Elena woke with a start. Her hand instinctively reached toward the bedside drawer, fumbling for the glass of water she always kept there. But what she really wanted wasn't water. It was peace—peace from the nightmare that had jolted her awake again.
Vincent's voice still echoed in her ears, cold and mocking.
"You really thought I wouldn't find you, Elena?"
She sat up and hugged her knees, staring into the darkness. The room was silent except for the faint ticking of the vintage clock on the far wall. Lucien was working late again—probably wouldn't be home until after midnight.
She hated that his absence comforted her in moments like this. Because it meant she didn't have to hide the fear in her eyes. The tremble in her fingers. The truth that was catching up to her like a slow, deliberate predator.
She hadn't told him about the note.
Not yet.
Not because she didn't trust him. But because she didn't trust herself to explain it without falling apart.
And Lucien… he was a man who saw weakness as a vulnerability to exploit—or at least he had. Now, with the subtle shifts in his tone, in the way he looked at her, maybe he was changing. But her instincts, shaped by years of survival, told her: don't let your guard down.
Not yet.
The next morning, Lucien returned from the city after spending the night at the downtown penthouse. He looked tired—his white shirt wrinkled, collar slightly askew. But his eyes immediately sought Elena as he entered the breakfast room.
She was already there, sipping her tea, dressed in a soft ivory blouse and cream slacks. Calm, composed. Too composed.
"Good morning," he said as he walked over and pressed a kiss on her cheek—a gesture that had become a strange, careful habit between them.
"Morning," she replied, giving him a fleeting smile.
Lucien narrowed his eyes slightly. "You look pale."
"Didn't sleep well."
He sat beside her and poured himself coffee. "Nightmares?"
She flinched slightly but covered it well. "Something like that."
Lucien didn't push, but she felt his eyes on her, watching her every movement.
"You're trembling," he said softly.
"I'm cold," she replied too quickly, reaching for the butter knife.
Lucien said nothing more, but a flicker of suspicion passed through his gaze.
Something had shifted again. She was retreating. Guarded. As if an invisible wall had gone up overnight.
He intended to find out why.
Later that day, Lucien made a discreet call from his private study.
"Get me everything on Vincent Romano. Especially recent activity in the city."
"Yes, sir," said the voice on the other end of the line.
Lucien had noticed the change in Elena. The distant look in her eyes. The stiffness in her smile. The way she flinched at the smallest sound.
He'd only seen her that shaken once before—back when her father had tried to marry her off to a foreign investor without her consent. She had locked herself in her room for three days straight.
If she wasn't telling him the truth, he would find it himself.
Because whatever this was—it wasn't just about their marriage anymore.
Meanwhile, Elena sat alone in the greenhouse, her sanctuary within the Laurent estate. The air was fragrant with blooming jasmine, lavender, and white gardenias. She sat on the bench, running her fingers over a small, silver locket she wore hidden beneath her blouse.
Inside the locket was a picture. One she never showed anyone.
It was her mother—soft-eyed, graceful, and kind. A woman who had died too young and left Elena to the wolves.
She missed her. Especially now.
A sharp, sudden rustling behind the hedges pulled Elena from her thoughts. She turned, heart hammering.
"Who's there?" she called out.
Silence.
She stood slowly, eyes scanning the perimeter of the greenhouse.
Nothing.
Then her phone buzzed.
She jumped.
It was a message.
Unknown Number:
You've grown more beautiful, Elena. I wonder what Lucien would do if he knew the truth.—V
Her blood ran cold.
She clutched the phone in her hand, feeling her breath shorten.
How had he gotten her number? Had he been here—on the estate? Was he watching her now?
Panic surged, but she forced herself to breathe.
She couldn't go to Lucien like this. Not when everything was so fragile.
Instead, she deleted the message, locked the phone, and walked back to the mansion. But with every step, she felt eyes on her back.
That evening, Lucien returned early. A rare occurrence. He found Elena curled on the reading chaise in the sitting room, staring out the window. She didn't hear him approach until he said softly:
"Elena."
She turned. "You're back early."
"I canceled a meeting."
"Why?"
"I wanted to be here," he said simply.
Her brows lifted in surprise. That wasn't like him.
Lucien walked over and sat across from her. "Are you going to tell me what's really bothering you?"
She stiffened. "What do you mean?"
"You've been distant for days. And don't tell me it's the weather."
Elena hesitated, then stood. "I'm tired. Can we not—"
"I got a report back today," he interrupted.
Her body stilled.
Lucien stood too, his expression unreadable. "Vincent Romano. That name mean anything to you?"
Elena turned away, clutching the back of the chair.
"Why are you asking?" she said quietly.
"Because he's been in the city. And someone saw him near our estate's perimeter yesterday."
Elena squeezed her eyes shut. So it was true.
She couldn't lie anymore.
"I used to know him," she whispered.
"How well?"
Elena turned to face him. Her eyes were wide, haunted.
"He was my ex-fiancé."
Lucien's jaw clenched. "You never told me."
"I didn't think I had to. It was over. Years ago."
"Then why is he sending you flowers and anonymous notes?"
She swallowed hard. "Because I left him. Because I ran. And he doesn't like being left."
Lucien stepped closer. "Did he hurt you?"
She didn't answer. But the silence was loud enough.
Something inside him snapped.
"Elena—" His voice was low, controlled rage simmering beneath. "You should have told me the moment he reached out."
"I was scared."
"Of me?"
"No." Her voice cracked. "Of what you'd do. Of dragging you into my mess."
Lucien grabbed her hands gently. "You're my wife. Like it or not, your mess is mine."
Her eyes filled with tears. She looked up at him, searching his face for any hint of insincerity.
"You don't have to protect me, Lucien."
"I want to," he said firmly. "And I will."
She threw her arms around him, surprising even herself. For the first time, she didn't feel like a contract bride. She felt like she had someone standing beside her.
Maybe even in front of her.
That night, Lucien made another call—this time to his private security director.
"Double the guards. No one comes near this estate without clearance. And if you spot Vincent Romano again…"
"Yes, sir?"
"Make sure he knows he's being watched. If he doesn't back off—"Lucien's voice turned cold."—I'll deal with him myself."