Elena's POV
The morning papers screamed with my name. Not in praise for last night's victory at the gala, but in venom.
"The Cold CEO's Wife—A Social Climber in Disguise?"
"Insider Claims Elena Married for Money and Status."
"Ex-Friend Reveals the Truth Behind the Mask."
Each headline twisted the knife deeper. And I didn't need to guess who held the knife. Naomi.
I sat at the dining table, the untouched breakfast cooling in front of me. My phone buzzed nonstop—friends, acquaintances, enemies disguised as well-wishers—all sending me the links, all waiting to see if I'd shatter.
But I didn't shatter.
Instead, I smiled.
Because Naomi thought I was still the Elena who cowered when cornered. She thought a few lies could tear me down. She didn't realize she had handed me the perfect opportunity.
"Madam, would you like me to turn off the television?" the housekeeper asked nervously. On the screen, a smug anchor repeated Naomi's words: "Elena always wanted to marry rich. She used to say Adrian was her ticket out of mediocrity."
I waved my hand. "No. Leave it on. Let the world listen."
Because when I made my move, they would all listen to me.
Adrian's POV
I read the articles in my office, each line colder than the last. My staff stayed silent, terrified of my expression.
Naomi.
That snake dared to touch my wife's name.
I didn't care if Elena had provoked Daniel, or if she had secrets I couldn't yet unravel. What I would never allow was someone outside my walls dragging her into the mud. She was mine. And mine was untouchable.
"Get me Naomi's number," I ordered.
My assistant hesitated. "Sir, perhaps we should let the PR team—"
"Now."
Within seconds, the call connected. Naomi's sugary voice came through, false concern dripping. "Adrian, I was just so worried. I didn't mean for things to get—"
"Shut up." My tone was ice. "You have one chance, Naomi. Retract everything. Or I'll bury you so deep in lawsuits and financial ruin you'll beg for obscurity. You think gossip is power? I'll show you real power."
She gasped softly. "Adrian, you wouldn't—"
"Try me."
The line went dead.
But my rage didn't fade. Because when I had glanced at my phone earlier, I had caught a single image: Elena, sitting at the table, smiling at the chaos. She wasn't broken. She was amused.
And damn it all—her calmness unsettled me more than Naomi's venom.
Elena's POV
By noon, the tide had turned.
I released my counter. A single, well-timed interview with a lifestyle blogger I had quietly cultivated as an ally. I told them about Naomi. Her jealousy, her attempts to sabotage me, her desperation for attention. I didn't raise my voice. I didn't hurl insults. I painted Naomi as exactly what she was: a bitter, desperate woman still clinging to relevance.
The story spread faster than hers. By evening, hashtags like #NaomiTheLiar and #WifeOfTheColdCEO trended, this time in my favor.
Naomi had tried to smear me. Instead, she drowned in her own poison.
I leaned back in the chair, sipping wine as the comments rolled in, a satisfied smirk tugging at my lips.
But then I felt it—eyes on me.
I turned. Adrian stood in the doorway, his expression unreadable.
"You enjoyed that," he said, his voice low.
I tilted my glass. "Would you rather I cried instead?"
His lips curved, not in amusement but something darker. "No. I prefer this side of you. But be careful, Elena. You're playing a dangerous game."
I held his gaze. "So are you."
And in the silence that followed, thick and charged, I realized Naomi wasn't the only enemy I had to keep my eyes on.
Naomi was silenced. But Adrian? He was watching me more closely now. Too closely.
And for the first time, I wasn't sure which was more dangerous—my enemies outside…or the husband who might discover the truth I was hiding.