The moment Elina stepped into her apartment, she kicked off her heels and exhaled like she'd been holding her breath all night.
The fake smiles. The lingering touches. The whispered lies wrapped in champagne bubbles.
She pressed her back to the door, closing her eyes. But instead of relief, all she could feel was him—his touch at the small of her back, the way his eyes had softened during the dance, like he still saw the girl he left behind.
She hated how easily Damon could slip past her walls. How convincing he was—even to her.
"I'm not falling for it," she whispered aloud, as if saying it made it true.
---
Elsewhere That Same Night
Damon stood in the Sinclair penthouse, tie undone, staring out at the Manhattan skyline. But his mind was elsewhere—seven years back, on a narrow country road, headlights cutting through mist, a car skidding—
No. Not tonight.
He reached for the scotch on his counter just as the doorbell rang.
His brows drew together.
He wasn't expecting anyone.
When he opened the door, a man in a worn leather jacket stood there, older now but familiar. His eyes were bloodshot with anger—and recognition.
"You're still walking around like nothing happened?"
Damon froze.
"Mason," he said slowly. "I didn't know you were back in town."
Mason stepped in, uninvited. "You think I'd forget what you did?"
Damon shut the door behind them. His voice dropped. "This isn't the time."
"No," Mason hissed, "but it's coming. And when she finds out—when Elina finds out—it's over for you."
Damon's throat tightened. "She doesn't know. And I'm going to make sure it stays that way."
Mason scoffed. "You're lying to her face. Again."
"She deserves better than the truth," Damon said quietly. "It would destroy her."
"Yeah?" Mason stepped closer. "Or it might finally set her free."
---
Elina's Apartment – The Next Morning
Elina sat at her kitchen counter scrolling through her messages. Half were about the event—how gorgeous they looked, how lucky she was, how perfect they seemed together.
If only they knew.
Then she paused.
A new message. No name.
> You don't know who he really is.
But you should.
– M*
Her blood ran cold.
A chill crept down her spine, slow and steady. She read it again.
Was it a threat? A warning?
Was Damon hiding something… more than just heartbreak?
Her fingers hovered over her phone before she tapped into a forgotten folder—the one with the police file she had found years ago but never had the courage to open. A report with her parents' names in it. Filed under "Reckless Driving. Fatalities. Under Investigation."
The driver's name had been blacked out.
Until now... when she finally noticed the initials scribbled at the bottom of the page: D. S.
Her stomach dropped.
Damon Sinclair.