Elena's POV
"Elena." Vincent's voice cuts through my panic. "What happened the night before your wedding?"
I can't answer. My throat closes up. Three years I've kept this secret buried so deep I almost convinced myself it never happened.
But it did happen. And Vivian knows.
"I can't—" My voice cracks. "I can't talk about it."
Vincent kneels in front of me, his gray eyes serious but kind. "Whatever it is, we'll handle it. But I need to know what we're dealing with. What does Vivian have on you?"
Marcus quietly excuses himself, closing the office door behind him. Now it's just Vincent and me, and the weight of a secret that could destroy everything.
I take a shaky breath. "The night before my wedding to Adrian, I tried to run away."
Vincent's eyebrows rise slightly but he doesn't interrupt.
"I was twenty-two and terrified," I continue, the words tumbling out now. "My father sold me to Adrian like I was property. Vivian had run away to Milan, and they needed someone to take her place or lose the business deal. I didn't want to marry a man who loved someone else. So I packed a bag and went to the train station."
"What stopped you?" Vincent asks gently.
"Margaret found me." The memory makes me sick. "She had people watching me. They dragged me back to the house and locked me in my room. But that's not the worst part."
I close my eyes, seeing it all again. "Margaret gave me pills. She said they were to help me sleep, to calm my nerves before the wedding. But they weren't sleeping pills. They were something else—something that made me confused and dizzy. I barely remember the rest of that night. Just fragments. Flashes of images."
Vincent's jaw tightens. "She drugged you."
"I woke up the next morning in my bed with gaps in my memory. Margaret said I'd had a panic attack and she'd given me medicine to help. But I knew something was wrong. I felt wrong. My clothes were different. There were bruises I couldn't explain." Tears stream down my face. "I never told anyone because I was so ashamed. I convinced myself I'd imagined it, that the stress made me paranoid."
"What does Vivian's message mean about video footage?" Vincent's voice is deadly quiet.
"I don't know." I'm sobbing now. "I don't know what happened that night. Maybe Margaret recorded me having a breakdown. Maybe there's footage of me trying to run away that makes me look unstable. Whatever it is, if Vivian releases it, everyone will think I'm crazy. No one will believe anything I say about the design theft or the stolen money."
Vincent stands abruptly and pulls out his phone. "Marcus, get back in here. Now."
Marcus rushes in seconds later. "Boss?"
"I need you to find out everything about the night before Elena's wedding to Adrian Castellano," Vincent says, his voice hard. "Security footage from the Hart residence, phone records from Margaret Hart, medical records if Elena was taken to a hospital—everything."
"On it." Marcus opens his laptop immediately.
Vincent turns back to me. "Elena, listen carefully. Whatever happened that night wasn't your fault. Do you understand? Margaret drugged you. She controlled you. None of that is on you."
"But if there's video—"
"Then we'll deal with it," Vincent interrupts firmly. "But we don't negotiate with blackmailers. If you back down now, Vivian wins. She keeps your money, your designs, and her perfect life. Is that what you want?"
"No," I whisper. "But I'm scared."
"Fear is reasonable. Giving up isn't." Vincent sits beside me. "I told you about my mother earlier. What I didn't tell you is that after she died, her lover tried to blackmail me. He said he had evidence that I'd known about the affair and hadn't stopped it. That if I reported him for murder, he'd make me look complicit."
I look up at him, surprised.
"I was sixteen and terrified," Vincent continues. "But my lawyer told me something I've never forgotten: blackmailers only have power if you let them. So I called his bluff. Turned out, he had nothing. It was all threats designed to keep me silent while he escaped the country."
"What happened to him?" I ask.
Vincent's smile is cold. "He's serving life in prison for murder. Because I didn't let fear win."
Marcus looks up from his laptop, his face pale. "Boss, you need to see this."
Vincent and I crowd around the laptop. Marcus has pulled up security footage from the Hart residence, dated three years ago—the night before my wedding.
"The Hart family has a security system," Marcus explains. "They keep footage for five years before deleting it. This is from the exterior cameras."
He presses play.
The footage shows me leaving the house at midnight, carrying a small bag. I get into a taxi. So far, it matches my memory.
Then the scene changes. An hour later, a black car pulls up. Two men I don't recognize drag me out of the backseat. I'm barely conscious, stumbling between them. Margaret stands in the doorway, watching.
"Oh my God," I breathe. "I don't remember any of that."
Marcus fast-forwards. "Here's where it gets worse."
The timestamp shows 3 AM. The same black car returns. This time, the two men carry me inside. I'm completely unconscious. And walking behind them, carrying my bag, is someone I recognize.
Adrian.
My husband was there that night. He saw them drug me. He watched them carry me unconscious into the house.
"He knew," I whisper. "Adrian knew what they did to me, and he married me anyway."
Vincent's expression is murderous. "Marcus, download everything. Every second of footage from that night. We're going to need it."
My phone buzzes again. Another text from Vivian:
Times up soon, sis. Make your choice. Drop the lawsuits or I drop the bomb. Your move.
But now I understand. Vivian doesn't have evidence that makes me look bad. She has evidence that makes THEM look like criminals. She's been bluffing, hoping I'd panic and back down before I discovered the truth.
