The night was silent, save for the distant sound of the city humming beyond the tall iron gates of the Blake estate. The moonlight seeped through the curtains in Elena's room, casting pale silver shadows on the floorboards.
She sat at the edge of the bed, her posture rigid, her gaze fixed on the darkness outside.
This was not a night for sleep.
Her fingers tightened around the pen in her hand, the leather-bound notebook resting open across her lap. She had bought it earlier that day, under the guise of needing a diary. In truth, it would become something else—her weapon, her ledger of vengeance.
She began to write, her strokes deliberate and precise.
Naomi White – Sister.
The venom in her chest boiled as she scribbled the name. Naomi had played the perfect, sweet sister in public. But behind closed doors, she was a viper, always waiting to strike. It was Naomi who had whispered poison into her fiancé's ear. It was Naomi who had mocked her every misstep. And in the end, it was Naomi who laughed when Elena lay dying.
This time, Elena would strip away her sister's mask until the whole world saw the rot beneath.
Daniel Reed – Ex-Fiancé.
Her pen bit harder into the paper, the ink nearly tearing through the page. Daniel had once been her light, her first love. She had trusted him blindly, foolishly believing his sweet words. But he had never loved her. All along, his heart had belonged to Naomi. Elena had only been the convenient pawn in their game.
The memory of his betrayal still burned, hot and bitter. When she confronted him, bleeding and betrayed, his only response had been silence.
This time, she would watch his pride shatter, his mask fall, his life collapse piece by piece.
Clara Green – Ex-Friend.
Elena's grip faltered for a moment as she wrote the name. Once, Clara had been her confidante, the woman she thought would never turn against her. But Clara had chosen power over loyalty, aligning herself with Naomi when things began to fall apart.
Her betrayal had cut deeper than any blade.
Now, Clara would learn what it felt like to be used and discarded.
Elena shut the notebook with a snap, her jaw clenched tight. She pressed her palm against the cool leather cover and whispered, "I'll make them pay. One by one. Slowly, until they beg for mercy."
The vow sealed itself in her heart.
But just as she stood to tuck the notebook away, a shadow shifted at her door.
"Elena."
Her husband's voice—deep, calm, unhurried—slid into the room like a low current. Adrian Blake leaned against the doorframe, his tall frame framed by the hallway's dim light. His shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, his sleeves rolled to the elbow. Even in such casual attire, he carried an air of unshakable authority.
Startled, Elena quickly pushed the notebook beneath a silk scarf on the vanity. She turned slowly, masking the flicker of fear in her chest with a polite smile.
"Adrian. You're still awake?"
His gaze swept the room, then fixed on her. Dark, piercing, unreadable. "You are, too."
"I couldn't sleep," she said smoothly. "Too much on my mind."
He stepped into the room, the sound of his polished shoes muffled by the carpet. "What kind of thoughts keep you awake at night?"
The question was simple, but his tone made it feel like a trap.
Elena lifted her chin, refusing to show weakness. "A new household. New responsibilities. Adjusting takes time."
His lips curved faintly, though not in amusement. "Responsibilities. Interesting word, coming from you."
Her chest tightened, but she forced herself to keep her gaze steady. "Is that a criticism?"
"No." His eyes darkened, holding her in place as though his stare could strip her bare. "It's an observation."
The silence stretched, thick and taut. Adrian finally turned, his movements deliberate, his voice dropping into a low warning as he reached the doorway.
"Be careful with what you hide, Elena. Secrets don't last long in my world."
The door closed softly behind him, but the echo of his words lingered like a shadow over her heart.
Elena exhaled slowly, her hands trembling before she clenched them into fists.
So he suspects me already.
Her pulse quickened, but she steeled herself. It didn't matter. Adrian Blake might be sharper than she remembered, but she had a lifetime of pain fueling her now.
She would play her role carefully. She would smile when she needed to, fight when she must. But nothing—not even her cold husband—would keep her from her revenge.
With new resolve, she slid the notebook into the drawer and locked it. The vow echoed in her chest, a flame that would not die.
This time, I'll win.