile tugged at his lips — adding light to an already gorgeous face.

I smiled back. “Sure, babe.”

The ballroom shimmered like something out of a dream — marble floors, gilded railings, and crystal chandeliers that cast a golden glow across New York’s literary elite. It should’ve felt magical.

Instead, it felt staged. Curated.

A polished cage.

I moved through the room, Elijah by my side, chin up, back straight, effortless smile. Everything that would show that I was made for this. I could see people turning when I passed. Some whispered, some just stared.

To them, I was the Eliora Monroe.

But inside?

A deep well of emptiness sat in my stomach. I still felt like an outsider instead of a woman who’d built her success from the ashes of heartbreak and stitched her name to every bestseller with trembling fingers and sleepless nights.

“You’re glowing tonight," a publisher gushed, practically vibrating as he approached our table.

At events like this, I wonder why chairs aren't given. It should be a factor I should consider next time before accepting an invite.

“Thank you, Mr. Hart. I must say the same for you.”

But he waved his hand like he was trying to dismiss my compliment.

“Miss Eliora, we need to talk about your next contract. The last quarter’s numbers were... astronomical.” He laughed loudly, attracting attention, a few turning heads to our table.

“Of course, we’ll talk,” I smiled. “I’ll have my assistant set a date.”

My voice felt detached. Hollow. Like an echo in someone else's story.

If I’d spent two years climbing out of hell, I’d say I was definitely playing a role.

Elijah’s hand wrapped around my shoulder, rubbing its tip with his thumb — something I had only just gotten used to.

It seemed to be his way of saying, “Calm down. I'm here for you.”

And I truly appreciated it.

“Need a drink?” he whispered.

“Definitely,” I replied, letting him lead me toward the bar. "Excuse us"

Elijah was every woman's dream kind of man. Polished. Calm. Predictable. And definitely handsome. He had this aura that made you feel… safe.

As we reached the bar, the bartender handed me a glass of white wine without needing to be asked.

“Thanks,” I whispered.

Bringing the tip to my mouth, I sipped slowly, grateful for the chilling calm it sent through me.

“Don’t you think Zoey would be mad she missed this?” Elijah asked, a smile playing on his lips.

I’m sure he’s already thinking of ways to taunt her for missing this. Those two just love being at each other’s necks.

I shrugged. “I don’t think she’d mind.” My eyes scanned the crowd. “There’s nothing to miss out on.”

I brought my wine to my mouth, eyes still moving across the crowd, taking in the faces. Not that I cared to — I just needed to keep my eyes busy.

Then they landed on a familiar figure.

My glass stopped halfway to my lips, mouth agape, as a cold chill ran down my spine and froze me to a stop.

Elijah was still talking, but I couldn’t hear him over the loud beat of my heart.

My stomach dropped before my eyes could even confirm it. My breath stuttered. Fingers clenched the glass a little too tight.

There he was.

Kian Donovan.

Across the ballroom, by the floor-to-ceiling windows. Older. Broader. Dressed like sin and war in midnight black.

Elijah seemed oblivious to my distress, still talking, but I could barely register a word.

Every inch of me screamed. With rage. With the kind of ache that came from loving someone who made you feel disposable.

My mind flashed back — not to the beginning, but the end. The cold silences. The lies. The way he’d shattered me, piece by piece, until leaving was the only thing that made sense.

He had broken me.

And now the man who didn’t even know he had a son. My Ezra. I closed my eyes and slowly opened them,

But he was still standing just meters away like he ruled the world.

“Elijah,” I said coolly, setting my glass down with a soft clink. “I need air.”

Actually I needed to check on Ezra.

Not waiting for his response, I turned toward the lobby — but my instincts froze me mid-step.

I could feel him. Like heat. Like gravity. His gaze… it burned.

Just a glimpse, Eliora.

I turned back, just slightly, risking a look over my shoulder.

Kian was already staring at me.

Two years — and it seemed like he’d found me in a heartbeat.

The ballroom blurred. The music, the people, the lights — all of it faded. For a moment, there was only him. Me. And the raging ache in my chest.

His ocean-blue eyes narrowed. Recognition flared in his gaze.

His once-bored expression had shifted. Now, he was watching me. Intently.

The gaze I once swooned over. The one I once thought meant something. It was as if time and distance had changed nothing.

Like when I was still his.

My lips pressed into a line as my pulse kicked.

But my spine straightened. My chin lifted.

That was one thing that had changed.

I wasn’t his anymore.

“El, is something wrong?” Elijah’s voice came soft beside me, his hand brushing my arm.

I didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

His gaze followed mine — and landed on Kian.

Walking through the crowd like it was trained to move out of his way. That same arrogant stride I knew too well. Head high, chest proud, like nothing could ever touch him.

Of course he would show up now.

Of course the universe would wait until I had everything to lose to throw him back at me.

This day would come. I reminded myself again.

And I had prepared. I told myself I was ready.

But no amount of preparation could stop my lungs from tightening. No amount of healing could stop my body from remembering what it felt like to be held by him.

By the man who ruined me.

I sucked in a breath. Clenched my fists to my sides.

No. Not again.

Let him come.

The crowd shifted again — and he was there.

Right in front of me.

Close enough for me to smell the same cologne he used to wear — dark, clean, intoxicating — mixed now with something older, sharper. It hit me hard. A punch of memory I didn’t want.

His gaze locked with mine — sharp, like a blade.

And still, I didn’t move.

He opened his mouth.

“Hello, Eliora.”

My lips twitched, but my voice came out steady.

“Of all the ghosts I buried,” I said, “I never thought you’d be the one too arrogant to stay dead.”