The ballroom sparkled with the brilliance of crystal chandeliers, polished marble floors reflecting the golden light, and violins weaving a delicate melody through the air. Laughter chimed from every corner, glasses clinked, and whispers carried secrets more dangerous than any blade. Elena stepped into the hall as if she owned it, though she knew eyes followed her not with admiration but with curiosity, doubt, and a hunger to see her stumble.
In her previous life, she had dreaded nights like this. Naomi would drag her along to these grand events, then abandon her in the crowd to fend for herself. She had been left standing in corners, clutching her glass like a lifeline, plastering smiles while her so-called friend mocked her in whispers loud enough for others to hear. That Elena had been weak, desperate for approval, naïve enough to believe friendship was genuine.
Not anymore.
Tonight, she came dressed for battle.
Her navy silk gown clung perfectly to her curves, elegant but not ostentatious. The slit at her leg revealed just enough to command attention, while the diamond earrings Adrian had casually tossed her way before the event glittered like a subtle warning—she was not alone anymore.
The murmurs started the moment she entered.
"Is that Mrs. Blake?"
"She looks… different tonight."
"Since when does she dress like that?"
"She must be clinging to her husband's status…"
Elena caught fragments but did not flinch. Let them talk. Let them whisper. She had learned long ago that gossip was a weapon. Tonight, she would use it to her advantage.
"Elena!"
The sickly sweet voice rang across the hall like a bell dipped in venom.
Naomi.
She glided forward in a gown of blood-red silk, lips painted to match. To others, she looked like an angel descending into light, but Elena knew better. Naomi had always dressed like she owned the room, like she was the queen and Elena the servant trailing behind. Tonight, Elena would make sure the roles reversed.
"My dear, you look stunning!" Naomi's smile stretched wide, her arms outstretched as if to embrace her. She leaned in, lips brushing Elena's cheek with false warmth. "Adrian certainly knows how to spoil you."
The crowd around them turned, sensing the spectacle. Elena caught the eager stares, the subtle smirks. They were waiting for the inevitable slip, the humiliation Naomi was about to orchestrate.
Elena tilted her head, lips curving in an icy smile. "Thank you. It's good to know you can still recognize what elegance looks like, Naomi. You've always… tried."
Naomi's eyes flickered, but she recovered instantly, laughing as though the barb were a joke. "Oh, you're still as witty as ever. Tell me, darling, do you remember those nights when you could barely keep up? Oh, poor Elena, hiding behind me at every gala, so shy and clumsy. You've come such a long way. We should all applaud your… improvement."
Gasps rippled through the women nearby. The insult was carefully veiled, disguised as nostalgia, but the bite was clear. Naomi wanted to remind everyone that Elena had once been nothing, a wallflower surviving on scraps of friendship.
The old Elena would have flushed, laughed weakly, and let the mockery roll over her like a tide she couldn't fight.
But this Elena?
She took a slow sip of champagne, her eyes never leaving Naomi's. "You're right. I did struggle back then. But do you know the funny part? While I was struggling, I still managed to climb higher than those who tried to step on me. Life is strange, isn't it? Some people spend all their energy trying to push others down, only to discover they've been left behind."
The crowd went silent. Heads turned. Whispers ignited like sparks on dry grass. Naomi's smile faltered for the first time.
Elena leaned closer, her voice sweet but sharp enough to cut. "Careful, Naomi. Sometimes, when you dig holes for others, you fall into them yourself."
The silence stretched. Naomi's grip on her glass tightened, the veins in her hand turning white. She forced a laugh, though her voice cracked slightly. "My, Elena, you've grown bold. Marriage must be doing wonders for you."
"Or maybe I've always had it in me," Elena replied coolly. "You just never bothered to see it."
The air grew taut with tension. The other women glanced at each other, some hiding smirks, others widening their eyes in shock. Naomi had miscalculated. She had expected the weakling, the shadow, not this woman who fought back with the elegance of a dagger hidden in silk.
Naomi opened her mouth to strike again, but a voice sliced through the crowd.
"Is there a problem here?"
Deep. Cold. Commanding.
Every head turned.
Adrian Blake.
He moved through the crowd like a predator parting sheep, his tailored black suit sculpted perfectly to his frame, his expression carved in stone. He didn't look at anyone except Elena. And when his eyes landed on her, a spark of something unreadable flickered there—something dangerous, something that made even Naomi's painted confidence crumble.
Adrian stepped beside his wife, one hand sliding to the small of her back with an ease that screamed possession. His gaze swept the circle of women, pausing briefly on Naomi. The sheer weight of his stare silenced even the boldest tongues.
Elena felt it—the shift in power, the way the atmosphere bent around him. For once, she wasn't standing alone against their mockery. She had a wall of steel at her side, cold and merciless, yet steady.
"No problem at all," Elena said smoothly, linking her arm through his and smiling at the crowd. "Just catching up with old friends."
Adrian's eyes lingered on Naomi, his voice like ice cracking. "Then perhaps your friend should choose her words more carefully."
The warning was unmistakable. Naomi's face blanched. She lowered her gaze, bowing her head slightly. "Of course, Mr. Blake. Forgive me if I overstepped."
Adrian said nothing more. He didn't need to. His presence was enough.
The women scattered, murmuring excuses as they retreated. Naomi was the last to leave, her hands clenched at her sides, her eyes burning with humiliation.
Elena watched her go, her lips curving in satisfaction. For the first time, Naomi had been silenced in front of everyone. And she hadn't needed to beg or cower—she had stood tall, and Adrian had stood beside her.
When the crowd dispersed, Adrian leaned down slightly, his voice a low rumble only she could hear. "You handle yourself well."
Elena arched a brow. "Surprised?"
His lips curved faintly—not quite a smile, but something close. "Amused."
And just like that, he pulled her closer, guiding her toward the next circle of guests, leaving behind whispers that would ripple through the city by morning.
For the first time in her reborn life, Elena realized she had not just allies or enemies—she had a weapon. A shield. A husband who, whether he admitted it or not, had chosen to defend her.
And Naomi?
Naomi would not forget this humiliation. She would come back stronger, sharper, more dangerous.
But Elena welcomed it.
Because this time, she wasn't the prey.
She was the predator.