"She's lying," I say, sudden clarity cutting through my fear. "Vivian doesn't have anything that hurts me. She has footage that shows what Margaret and Adrian did. That's why she's so desperate for me to back down—because if this comes out, they all go to prison."
Vincent's smile is proud and fierce. "Now you're thinking like a fighter."
Marcus grins. "So what's our move?"
I look at the security footage again—evidence of assault, drugging, conspiracy. Evidence that could destroy my entire family and Adrian.
Part of me wants to use it. Wants to watch them burn.
But another part of me hesitates. "If we release this footage, it shows me at my most vulnerable. Unconscious and helpless. Everyone will see me like that."
"Then we don't release it publicly," Vincent says. "We use it as leverage. We send it to Adrian, Margaret, and Vivian with a simple message: back off or we go to the police. They know what they did was criminal. They'll retreat."
"And if they don't?" I ask.
"Then we bury them," Vincent says simply. "But I don't think it'll come to that. Criminals are usually cowards when they're cornered."
I think about Adrian's voice on the phone earlier, desperate and pleading. About Margaret's theft of my inheritance. About Vivian's blackmail attempt.
They're all bullies. And bullies crumble when you stand up to them.
"Do it," I tell Vincent. "Send them the footage. Tell them we have everything, and if they don't back off, we're going to the police and the press."
Marcus's fingers fly over the keyboard. "Sending now."
We wait in tense silence. My phone stays quiet for five minutes. Ten. Fifteen.
Then, all at once, it explodes with calls. Adrian. Margaret. My father. Even Vivian.
I silence them all.
A text comes through from Vivian: You're bluffing. You won't go to the police. It'll embarrass you too.
I text back: Try me. You have one hour to drop the blackmail and stay out of my life. Or I'm filing charges for conspiracy to commit assault, drugging, and false imprisonment. Your choice.
Another silence. Then my phone rings. An unknown number.
"Answer it," Vincent says. "Put it on speaker."
I answer. "Hello?"
"Elena." A man's voice, older and cold. "This is Richard Castellano. Adrian's father."
My blood runs cold. Richard Castellano is one of the most powerful men in New York. Ruthless, connected, and dangerous.
"Mr. Castellano," I say carefully.
"I've seen the footage you're threatening to release," Richard says. "It's quite damaging. To everyone involved."
"Then you understand why I want your family to leave me alone," I reply.
"I do." Richard's voice is calm, businesslike. "Which is why I'm calling to make you an offer. Drop all legal action against Margaret Hart, Vivian Hart, and Adrian. In exchange, I'll ensure they stay out of your life permanently. You'll keep your inheritance, your designs, everything. We'll even pay you an additional ten million dollars for your... discretion."
Vincent shakes his head firmly, but I ignore him.
"And if I refuse?" I ask Richard.
Richard's laugh is cold. "Then I'll make sure that footage never sees the light of day. I have resources you can't imagine, Elena. I can make evidence disappear. Witnesses recant. Even people vanish, if necessary. You're playing a very dangerous game with very powerful people."
The threat is clear. Take the money and stay quiet, or face consequences I can't fight.
Vincent grabs the phone from my hand. "Mr. Castellano, this is Vincent Rothwell."
Silence on the other end. Then: "Vincent Rothwell is seventy years old and dying."
"No," Vincent says coldly. "That's what I let people believe. But I'm very much alive, very much young, and very interested in protecting Elena. And unlike you, I don't make threats. I make promises. Here's mine: if you or your family touch Elena, harass her, or attempt to harm her in any way, I will personally destroy everything you've built. Your company, your reputation, your legacy. I have more money and resources than you can imagine, and I have nothing to lose."
Another long silence.
"Who are you really?" Richard asks quietly.
"Someone who's been where Elena is," Vincent says. "Someone who knows what it's like to be victimized by people who think wealth makes them untouchable. And someone who's going to make sure Elena gets justice. Stay away from her, or find out exactly what I'm capable of."
Vincent hangs up.
My heart pounds. "Did you just threaten Richard Castellano?"
"Yes," Vincent says calmly. "And he believed me. That's what matters."
Marcus looks between us, eyes wide. "Boss, are you sure about this? The Castellanos are—"
"Bullies," Vincent interrupts. "And I eat bullies for breakfast."
My phone buzzes one more time. A text from Adrian:
Fine. You win. Divorce papers will be final within the week. I'll make sure my father and Margaret leave you alone. But Elena—you're making a huge mistake. Vincent Rothwell isn't who you think he is.
I show the text to Vincent. "What does he mean?"
Vincent's expression goes carefully blank. "I have no idea."
But he's lying. I can see it in his eyes.
"Vincent," I say slowly. "Who are you really? And why are you really helping me?"
Before he can answer, Marcus's laptop beeps with an alert. He looks at the screen and his face goes white.
"Oh no. Boss, we have a big problem."
"What?" Vincent and I say together.
Marcus turns the laptop around. On the screen is a news article, just published minutes ago:
"BREAKING: Vincent Rothwell Jr., Presumed Dead Heir, Alive and Hiding Fortune. Family Demands Investigation Into Fraud."
My stomach drops. "What does this mean?"
Vincent stares at the screen, his jaw tight. "It means my secret just went public. And things are about to get very, very complicated."