Cassandra Elowen stepped off the jet like the wind had styled her.
Her hair glittered like honeyed silk beneath the afternoon sun. Lips glossed to perfection. Eyes alert and already seeking the cameras. The paparazzi swarmed, and she gave them exactly what they came for.
A slow, practiced smile. A graceful wave.
"Miss Elowen, is it true you've reunited with Kian Vale?"
She laughed….light, calculated, disarming.
"Let's just say… love always finds its way back."
Then she slid into the waiting black car sent by Kian himself.
Outside Kian Vale's estate in Polanco, the gates opened just long enough for the photographers to get their shot.
Kian stepped out first, in a charcoal suit, sunglasses hiding his expression. Behind him, the sky burned orange, the sunset catching in the corners of glass and stone.
But the cameras found Cassandra.
And Cassandra made sure they stayed on her.
She walked straight to him…no pause, no hesitation…and kissed him.
Open-mouthed.
Deliberate.
Her fingers curled into his collar. Her body leaned in like the scene had been choreographed. To the outside world, it looked electric. Passionate. Real.
To Kian, it was a noise he couldn't quiet.
She leaned close to his ear, her smile still painted on.
"I missed you," she whispered. "Still wearing the scent I bought you."
She didn't let go.
She posed.
Like she'd already won.
——
The doors to Kian's office shut with a soft, final click.
Cassandra moved across the room just like a storm disguised as a socialite. She sat without asking….perched at the edge of his leather chaise like a queen reclaiming her throne.
"She was never supposed to be your wife," she said, tone low and clipped. "I was. Everyone knew it."
Kian said nothing.
Didn't even look at her.
His eyes were locked on a photo.
Not recent.
A candid…Lianna in profile, sunlight catching the soft curve of her cheek. Laughing. Alive in a way he hadn't seen in years.
Cassandra stood, walked behind him.
Her fingers slid along the back of his neck, slow and possessive. She leaned in, arms circling his shoulders, breath grazing his skin.
"I know what you need," she whispered. "And it's not a woman who walked away."
She kissed his temple.
And this time, he didn't stop her.
She turned him in the chair, straddled him. Her blouse slipped open. Their mouths found each other with heat and hunger, her moan muffled against his jaw as his hand twisted into her hair.
Clothes hit the floor in fragments.
Breathless. Wordless. Frenzied.
Like drowning with your eyes open.
But when it was over, and she lay against him…skin flushed, head on his chest….his eyes had already drifted.
Back to the photo.
Back to the woman who had nothing left to prove.
The one who didn't stay to be chosen.
The one who left.
Across the city, the internet stirred.
Sera Ling….fashion insider, gossip magnate, and digital stormbringer….posted a single, damning teaser.
A black screen. White text. No context.
"THE TRUTH ABOUT THE VALE DIVORCE DROPS AT MIDNIGHT."
The comments exploded.
Kian hadn't seen it yet.
But Lianna had.
And this time, she wasn't going to hide.
•
It started with a single post at 12:01 AM.
Sera Ling's exposé wasn't a blog….it was a weapon. Elegant, sharp, and lined with receipts.
"Exclusive: Sources confirm Kian Vale's alleged infidelity during the final year of his marriage to Lianna Serein Vale. But the true betrayal may lie deeper. What if the marriage was never meant to last?"
Screenshots. Calendar overlaps. Suspicious trips to Los Angeles. Photos of Cassandra Elowen too close to Kian long before the separation.
But the worst part?
A buried contract….leaked and half-redacted….showing negotiations between Cassandra and Henry Vale, weeks before Kian ever proposed to Lianna.
It wasn't just a scandal.
It was strategy.
And now the world knew.
By morning, Vale Industries' PR team was in a full-blown tailspin.
Henry Vale slammed his hand on the boardroom table. His voice cut through the air like a whip.
"This is your mess, Kian. Fix it. Now."
Kian stood by the window, jaw tense, arms folded.
"She's playing this beautifully," Cassandra hissed as she entered in her pressed Dior suit. "First the fashion angle, now the victim narrative….what's next, a Netflix deal?"
Kian didn't look at her.
"She said nothing."
Cassandra scoffed. "Exactly. That's the problem."
——-
Lianna posted just one thing.
No hashtags. No press.
A single white background. Black serif text.
"I will not be silenced."
– L.S. Vale
No photos.
No explanations.
The comments exploded. So did the public.
Some still hated her. But many now saw the shape of a woman surviving, not scheming.
——
Later that evening, Lianna's office was quiet.
Modern. Sleek. Walls of glass that caught the dying light of sunset over Mexico City. Her assistant had gone home. Her heels echoed against the polished floor.
Then….the door opened.
Kian.
Dark blazer. Loose collar. A storm in human form.
She froze.
Her heart betrayed her….stuttering in her chest….but her voice stayed steady.
"What do you want?" she asked.
Her breath hitched.
God, he still looked like him…the man who could destroy her with a glance. The man she once memorized in every light.
And yet, something shifted.
She stepped further away from him.
Lianna was no longer the ghost of his wife.
Tonight, she was stunning…dangerously so. A silk blouse dipped at the chest, the color of deep wine. Tailored high-waisted pants hugged her waist just like a second skin. Her heels were pointed. Crimson. Her hair loose and flowing, curling over her shoulders as if it was something wild that had finally been let free.
She looked like a woman who had been shattered once and refused to stay broken.
Kian looked at her like she was unfamiliar.
Like he wanted to touch her but couldn't remember how.
"I read your little quote," he said coldly.
"You didn't need to come all the way here for that," she replied.
"You're playing a game, Lianna," he growled. "You really think you've won with this?"
She smiled. Chin lifted. Steady.
"Yes."
His eyes flared. "You think this changes everything?"
"No," she said softly. "This confirms it."
He stepped forward. Too close. She stepped back.
"Why are you doing this?" he asked, voice low.
She tilted her head.
"Nothing," she said. "You already gave it to me."
That stung. He saw it hit him in the mirror behind her… how his expression barely cracked, but his breath drew tight.
"Don't flatter yourself," he finally said, masking the ache.
"I'm not," she said, "but I will protect my name. And my son."
"Our son…"
"Leave, Kian."
Her voice was firm now. Controlled.
He held her gaze a second too long before stepping toward the door.
"You're not done with me," he said, almost amused.
She didn't reply.
When the door clicked shut behind him, she finally let herself breathe.
Her knees trembled slightly. She sank into the chair behind her desk, staring at nothing, blinking fast.
"God…" she whispered.
Because the truth was still buried in her chest like a blade.
She still loved him.
So damn much.
Her phone buzzed.
A message from Georgia, her assistant:
"Call me. Something else is coming out tonight. It's bigger than the exposé."