Sleep didn't come easy.
Elena lay in bed that night with her eyes wide open, the ceiling above her bathed in silver moonlight. She could hear the soft hum of the estate around her—distant footsteps of night staff, the low whir of air conditioning, the ticking of the clock on her nightstand that sounded far louder than it should have.
She was alive. Ten years younger. And by some twist of fate or time or something beyond reason, she had a second chance.
But second chances didn't come free. They had to be taken.
Her mind kept drifting back to the letter she sent—to the man she'd never had the chance to know, but had never quite forgotten. Damien Voss. Cold. Ruthless. Brilliant. Branded a scandal by polite society after breaking off his engagement with Serena. He'd vanished from their circles like a shadow no one dared follow.
But Elena remembered the quiet rage in his eyes that night years ago, when he'd stood alone in the corner of her father's charity gala, watching Serena lie her way through another conversation. He hadn't said much, but what he did say had stuck with her.
"You're smarter than the rest of them. One day you'll realize how much they need you broken."
At the time, she'd laughed it off. Nervous. Unwilling to believe he might be right.
Now, she knew he had been the only one who ever saw clearly.
****
By morning, she was already dressed. Early, deliberate, calm. Her mother raised a brow over breakfast.
"You're up early."
"I had plans." Elena stirred her tea without looking up.
"Lucas wanted to take you and Serena out for brunch today. I told him—"
"I canceled."
A pause. "You canceled on your fiancé?"
Elena finally looked her mother in the eye, tone flat. "Yes."
There was no room for argument, and for once, Colette Hayes didn't push. Maybe it was the way Elena held herself now—like steel under silk. Maybe she'd finally noticed the shift.
Or maybe she was simply waiting for a better moment to regain control.
***
The day passed slowly. Painfully. Each hour dragged like wet cloth.
She didn't dare reach out again. If Damien had received the letter and chose to ignore it, she wouldn't beg. That wasn't who she was anymore.
But her thoughts spiraled.
What if it didn't reach him?
What if he thought it was a trap?
What if she'd misjudged everything?
By evening, she was pacing.
The greenhouse sat on the far side of the estate—abandoned since her great grandfather's death. Overgrown, dusty, but still locked behind a rusted iron gate. A place no one paid attention to anymore. Which made it perfect.
At 8:40 p.m., she slipped out through the back of the estate. No one noticed. No one stopped her.
She took the old garden path, heels replaced by soft boots, her coat pulled tight against the crisp night air. The moon was high. The world felt hushed.
Her heart thundered with every step closer.
8:56.
She reached the greenhouse gate. Her fingers trembled slightly as she unlocked it and slipped inside.
The air was cold and thick with the scent of old soil and ivy. Moonlight filtered through the fogged glass panes, casting strange, dreamy patterns on the ground. Broken pots and forgotten vines littered the floor. She stood still in the center, back straight, jaw tight, waiting.
9:00.
Silence.
She told herself she wouldn't be disappointed if he didn't come.
She lied.
9:03.
A soft crunch. Footsteps on gravel outside.
She turned. Tensed.
The door creaked open.
And there he was.
Damien Voss.
Older than she remembered, but sharper. Taller. All angles and shadows in a black coat, dark hair tousled, eyes like ice and gunpowder. He looked at her like he was already solving a puzzle.
"Elena Hayes," he said, voice low, unimpressed. "You've grown some teeth."
She met his gaze without flinching. "I've learned to use them."
Another beat of silence.
He stepped inside and shut the door behind him. "You've got five minutes. Talk."
She studied him.
Damien hadn't changed as much as she expected—if anything, he seemed more solid now than he had in her memory. Back then, she remembered a man half-removed from the world, watching it with detached contempt. Now, there was something sharper about him. More dangerous. Or maybe she was just finally awake enough to see him clearly.
Same hard jawline, same cold, assessing eyes—but this time, he didn't look past her.
This time, he saw her.
"You've got five minutes," he repeated.
Elena raised a brow. "You came. That says more than enough."
"I'm curious, not committed."
"That's fair," she said, walking slowly past a broken planter. Her heels clicked softly on the stone floor. "But I'm not here to beg. I'm here to offer something."
Damien watched her. Not moving. Not blinking.
"Elena Hayes, daughter of Richard and Colette, fiancée to Lucas Bennett. Poster girl of a family that eats its own," he said dryly. "What could you possibly offer me?"
She stopped a few feet in front of him. The air between them seemed to tense.
"Information," she said. "Leverage. A shared enemy. And the truth."
He tilted his head slightly. "You think I need your help to take down the Bennetts?"
"I think you've wanted to for a long time." Her voice was cool. Controlled. "And I know things you don't. I've seen things you haven't. Things they're going to do."
He didn't react. But she felt it—the smallest shift in the air. Interest.
"You're talking like a prophet," he said.
"Maybe I am," she said softly. "Or maybe I can predict the future, just ten years ahead of everyone else."
A long pause stretched between them. She could feel the pull of it—the unspoken dare. Challenge me. Call me a liar.
But he didn't.
Instead, Damien stepped forward, closing the gap between them by a pace. Not threatening—but not soft, either.
"You really expect me to believe you came out here, alone, after dark, because you want to help me?" he asked. "You—who stood by while your family tore mine apart?"
"I didn't stand by," she said, her voice steady. "I was lied to. Manipulated. Controlled. Just like you were. Just like Serena manipulated you. I know how she operates now. I know how they all do."
Damien's jaw tensed at the mention of Serena.
"She cost me more than you can imagine," he said flatly.
Elena's eyes didn't flinch. "She cost me everything."
Another beat of silence.
Damien studied her like he was trying to see through her skin and into her soul. Like he was waiting for her to flinch. She didn't.
Finally, he said, "You're not the girl I remember."
"No," she said. "She died."
His mouth twitched. Just a flicker—somewhere between a smirk and a warning.
"What's your plan?"
"We get married" she said. "We fake a marriage, Get close to the people who ruined us. We play them. We learn what they're hiding. And when the time is right, we destroy them from the inside."
Damien arched a brow. "Just like that?"
"You want something slow and dramatic, write a screenplay," Elena said. "I want justice. I want freedom. And I want out."
He exhaled through his nose—half laugh, half sigh.
"You're insane," he muttered. "You sound like them."
"No," she said. "I sound like someone who survived them."
For a moment, the only sound was the wind outside and the quiet creak of the glass panes shifting in the night.
Then Damien said, "Alright."
Elena blinked. "Alright?"
"I'll play your game," he said. "But we do this my way. No surprises. No secrets. You lie to me once, I walk."
She nodded. "Deal."
He held her gaze for another beat. Then turned toward the door.
"I'll draw up the terms," he said over his shoulder. "You'll have them in twenty-four hours. But first, we'll have to make them believe we slept together. Which gives us enough leverage. Bye Elena."
And just like that, he was gone.
Elena stood in the silence, pulse racing.
What was that?
Sleep together?
A great plan by the way.
This was it. The first move had been made.
This time, the game would be hers.