The garden was nothing like Elena remembered.
Roses lined the wrought iron fence, each one unnaturally perfect, trimmed to soulless symmetry. The fountain at the center still whispered the same trickle of water, but the air around it was colder, tighter, like it, too, was holding its breath.
Elena sat on the marble bench, the morning sun weak against her skin. She needed quiet. A place to think. Being under the same roof as Damien Voss had already begun to blur the lines she spent years drawing.
She didn't hear the footsteps until they stopped right beside her.
"Elena."
Madam Voss.
Elena straightened slowly, spine stiff with caution. "Madam."
The matriarch took the seat beside her, regal in her pearl-lined robe, her grey-streaked hair pulled into a severe twist that made her look like something out of a gothic novel.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Madam Voss said, "You shouldn't have come back."
The words hung like frost.
"I didn't come back for you," Elena replied evenly.
"Of course not. You came for him. And he... still believes you're worth ruining this family over."
Elena clenched her jaw. "That's between Damien and me."
Madam Voss turned, eyes like cold steel. "You misunderstand. This isn't just about the two of you anymore. There are stakes here you clearly don't grasp. Legacies. Control. Reputation."
"And contracts," Elena added, folding her arms. "Don't forget the part where he dragged me into this."
"He's always been reckless with his heart." The matriarch's tone shifted—almost bitter. "I thought he'd grown past that weakness. I was wrong."
Elena didn't speak.
Madam Voss's voice sharpened. "You are a problem. A very... pretty one. But still a problem."
"Then maybe you should talk to your son."
"I did. He's determined. That makes you dangerous."
Elena exhaled slowly. "I didn't come here to destroy anyone."
"Didn't you?" Madam Voss tilted her head. "You think because you walked away the first time that you left clean. But you left with something far more powerful than revenge."
"What's that?" Elena asked, brows raised.
"His obsession."
---
That night, Elena dreamt of glass.
Shattered windows. Fractured mirrors. Damien's voice whispering her name through each crack like a ghost crawling through the past.
She woke breathless, tangled in silk sheets, and the darkness pressed down like guilt.
She needed space. Answers. Clarity.
But the only place that offered anything close to truth… was Damien's study.
Again.
She crept down the hallway, silent, barefoot. The house was asleep, or at least pretending to be.
The door creaked as she pushed it open.
And there he was.
Damien stood by the fireplace, shirtless, scars from old battles slashing across his back and shoulder. The firelight flickered across his skin like temptation and torment.
"You have a habit of breaking into my sanctuary," he murmured without turning.
"You left the door open."
He turned slowly, eyes heavy with exhaustion and something else—fear, maybe.
Or longing.
"What did she say to you?" he asked.
Elena froze.
"You mean your mother?"
He nodded once.
"That I'm a threat."
His jaw clenched.
"She doesn't understand. You're the only person who ever saw me. Really saw me."
"I saw you, Damien. And you destroyed me anyway."
"I was trying to protect you," he said, voice low. "You don't know what they were threatening."
"I didn't need your protection," she shot back. "I needed you to fight for me, not disappear into the night like I was disposable."
"I never thought you were disposable. I thought... I was the danger."
Elena stepped closer, heart racing. "Maybe you were. Maybe you still are."
Silence stretched between them.
Then she asked, "Why now? Why bring me back into this mess?"
His voice dropped. "Because I still wake up needing you. Because I never stopped."
Her heart thudded in betrayal of everything she'd promised herself.
He reached out—slowly, gently—as if touching her might break him.
"I won't hurt you again," he whispered.
She looked up at him, eyes defiant. "Don't make promises you can't keep."
---
The next morning, breakfast was a performance.
Lucien strolled in late, sunglasses indoors, smirk already in place. Madam Voss sipped her black tea like it had secrets in every drop. Damien barely glanced at the scrambled eggs he didn't touch.
Elena sat tall in her black silk blouse, every inch the queen they weren't expecting her to be.
"Sleep well, Mrs. Voss?" Lucien asked with mock innocence.
"Like a corpse," she replied, sipping orange juice. "Cold and peaceful."
Damien's mouth twitched.
Lucien grinned wider. "I must say, I underestimated you. You've got more venom than you did years ago. Marriage has changed you."
"No," she said, smiling sweetly. "Betrayal did."
"Ah, of course. Damien's bad habit."
Damien dropped his knife.
It clattered sharply against the porcelain plate.
Madam Voss said nothing, but her fingers tightened slightly on her teacup.
"You're not going to bait me," Elena said calmly. "I've already survived the worst version of your brother. Whatever you're trying to stir up, I've tasted worse."
Lucien's grin turned thin. "We'll see."
---
Later that afternoon, Elena wandered the east wing, a place she'd avoided as a teen. It was where the old Voss library stood, filled with relics and locked drawers, and once—years ago—where she'd found Damien hiding from his world.
The room was untouched. Dusty. Timeless.
She trailed a finger across the spines of antique books until something caught her eye.
A file.
Out of place.
She pulled it from the shelf and opened it.
Newspaper clippings. Photos. Financial documents.
And in the middle—her name.
She flipped rapidly.
Photos of her walking out of her old firm. A shot of her at the clinic after the breakdown. A sealed envelope marked with the Voss family crest.
Her throat tightened.
"What the hell is this?"
"Evidence," said a voice from behind her.
Lucien.
She turned sharply, the file trembling in her hands.
"What are you doing?"
"Helping you see the truth."
"What truth?"
"That Damien's version of love... is just control in prettier packaging."
She closed the file, heart pounding. "If you think you can divide us—"
"You should be divided," Lucien said, stepping closer. "You don't belong in this world. And he's too blinded to see that dragging you into it will kill you."
"Why do you care?"
He smiled darkly. "Because if you fall, he falls. And I've waited a long time to be the only Voss left standing."