Elena's POV
I drive for twenty minutes before I realize I have no idea where I'm going.
My hands shake on the steering wheel. Adrian's son. He has a son with Vivian. A little boy who called me "the mean lady." And another baby coming.
How long? How long has this been happening?
My phone rings. Adrian's name flashes on the screen. I hit decline and watch it ring four more times before it finally stops. Then the texts start coming, one after another:
Elena, come back. We need to talk.
You're overreacting. It's not what it looked like.
Answer your phone. NOW.
That last one makes me laugh—a bitter, broken sound. Even now, caught cheating with my stepsister and his secret child, Adrian thinks he can order me around.
I pull into a hotel parking lot because I can't see through my tears anymore. The phone keeps buzzing. More texts. Then calls from my father. From Margaret. Even from Vivian herself.
I turn the phone off and sit in the dark car, trying to remember how to breathe.
A knock on my window makes me jump. A security guard stands there, looking concerned. "Ma'am? Are you alright? Do you need me to call someone?"
"I'm fine," I lie, wiping my face. "Just taking a break."
He doesn't look convinced, but he nods and walks away.
I turn my phone back on. Twenty-seven missed calls. Forty-three texts. I ignore all of them and open the message from the unknown number.
Your husband's betrayal is worse than you know. Meet me tomorrow at Rosewood Café, 10 AM. I have proof that will destroy him. Come alone. -V.R.
What proof could be worse than what I already saw? And who is V.R.?
I type: Who are you?
The response comes immediately, like they were waiting for me to ask: Someone who knows what it's like to be betrayed by people you trusted. Come tomorrow. You deserve to know the truth about everything they've stolen from you.
Stolen from me? What does that mean?
Before I can type another question, my phone rings. An unknown number. My finger hovers over the decline button, but something makes me answer.
"Hello?"
"Mrs. Castellano?" A woman's voice, professional and calm. "My name is Rebecca Chen. I'm a lawyer. I've been trying to reach you for three months, but someone at your residence kept telling me you weren't available."
My heart pounds. "What? I never got any messages—"
"I suspected as much," Rebecca says grimly. "Mrs. Castellano, I represent the estate of your mother, Catherine Hart."
I freeze. My mother died when I was eight years old. Why would her lawyer be calling me now?
"My mother's estate was settled years ago," I say slowly. "My father inherited everything."
"That's what you were told," Rebecca says. "But it's not true. Your mother left a substantial trust fund in your name. It was supposed to be released to you when you turned twenty-five. That was three years ago."
The world tilts sideways. "What? No, that's impossible. My father said there was nothing—"
"Your father lied," Rebecca says bluntly. "Your mother left you ten million dollars, Mrs. Castellano. Plus a property in Paris and her shares in Hart Industries. Your stepmother has been signing documents in your name for three years, stealing money from your account."
I can't breathe. Ten million dollars. Property. Shares. "But I signed papers when I turned twenty-five. Legal documents—"
"Forged," Rebecca interrupts. "We've been investigating. Your signature was faked on multiple documents transferring your inheritance to your father and stepmother. We have proof. Mrs. Castellano, your family has been robbing you blind for three years."
The parking lot spins. Adrian's betrayal. The secret child. And now this—my own family has been stealing from me?
"Why are you telling me now?" I whisper.
"Because your stepmother just tried to transfer the Paris property to your stepsister Vivian," Rebecca says, and her voice turns hard. "That property is worth thirty million dollars. She's gotten greedy. And sloppy. We finally have enough evidence to take them to court. But I need you to come to my office tomorrow and sign papers to freeze your accounts before they can steal anything else."
"Tomorrow," I repeat numbly. "What time?"
"As early as you can. This is time-sensitive, Mrs. Castellano. Every day we wait is another day they can drain your accounts."
I look at the message from V.R. again. Meet at 10 AM.
"Can you meet me at 8 AM?" I ask Rebecca.
"Absolutely. I'll text you my office address." She pauses. "Mrs. Castellano? I'm sorry. I know this is a lot to process. But you need to know—your mother wanted you to be taken care of. She knew your father was weak and your stepmother was dangerous. That's why she hid your inheritance in a trust. She was protecting you."
Tears blur my vision again, but these are different. My mother loved me. She tried to protect me. And the people I trusted—my father, Margaret—they stole from me for years.
"Thank you," I manage to say. "I'll see you tomorrow at 8."
I hang up and sit in the dark, processing everything. Adrian's betrayal. My family's theft. The mysterious V.R. who claims to have more proof.
My entire life is a lie.
A new text appears on my phone. Adrian: Elena, I'm begging you. Come home. Let me explain everything. I love you.
I stare at those three words. "I love you." In three years of marriage, Adrian has never said that to me. Not once. Not even on our wedding day.
Now, caught with Vivian and their secret family, suddenly he loves me?
I delete the message and book a hotel room for the night. As I'm checking in, another text arrives from V.R.:
I'm glad you're going to meet Rebecca Chen. But her evidence only covers your family's theft. What I have is much worse. It's about your career, Elena. About who's been stealing your designs and destroying your dreams. Come to Rosewood Café at 10 AM. You'll want to see this.
My designs?
I think about the sketchbook I keep hidden in my closet at home. The fashion designs I've been drawing since I was fifteen. The dreams I gave up when I married Adrian because he said being a CEO's wife was "career enough."
Who could possibly know about my designs? I never showed them to anyone except—
My blood runs cold.
No. She wouldn't.
But even as I think it, I know the truth. Vivian used to borrow my sketchbooks when we were teenagers. She said she wanted to "practice drawing." I was so desperate for my stepsister to like me that I let her.
What if she didn't just borrow them? What if she copied them?
Vivian launched her fashion line two years ago. It made her famous. Critics called her a "fresh new talent" and "the future of fashion."
What if those designs were mine?
I look at V.R.'s message again, my hands shaking with something new. Not sadness. Not fear.
Rage.
Pure, burning rage.
If Vivian stole my husband AND my dreams, I'm going to burn her entire world to the ground.
I text back to V.R.: I'll be there. And whoever you are, thank you.
The response comes instantly: Don't thank me yet. What you learn tomorrow will change everything. But I promise you this, Elena—you're not the victim they made you believe you are. You're so much more powerful than they let you know. It's time you remembered that.
Sleep well. Tomorrow, you take back your life.
I stare at the message, my heart racing.
Who is V.R.? How do they know so much about me? And what else have Adrian, Vivian, and my family been hiding?
Tomorrow, I'm going to find out.
And then I'm going to make every single one of them pay.