But he wanted to hear me say it.

“You’re the man who once loved me without asking what my last name could do for him.”

His expression didn’t change.

“You’re also the man I hurt.”

For the first time that evening, he looked away.

Behind me, Julian’s chair scraped against the floor.

“What the hell is going on?”

I didn’t turn around.

Christian rose slowly.

He was taller than I remembered, or perhaps I had simply forgotten how small I felt standing beside him.

“Go back to your friends, Julian.”

Julian laughed.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

Julian approached, his bourbon glᴀss still in his hand.

“That’s my fiancée.”

Christian glanced at me.

“Is she?”

Julian’s face тιԍнтened.

“We’re getting married in twelve hours.”

“Not according to the little freedom speech you just delivered.”

A few people looked down at their drinks.

Julian’s eyes narrowed.

“This is between Elena and me.”

“Then you should have treated it that way.”

Camila suddenly appeared behind him.

“Julian, darling, don’t make a scene.”

She slipped her hand around his waist.

He barely acknowledged her.

His attention was fixed on Christian.

“Are you seriously taking her side?”

Christian didn’t answer.

I finally turned.

“Julian, you told me I was free to find another man tonight. Remember?”

His jaw clenched.

“I was joking.”

“You didn’t look like you were joking when you had Camila sitting on your lap.”

“She was upset!”

“And I wasn’t?”

He looked irritated rather than ashamed.

“Don’t turn this into something it isn’t.”

I almost smiled.

That was the problem with Julian.

He could humiliate someone in front of twenty people, then become offended when they acknowledged it.

I reached for the engagement ring on my finger.

It was a twelve-carat diamond surrounded by smaller stones.

A beautiful piece of jewelry.

A very expensive symbol of a promise that had just become worthless.

I placed it on the table.

“I’m not marrying you.”

The room fell silent.

Julian stared at the ring.

Then he laughed.

“Elena, stop.”

“I mean it.”

“You’re emotional.”

“No. I’m finally paying attention.”

He stepped closer.

“You have no idea what you’re throwing away.”

I looked at him.

“I know exactly what I’m walking away from.”

Camila made a small, sympathetic sound.

“Julian, maybe she needs some time.”

He turned toward her.

“Stay out of this.”

Her expression changed.

For a moment, the woman who had spent the evening acting like the victim looked genuinely surprised.

Christian picked up his coat.

“I’m taking Elena home.”

Julian stepped in front of him.

“You’re not taking my fiancée anywhere.”

Christian’s voice remained quiet.

“Move.”

There was something about the way he said it that made Julian hesitate.

Then Julian laughed again.

“Still playing the mysterious billionaire? You think money makes you untouchable?”

Christian looked at him.

“No. I think consequences make people careful.”

He placed his coat over my shoulders.

And we left.

But as the elevator doors closed, I heard Julian shout one final sentence.

“Christian! You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into!”

Christian didn’t look back.

Neither did I.

The car was waiting downstairs.

A black Mercedes with tinted windows and a driver who immediately opened the rear door.

I climbed inside.

Christian followed.

For several minutes, neither of us spoke.

Manhattan moved past the windows in streaks of gold and white.

Finally, he asked, “Where do you want to go?”

“My apartment.”

“Your apartment?”

I nodded.

“I’m not going back to the Rossi residence.”

He looked at me.

“Good.”

I turned toward him.

“Good?”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

I studied his face.

“You haven’t changed much.”

“Neither have you.”

“That isn’t necessarily a compliment.”

“I know.”

A faint smile touched his mouth.

It disappeared almost immediately.

“Elena, why did you come to me tonight?”

I looked down at my hands.

“I told you.”

“You wanted revenge.”

“Yes.”

“That’s not the whole truth.”

I swallowed.

“No.”

He waited.

I had forgotten how patient he could be.

“Because when Julian told me to find another man, I realized I had spent two years trying to convince myself that being chosen by him meant I was loved.”

Christian looked out the window.

“And what did you realize?”

“That I had once been loved by someone who never made me beg for it.”

He closed his eyes briefly.

“Don’t.”

“Christian—”

“Don’t turn seven years of silence into a romantic moment because your wedding fell apart.”

His words hurt because they were true.

I nodded.

“You’re right.”

He looked at me again.

“I don’t hate you, Elena.”

I almost wished he did.

“That might have been easier.”

“But I don’t trust you.”

I looked down.

“I understand.”

“And I won’t be your revenge.”

“I don’t want you to be.”

The car slowed at a red light.

Christian leaned forward and spoke to the driver.

“Take her home. Have someone wait outside until she’s inside.”

Then he turned back to me.

“I have something to handle.”

I felt a strange disappointment.

“You’re leaving?”

“I have a business to protect.”

He opened the door when the car stopped outside my building.

Before I stepped out, he said something that made me pause.

“Don’t marry anyone tomorrow.”

I gave him a sad smile.

“I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

I got out.

He closed the door.

The Mercedes disappeared into the night.

I stood on the sidewalk, holding my coat around me, wondering whether I had just lost the second chance I had never deserved.

Then my phone rang.

It was Chloe.

“Elena! Where are you?”

“Home.”

“Good. Because Julian is losing his mind.”

I closed my eyes.

“What happened?”

“He just announced that the wedding is still happening.”

I frowned.

“What?”

“He’s telling everyone you had a breakdown and that you’ll be fine in the morning.”

I laughed bitterly.

“Of course he is.”

