Ian's POV
The whiskey burned down my throat — but not nearly enough
I slammed the empty glass onto the counter. The sound was sharp, final.
The bartender didn't hesitate. He reached for the bottle immediately. Smart man.
"Rough night, sir?" he asked carefully, already pouring.
I lifted my eyes to him.
One look. Not long. Not hard. Just enough.
He froze, swallowed, and pushed the glass toward me without another word.
Good.
"Keep it coming," I said, voice cold, distant. "Don't stop until I say so." I drank again, eyes drifting towards the stage.
Camila.
Cameras loved her tonight — flashing endlessly, all focused on her. She stood on stage like a fallen angel resurrected by sympathy — tears glistening, voice trembling,the perfect victim.Perfect posture. Perfect timing.
She knew exactly when to take break, when to pause, when to let the silence do the work.
For five years,she had played her role well and I had watched her manage chaos like this—smooth it over, redirect the narrative, protect what mattered. Too well.
Something in my chest twisted.
I took another drink and looked away.
"Again," I said.
The bartender hesitated. "Sir… you've had quite a bit tonight."
I leaned forward slowly.
"You interrupt my drinking," I said quietly, "and you'll interrupt your employment. Do I look like a baby sucking on his mother's breast milk for survival?"
His face drained of color. He poured.
Before I could lift the glass again, someone slid onto the stool beside me.
A woman.
Beautiful. Confident. Dangerous .Wrapped in a perfume so heavy it clung to the air—sweet, dangerous, intentional.
"Mind if I join you?" she asked, smiling like she already knew the answer.
I pushed my glass towards her without looking.
"Depends," I said. "Can you keep up?"
She laughed softly and leaned closer. "I always do."
"And you are?" I asked, swirling the amber liquid in the new one.
She titled her head, leaned in, lips grazing my ear.
"Morticia Vale."
Vale
The name landed wrong, registered just as her lips hovered near mine—close enough to feel her breath, not close enough to kiss.
Then a hand clamped onto my shoulder, yanked me backward.
"I wouldn't," Camila's voice snapped.
I turned.
"And what the fucking hell do you think you're doing with my sister?"
I frowned. "Sister?"
Morticia leaned back on her stool, eyes glittering, a slow, amused smirk forming.
"Surprised?"she asked lazily. "She doesn't like sharing her secrets. Or her men."
Camila's jaw tightened. "Leave."
Morticia smirked. "Relax sweetheart. I'm not interested…yet."
Camila never mentioned a sister for the quiet number of years we've been together. Not even once.
Five years.
"What do you want with my fiancé?" Camila demanded.
"Fiancé?" Morticia laughed softly. "Relax, big sis. I didn't know he existed. You've always been so secretive."
Her eyes flicked to me. Calculating.
"Besides," she added lightly, "I already told you I'm not interested. Not yet."
Camila stiffened.
"Oh, please. I know when you want something," she snapped. "You almost kissed him."
Morticia stood, adjusting her dress, then leaned close to Camila, fingers tucking a strand of hair behind her ear in a mockingly intimate gesture.
"Nice catch sis, careful," she murmured. "This one's tempting. Dangerous. I might take him someday.
Can't wait to have him close to me in my bed very soon. He has something I might be happy with. Just a compliment."
Camila raised her hand —
Morticia caught her wrist instantly.
"Don't…bitch," she warned softly. "You don't want to see what happens when I push back."
Then she disappeared into the crowd.
Camila turned to me, shaken.
"Don't listen to her, Ian. She's unstable. I—"
I stood abruptly and pushed past her.
My attention had locked onto something else. Someone else.
That's when I saw her.
A woman in a mask moved through the crowd like Elara—graceful, deliberate—but sharper, polished, untouchable.
My chest tightened violently.
No. Impossible.
Elara was dead.
But my body didn't believe it.
I pushed through the crowd, heart hammering, ignoring the noise, the perfume, the people. Someone bumped into me hard.
"Watch it—"
I didn't stop.
Why did I care?
Why did the idea of her being alive feel like salvation and punishment all at once?
She turned a corner. I followed.
Outside the hall, I grabbed her wrist and pulled her back against the wall.
"And what do you think you're doing?" she snapped, eyes blazing behind the mask.
"I know it's you," I said, hoarsely. "No one moves like you. No one."
"Let go of me," she hissed, struggling.
Slowly, deliberately,
I reached up and pulled off the mask.
Time stopped as well as the world around us.
Elara.
Alive.
Different. More beautiful than before . Sharper, stronger, untouchable.
For the first time in five years, I forgot who I was. I wasn't Ian Vance—the heir, the billionaire, the husband who failed.
I was just a man staring at the woman he destroyed.
"Elara…" My voice broke. Her lips curved — not soft. Not warm. Cruel.
Her eyes burned.
"Miss me already, Mr. Vance?" she mocked.
"How are you alive?" I whispered. "I thought — you were —" my voice breaking.
She laughed quietly. "Disappointed?"
"Why are you here?" I demanded. "Was it you—the video, the scandal?"
"Yes," she said calmly. "It was me." No hesitation. No shame.
"Why?" I asked,anger rising. "Why destroy everything?"
She smiled—cold, lethal as she stepped closer.
"You already know. Because you built your fucking happiness on my grave."
I reached for her shoulder. She slapped my hand away like it disgusted her. "Don't you dare touch me again."
"Let me help you," I said quickly. "My family can—money— protection—"
She laughed.
"Help? Oh Ian come on" she said softly as she stepped back. "Do I look desperate to you? A woman begging for scraps? Or someone who survived hell and came back hungry? Stop pretending to be the perfect ex-husband," her voice dropped.
"You created this monster yourself,and don't ever think of controlling it once its out of control"
Camila's voice echoed faintly nearby. "Ian?"
I leaned closer instinctively, shielding Elara from view. My heart slammed as our bodies brushed and for one breath,the world titled.
She shoved me away hard.
"Don't ever do that again," she warned. "Next time, I won't hesitate to destroy you publicly. Pathetic fool."
She turned to leave.
I grabbed her wrist once more. "Finn," I said quietly. "How is he?"
Her eyes went ice-cold.
"He's at peace," she said coldly. "Something you wouldn't understand." She took her mask from the ground and fixed it back on her face, her perfect disguise. Protecting her temporary for tonight as
she walked away.
"Elara!" I called.
She didn't stop.
"Your money couldn't silence my dead," she threw over her shoulder. "And it won't save you now".
Then she vanished.
Camila appeared beside me seconds later.
"There you are, babe," she said , scanning the area. "Who were you talking to?"
"No one," I replied,my voice hollow. " Just business."
I walked away. But the truth stayed behind —
Alive. Breathing. And coming for us all.