Contracted To The Man I Misunderstood

The Man I Was Taught To Hate

ELOWEN

Everything was crumbling. Decimating like sand before my eyes.

The most noticeable disaster was that Alverelle’s new line had launched right behind the several copied designs.

I was f*****g livid. I couldn't understand how my team had made such a stupid f*****g mistake. Now, Alverelle was being bashed online.

The backlash was instant too.

Nadine and I sat in my office, brainstorming. I was going through files on my laptop while she scribbled in a planner.

“How could we let this happen? How could I let this happen?” I asked no one in particular.

Nadine sighed. “None of this is your fault Elowen, it's just a series of poorly timed shitty events.”

“Wow, so reassuring.” I deadpanned.

Nadine rolled her eyes. “Yes, which was the point?”

“Umm… you're supposed to be the level-headed one between us.” I said.

She drummed her fingers on her desk. “I am.”

I scoffed before returning my eyes to my laptop. I stared so hard that the words swam.

I was collecting problems like Pokémon cards at this point. Just how long? From climbing to the CEO position. I wished my father had chosen Emily or Olive. Emily would have been the best choice because she had a drive I had been jealous of my whole life, while Olive had the heart for the job. All I had was well… my designs.

“Your thoughts are very loud Elowen.” Nadine's voice pierced through my thoughts.

I shook myself out the daze I'd entered. “Were you saying anything?” I asked.

Nadine cleared her throat. She seemed even more wound tight than usual, and Nadine was always in uptight mode.

My father burst into my office just as Nadine opened her mouth.

I rushed to stand at his entry and so did Nadine.

He looked impeccable as usual in a dark green suit which complemented his copper blonde hair.

“Elowen, a word please?” He asked in his smooth voice.

Nadine understood the message and fled out of the office.

“Hey dad, have a seat please.” I said gesturing to the chair Nadine just vacated.

He nodded and obliged. I sat too.

He stared at me for an amount of time that felt awkward and uncomfortable. I cleared my throat, racking my brain for an out. I came up empty.

“Look dad I know everything's a me—”. “What the hell is going between you and Blackwell?”

We spoke over each other. It took a minute for his words to register.

“What?!” I practically yelled.

“What the hell is going on between you and Blackwell?” My father repeated. Very matter of fact.

I struggled to understand what my father meant by what was going on between me and Blackwell. Blackwell? The only Blackwell I knew was the infamous one everyone in my family hated, and rightfully so.

Damien Blackwell was a name in our house that was like taboo.

He was the man who had almost destroyed my family ten years ago by trying to remove our family from the company. He had planned to run the Alverelles out of Alverelle fashion house, how ironic.

The domino effect had been swift. The whole thing had driven my father to a state damn near close to suicidal. He had shut down and shut everybody out.

The company was crumbling. My family was crumbling. Everything was s**t.

We had almost lost my dad.

He had managed to come out and we had pulled through but from then on my whole family had vowed to hate Damien Blackwell and everything he stood for.

“And now, apparently, you're keeping secrets from me too.” My father's voice snapped me back to the present.

“Dad, I don't know what you're talking about.” I said, my patience wearing thin.

He pulled out his phone without another word, tapping at the screen with a precision that unsettled me. He turned it around and held it up.

My stomach dropped.

It was a photo. Grainy, clearly taken from a distance, but unmistakable. Me, on the rooftop of the Aurelia Grand, laughing at something. And him. Damien Blackwell, close enough that our shoulders nearly touched, his head tilted toward mine like I was the only thing worth looking at in the whole city.

“Care to explain this?” My father asked, his tone dangerously calm.

“I didn't know who he was.” I said immediately.

“Bullshit.” He snapped.

“Dad, I swear to god, I had no idea. We didn't even exchange names.” I said, my voice climbing an octave.

“So you're telling me you spent an evening alone with Damien Blackwell, on a rooftop, and you had no idea who he was.” He said it slowly, like he was testing each word for cracks.

“Yes! That's exactly what I'm telling you!” I stood up now, my chair scraping against the floor.

“How is that even possible, Elowen? Everyone knows his face.”

“Not me!” I threw my hands up. “Dad, when was the last time you saw me on social media? When was the last time you saw me doing literally anything outside of this building?”

He didn't answer.

“I don't go out. I don't have i********:, I barely check my email unless it's work related. You made damn sure of that.” The words tumbled out before I could stop them, years of resentment I hadn't even realized I was carrying. “You kept me hidden my whole life. Locked away designing dresses while Emily and Olivia got to actually live. So forgive me for not recognizing the one man this family has drilled into me to hate on sight, because I've genuinely never seen his face before that night.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

My father's jaw tightened, a muscle ticking there the way it always did when he was trying to hold himself together. For a second I thought he might actually apologize. He didn't.

“This is exactly the kind of thing I was afraid of.” He said instead, pocketing his phone. “The two of you photographed together, right when this scandal breaks? Do you understand what people will think? Do you understand what he could do with this?”

“He hasn't done anything.” I said weakly, even though I wasn't entirely sure that was true.

“Not yet.” My father corrected me. “Blackwell doesn't do anything without a reason, Elowen. He's patient. He waits for the perfect moment to gut you, and he makes sure you don't see it coming until it's too late.”

I thought about the man on the rooftop. The quiet way he'd listened to me complain about the gala. The way he'd made me laugh for the first time in weeks. None of it fit the picture my father was painting, and that terrified me more than the photo did.

“I need to think.” My father said, more to himself than to me. He rubbed his temple, looking suddenly older than he had when he walked in. “I'll figure something out. A statement, damage control, something.”

“Dad—”

“Not now, Elowen.” He held up a hand, cutting me off. “I'll come back once I have a solution. Until then, stay away from him. Do you understand me? Whatever this was, it ends now.”

He didn't wait for me to respond. He turned and walked out, the door clicking shut behind him with a finality that made my chest ache.

I stood there for a long moment, staring at the space he'd just occupied, before my legs gave out and I sank back into my chair.

The tears came before I even realized I was crying. Fast, hot, humiliating. I pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes like that could shove them back in, but it didn't work. Everything I'd been holding together all day, the scandal, the backlash, the exhaustion of pretending I had this under control, it all cracked at once.

The door opened again. I didn't look up.

“Hey, hey.” Nadine's voice was soft as she crossed the room. She must have been listening outside, or maybe she'd just seen my father storm out looking like a thundercloud. Either way, she didn't ask questions. She just knelt in front of my chair and pulled me into her arms.

“I can't do this.” I choked out against her shoulder. “I can't do any of this.”

“Yes you can.” She said firmly, rubbing slow circles into my back. “You are doing it. You're just having a really, really shitty day.”

A wet laugh escaped me despite myself. “Understatement of the century.”

“I know.” She said, “But you're still standing. That counts for something.”

I wanted to believe her. I wanted to believe any of this was survivable, that my father would walk back in with a solution that didn't involve losing everything I'd spent my whole life trying to prove I deserved.

But all I could think about was Damien Blackwell's face, tilted toward mine on that rooftop, and the sinking feeling that whatever came next, there was no version of this that ended simply.