Elena's POV
"You're an embarrassment."
My father's words hit me across the crowded ballroom, and I pretend they don't hurt. I've had twenty-two years of practice.
"Dad, I just thought—"
"You thought wrong. Again." Richard Chase doesn't even look at me as he straightens his tie. "Vanessa will handle the investor presentation tonight. You'll stay in the background where you belong."
My step-sister smirks from behind him, stunning in her blood-red dress. I'm in plain blue—the dress Mom bought me before she died. It's outdated, but it's all I have. Dad cut my allowance again last month. Something about "teaching me responsibility."
Vanessa gets a new sports car. I get life lessons.
"But I prepared the entire presentation," I say, hating how small my voice sounds. "I know the numbers better than anyone—"
"Enough." Dad walks away without another word.
I stand there like an idiot while people stream past me into the Chase Technologies anniversary gala. Ten years since Dad's company launched. Ten years since he married Vanessa's mother. Ten years of being treated like a ghost in my own family.
Tonight was supposed to be different. Tonight, I was supposed to prove I belonged here.
"Don't look so sad, sis."
I turn to find Vanessa beside me, holding two glasses of champagne. Her smile looks almost genuine. Almost.
"Dad's just stressed about the acquisition," she says, offering me a glass. "You know how he gets. Here, let's toast to better days."
I stare at the champagne. Vanessa has never been nice to me. Not once in ten years. Last week, she "accidentally" spilled coffee on my laptop, destroying months of work. The week before, she told Dad I was stealing from petty cash. I wasn't, but he believed her anyway.
"What do you want, Vanessa?"
"Can't I be nice to my little sister?" She pushes the glass into my hand. "Come on, Elena. One drink. For Mom and Dad's big night."
Your mom. Not mine.
But I'm so tired of fighting. So tired of being the problem. Maybe if I just play along, just smile and nod and be what they want, things will get better.
I take the champagne. It's a mistake—I know it the second the bubbles hit my tongue—but I'm too stupid or too desperate to care.
"That's my girl." Vanessa clinks her glass against mine. "Drink up. You look like you need it."
The champagne tastes expensive. Sweet. Wrong somehow, but I can't place why. Vanessa watches me drain the glass with a look I can't read.
"Feel better?" she asks.
"I... yeah. Thanks." My head feels fuzzy. The ballroom lights seem too bright suddenly. "Vanessa, I think I need to sit—"
"Oh, look! There's Mrs. Patterson. I should say hello." She waves at someone across the room. "You'll be fine, right? Just go get some air."
She disappears into the crowd before I can answer.
The room tilts. My legs feel like water. This isn't normal. Champagne doesn't hit this fast. I've had wine before—Mom used to let me have a sip at dinner—and it never felt like this.
Something's wrong.
I stumble toward the exit, but the doors seem miles away. People blur past me. Nobody stops to help. Why would they? I'm Richard Chase's forgettable daughter. The one who doesn't matter.
I find myself in a hotel hallway. When did I leave the ballroom? I can't remember. Everything's fuzzy and hot and terrifying.
A door opens beside me. I grab the frame to steady myself.
"Miss? Are you alright?"
The voice is deep and concerned. I look up and see the most beautiful man I've ever seen. Dark hair. Sharp jawline. Eyes like steel—cold but not cruel. He looks expensive, like he belongs in a world I'll never touch.
"I don't... feel good." My words slur. "Something's wrong. I think... I think someone..."
Drugged me. The word dies on my tongue as my knees give out.
Strong arms catch me before I hit the floor.
"Hey, stay with me." The beautiful stranger sounds worried now. "What's your name? Who are you here with?"
"Elena," I whisper. "Nobody. I'm with nobody."
It's the truest thing I've said all night.
He carries me inside his room—his fancy suite with floor-to-ceiling windows and a bed that looks softer than clouds. Somewhere in my fuzzy brain, alarm bells ring. Strange man. Hotel room. This is dangerous.
But his touch is gentle. Careful. Like I'm something precious instead of disposable.
"I'm calling a doctor," he says, setting me on the sofa.
"No!" I grab his hand without thinking. Dad will find out. He'll blame me. He always blames me. "Please. I just need... need to lie down. Five minutes. Then I'll go."
"You need medical attention—"
"Please." Tears burn my eyes. "Please don't call anyone. I'll be fine. I just... I can't..."
Can't face the humiliation. Can't give them another reason to hate me. Can't admit that my own sister probably did this to me.
The stranger studies my face for a long moment. Something shifts in his expression—those cold steel eyes warming just slightly.
"Okay," he says quietly. "No doctors. But you're not leaving until you're steady on your feet. Understood?"
I nod, relief flooding through me.
He sits beside me, keeping a respectful distance. "I'm Adrian, by the way."
"Thank you, Adrian." I'm so dizzy. So tired. "You're the first nice thing to happen to me in... I don't even know how long."
"That's a sad thing to hear."
"It's a sad life to live."
I don't remember closing my eyes. Don't remember leaning against his shoulder. Don't remember the exact moment when his careful distance disappeared and his arms came around me like safety.
But I remember his warmth. His kindness. The way he whispers, "You're safe now. I promise."
I believe him.
And that's my second mistake of the night.
Because when I wake up six hours later, tangled in sheets that smell like expensive cologne, Adrian is gone. There's only a note on the pillow, written in sharp, angry handwriting:
Last night was a mistake. Forget it happened. —A
My dress is torn. My body aches in ways I don't understand. And there's a business card on the nightstand: ADRIAN WOLFE, CEO, WOLFE ENTERPRISES.
The same company that's buying out Chase Technologies.
The same company that's about to destroy my father's business.
The same man I just gave everything to.
I stare at the note, at the card, at the disaster of my life, and something inside me cracks.
Then I run to the bathroom and throw up.
Not from the drugs.
From the realization that I've just slept with my family's enemy—and I don't even remember how it happened.