The gala sparkled with chandeliers and false smiles. Every man wore ambition like a second suit, and every woman dripped with jewels that weighed heavier than their dignity. Elena, in her reborn self, wasn't dazzled anymore—she saw the poison behind the champagne glasses and the daggers behind every smile.
Her stepmother, Camila, floated through the crowd like a queen in stolen robes. Bianca, her stepsister, followed closely, batting her lashes at men who couldn't care less about her unless she dangled Elena's name in conversation.
Elena didn't flinch this time. She was reborn for this very moment.
Adrian Vale stood near the balcony, his sharp suit like armor, his gaze cutting through the room with the power of a man who owned it. Her husband—cold, untouchable, unknowingly the very man who once betrayed her.
But tonight? Tonight he would look at her differently.
She entered, her crimson gown hugging her frame like a weapon designed for seduction and war. Every head turned. Whispers followed.
"Isn't that Elena Cruz?"
"She looks… different."
"She's glowing. Dangerous, even."
Elena didn't hide her smirk. Good. Let them see danger. Let them choke on it.
Camila's painted smile faltered for a split second. Bianca's eyes narrowed with envy. And Adrian—Adrian's jaw clenched, his glass pausing midair.
He noticed her.
She walked directly into the lion's den, heels clicking like war drums. A waiter stopped with a tray of champagne, and she plucked a glass, swirling it lazily before fixing her gaze on Adrian.
"Mr. Vale," she greeted smoothly, her voice a blend of sugar and venom.
"Elena." His tone was low, guarded, but his eyes scanned her—lingering too long on the curve of her lips, the steel in her gaze.
"Enjoying the evening?" she asked, raising her glass.
"Trying to." His response was clipped, but his stare never left hers. "You're… different tonight."
She tilted her head, feigning innocence. "Different is good, isn't it?"
Before he could answer, Bianca swooped in, clutching his arm as though she owned him.
"Adrian! I've been looking everywhere for you," she purred, then shot Elena a glare sharp enough to cut glass.
Elena sipped her champagne, unbothered. "Oh, don't worry, Bianca. I wasn't trying to steal him from you. Men who can be stolen are never worth keeping."
Gasps rippled from the nearest crowd. Bianca's face reddened, her lips parting in disbelief. Adrian stiffened, his sharp gaze flickering between the two women.
Elena smiled sweetly, savoring the taste of victory on her tongue—not the champagne, but the power shift.
This was only the beginning.
The gala sparkled with chandeliers and false smiles. Every man wore ambition like a second suit, and every woman dripped with jewels that weighed heavier than their dignity. Elena, in her reborn self, wasn't dazzled anymore—she saw the poison behind the champagne glasses and the daggers behind every smile.
Her stepmother, Camila, floated through the crowd like a queen in stolen robes. Bianca, her stepsister, followed closely, batting her lashes at men who couldn't care less about her unless she dangled Elena's name in conversation.
Elena didn't flinch this time. She was reborn for this very moment.
Adrian Vale stood near the balcony, his sharp suit like armor, his gaze cutting through the room with the power of a man who owned it. Her husband—cold, untouchable, unknowingly the very man who once betrayed her.
But tonight? Tonight he would look at her differently.
She entered, her crimson gown hugging her frame like a weapon designed for seduction and war. Every head turned. Whispers followed.
"Isn't that Elena Cruz?"
"She looks… different."
"She's glowing. Dangerous, even."
Elena didn't hide her smirk. Good. Let them see danger. Let them choke on it.
Camila's painted smile faltered for a split second. Bianca's eyes narrowed with envy. And Adrian—Adrian's jaw clenched, his glass pausing midair.
He noticed her.
She walked directly into the lion's den, heels clicking like war drums. A waiter stopped with a tray of champagne, and she plucked a glass, swirling it lazily before fixing her gaze on Adrian.
"Mr. Vale," she greeted smoothly, her voice a blend of sugar and venom.
"Elena." His tone was low, guarded, but his eyes scanned her—lingering too long on the curve of her lips, the steel in her gaze.
"Enjoying the evening?" she asked, raising her glass.
"Trying to." His response was clipped, but his stare never left hers. "You're… different tonight."
She tilted her head, feigning innocence. "Different is good, isn't it?"
Before he could answer, Bianca swooped in, clutching his arm as though she owned him.
"Adrian! I've been looking everywhere for you," she purred, then shot Elena a glare sharp enough to cut glass.
Elena sipped her champagne, unbothered. "Oh, don't worry, Bianca. I wasn't trying to steal him from you. Men who can be stolen are never worth keeping."
Gasps rippled from the nearest crowd. Bianca's face reddened, her lips parting in disbelief. Adrian stiffened, his sharp gaze flickering between the two women.
Elena smiled sweetly, savoring the taste of victory on her tongue—not the champagne, but the power shift.
This was only the beginning.