“But that’s not the worst part.”

“What now?”

Chloe lowered her voice.

“I overheard him talking to Camila. He said if you don’t show up tomorrow, he’ll make sure your research project never receives another dollar of funding.”

My stomach тιԍнтened.

My research.

For eleven years, I had worked on a biomaterial designed to help repair damaged human tissue. The project had finally reached a critical stage, and I had spent the last two years trying to secure the funding needed for clinical development.

Julian’s family foundation had offered to finance the next phase.

It was one of the reasons he had become so interested in my work.

I had never wanted his money.

But I had accepted the grant because the research could help thousands of patients.

“Did he say how he planned to stop it?” I asked.

Chloe hesitated.

“He said the intellectual property was already tied up in the wedding agreement.”

I went cold.

“What wedding agreement?”

“I don’t know. But Elena, I heard him say something about your patent rights.”

I sat down on the edge of my bed.

My research was not supposed to be part of any marriage agreement.

“Chloe, send me everything you know.”

“I will. And Elena?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t go near him tomorrow.”

I promised I wouldn’t.

But after the call ended, I couldn’t stop thinking about the patent.

I opened my laptop and searched through the documents Julian’s attorney had sent me three weeks earlier.

Most were ordinary wedding arrangements, financial disclosures, and insurance paperwork.

Then I found a file I hadn’t opened.

PRE-MARITAL INTELLECTUAL PROPERTY AND COMMERCIAL RIGHTS AGREEMENT.

I clicked it.

The first page contained my full legal name.

The second page listed my research company.

The third page contained a clause transferring exclusive commercial licensing rights to Rossi Biomedical Holdings upon marriage.

I read it twice.

I had never signed that document.

At least, I didn’t remember signing it.

But at the bottom of the final page was an electronic signature.

Mine.

My hands began to tremble.

Then I noticed the date.

The signature had been applied eleven days earlier, while I was attending a research conference in Boston.

I checked the digital certificate.

The authorization had come from a device registered to Julian’s office.

My phone rang again.

This time, it was an unknown number.

I answered cautiously.

“Hello?”

A man’s voice replied.

“Dr. Elena, my name is David Mercer. I’m the legal director of Moretti Meridian Group.”

I sat upright.

“Why are you calling me?”

“Mr. Moretti asked me to contact you. He believes you may have a serious problem involving your intellectual property.”

I looked at the document on my screen.

“What does Christian know?”

There was a brief pause.

“More than you might expect.”

“Tell him I don’t need another man fighting my battles.”

“That’s not what he’s offering.”

“What is he offering?”

“Protection of your research. He has been investigating Rossi Biomedical Holdings for several months.”

My heart began beating faster.

“Why?”

“Because your research was included in a confidential acquisition proposal submitted to one of our subsidiaries. The proposal claimed Rossi Biomedical had already secured the exclusive rights.”

I stared at the signature.

“That’s impossible. I never authorized that.”

“We know.”

I swallowed.

“Who else knows?”

“Unfortunately, Mr. Rossi appears to believe the marriage tomorrow will make the transfer legally enforceable.”

My blood ran cold.

“Tomorrow’s wedding was never just about the wedding.”

“That’s our concern.”

The call ended.

I remained frozen in front of my laptop.

Then another notification appeared.

An email from Julian.

The subject line read:

A LITTLE MISUNDERSTANDING — PLEASE DON’T MAKE THIS UGLY.

I opened it.

Elena,

I know you’re upset. But we have too much invested to throw everything away over one ridiculous evening.

Come to the cathedral tomorrow. Smile for the cameras. Say your vows.

Afterward, we’ll discuss the business arrangements.

Don’t forget that your research needs the Rossi family.

And don’t make the mistake of thinking Christian Moretti can save you.

I read the last sentence again.

Then another email arrived.

This one had no subject.

No greeting.

Just one attachment.

A pH๏τograph.

It showed Christian standing outside a hospital seven years earlier.

Beside him was a woman in a white laboratory coat.

Me.

I hadn’t seen that pH๏τograph in years.

But it was the handwritten note beneath it that made my breath catch.

If Elena ever comes back, tell her the truth about why Christian disappeared.

I stared at the screen.

Seven years ago, I had believed Christian abandoned me because he was ashamed of my family, my modest background, and my refusal to accept his money.

I had never known why he left.

I had never known why he stopped answering my calls.

And now, on the night my wedding collapsed, someone was telling me that the man I had once loved had a secret.

My phone rang again.

Christian.

I answered immediately.

“Did you send me that pH๏τograph?”

“No.”

“Do you know why you disappeared seven years ago?”

Silence.

Then his voice came through, quieter than before.

“Elena, where did you get that picture?”

“Someone sent it to me.”

“Listen carefully. Don’t open any more attachments from that sender.”

“Christian, tell me what happened.”

He exhaled.

“I was trying to protect you.”

“From what?”

A long pause.

Then he said:

“From Julian Rossi.”

My heart stopped.

“Julian?”

“He didn’t just become your fiancé by accident, Elena. Seven years ago, he knew about us. He knew what you meant to me.”

I gripped the phone.

“What are you saying?”

Christian’s voice turned cold.

“Your fiancé has been trying to destroy my family for years. And the reason he wanted to marry you is the same reason he wanted you to believe I abandoned you.”

I looked at the pH๏τograph again.

“Why?”

Christian answered with five words.

“Because your father wasn’t who you think he was.”