The city skyline was different now.
Years had passed since that night when chaos and tragedy tore through Elena's life, but she still remembered it as if it had happened yesterday—the sharp crack of the gunshot, the weight of Adrian's body in her arms, his blood on her hands, and the last words he whispered that became etched into her soul forever.
"The last thing I'll ever tell you… is that I love you. You're my everything."
Those words were no longer a wound. They had become her anchor.
Elena stood at the window of the top floor of Leclair Enterprises, her reflection softened by the glow of the city lights. The office was hers now—not because she had sought power, but because Adrian had left it in her hands. His will had been clear: the company was to be entrusted to her, not to the board, not to lawyers, not to anyone else.
It hadn't been easy. In the first months after his death, investors doubted her. The board tried to pressure her into stepping aside. Whispers in the press painted her as an unqualified woman living off the coattails of her fallen lover.
But Elena had been Adrian's protégé for years. She had learned from his brilliance, absorbed his strength, and when it mattered most, she stood firm.
Every time doubt threatened to break her, she remembered his words: "You are not my weakness. You are my strength."
And so she became unshakable.
Under her leadership, the company didn't just survive—it thrived. Elena shifted Leclair Enterprises toward ethical investments, philanthropy, and innovative projects that Adrian himself had once dismissed as "too human" but which she knew would have made him proud in the end.
The world came to see her not as Adrian's shadow, but as her own force of nature.
Yet even with success, the emptiness remained.
At night, when the city quieted and she returned home, Elena felt the silence most. She lived in Adrian's penthouse still, unable to part with the place that held so many memories. His scent was gone, his voice absent, yet his presence lingered—in the books he had left half-read on the shelf, in the jacket still hanging in the closet, in the piano he used to play when he thought no one was listening.
And in their daughter's smile.
"Mommy!"
Elena turned, her heart softening as Amelia ran into the room. The little girl, only six years old, had Adrian's storm-gray eyes and Elena's warmth. She was living proof that Adrian's love hadn't ended that night—that something of him remained in this world, something pure and unbreakable.
Elena knelt, gathering her daughter in her arms. "There's my star," she whispered, kissing the top of her head.
Amelia looked up at her, curious. "Were you thinking about Daddy again?"
Elena's throat tightened, but she smiled. "Always, sweetheart. Daddy's part of everything I do."
Amelia grinned, holding up a drawing she had made. It was messy, childlike, but Elena's chest tightened when she saw it: a stick-figure family of three—Amelia, Elena, and Adrian—holding hands beneath a bright yellow sun.
"Do you think Daddy can see it?" Amelia asked innocently.
Elena swallowed the lump in her throat. "Yes, love. I think Daddy sees everything. And I think he's very proud of you."
The little girl beamed, satisfied with the answer, and ran off to place the drawing on the fridge.
Elena stood there for a moment longer, holding onto the ache in her chest, but also the warmth. Adrian was gone. But he was still here—in their daughter, in the company they had built, in the love that hadn't died with him.
Every year, on the anniversary of his death, Elena visited Adrian's grave.
That evening, after Amelia had gone to sleep, she drove out to the quiet cemetery where the man she loved rested beneath marble and roses. The rain had fallen earlier, leaving the earth damp and the air heavy with the scent of wet grass.
She knelt by his headstone, fingers tracing the name Adrian Leclair.
"Hi, love," she whispered softly, her voice trembling. "It's been another year. Amelia's growing so fast—you'd be so proud of her. She has your stubbornness. And your eyes." She gave a wet laugh, wiping at her tears. "Sometimes when she looks at me, it feels like you're staring right through me again."
Her voice broke, but she steadied herself. "I miss you every day. Some days it hurts so much I can barely breathe. But I hear you, Adrian. I still hear the last thing you told me. And it keeps me going."
The wind stirred, carrying the night air around her, and she closed her eyes, letting herself believe for a moment that he was there beside her.
"I'll love you for the rest of my life," she whispered, pressing her forehead to the cold stone. "And when I see you again, I'll tell you all the things I never got to say."
Back at the penthouse, Elena stood once more at the window, Amelia's soft breathing echoing from the next room. The city stretched before her, alive and vast.
She rested her palm against the glass and spoke into the night, a vow that had never changed.
"You'll never lose me, Adrian. Because I'm yours. Always."
And though silence was her only reply, she felt it deep inside—his love, his presence, his promise—that some bonds were too strong for even death to break.
Forever.