Elina woke up to silence. Not the peaceful kind, but the kind that rings like a scream after the chaos has ended.
The city was still dark outside her penthouse window, not yet stirring. Early morning light barely touched the skyline, painting it a somber blue-gray. Her limbs were heavy. Her throat dry from crying—or screaming. Maybe both. She didn't remember falling asleep on the couch, wrapped in her robe, the taste of old bourbon still clinging to her tongue.
But her mind was sharp now.
Sharper than it had been in months.
She sat up slowly, the events of the previous day slamming back into her like cold water: the boardroom betrayal, the press release, the silence from people who once called her their "future." And most of all—
Aidan Blackstone.
Her phone buzzed on the table beside her. She stared at it, blinking the sleep away, then reached for it.
1 New Message – Unknown Number
> "Dinner tonight. Just us. 8PM. You deserve an explanation. — Aidan."
She read it once.
Twice.
Three times.
Then, a dry laugh escaped her lips. "An explanation?" The arrogance. The confidence. The assumption that she'd even consider meeting with him after he publicly ended her career.
But he had her attention.
Not because she believed he had answers.
But because she wanted to look him in the eye when she found his weakness.
She opened her messages.
> "Make a reservation. I'll be there."
---
She called her assistant, Harper, before the sun was fully up.
The girl answered sleepily, her voice thick with grogginess. "Elina? Is everything okay?"
"I need you to find out where Aidan Blackstone eats when he's trying to impress someone."
Harper yawned. "Uh... That's... a weird request for 6AM."
"I'm not asking to gossip. I'm asking so I can show up and own the damn table."
A pause. Then: "He's a regular at Selene. Private rooftop, impossible to book unless your net worth has a comma."
"Good," Elina said. "Book me the best stylist you know. I want to look like a hurricane and a heartbreak in heels."
---
By noon, her closet had turned into a war room.
Fabrics draped over chairs, shoes lined up like soldiers. The stylist—Carmen—stood with her arms crossed, eyes narrowed in approval.
"This one," Carmen said, holding up a slinky black dress with a plunging neckline and thigh-high slit. "It says: 'I lost everything, but I'm still the queen.'"
Elina smirked. "Perfect."
The dress slid over her like confidence. Black silk, dangerous heels, diamond studs her father once gave her "for the day you take over the world."
She added a final touch—red lipstick.
Not just red. War paint red.
---
By the time the sun dipped below the skyline, her nerves finally caught up to her.
She wasn't meeting an ex. She wasn't meeting a rival. She was meeting the man who'd flipped her world upside down with a single vote.
Why did he want dinner?
What did he have to say?
And why did part of her care?
---
Selene was all glass and moonlight, a restaurant that overlooked the city like it owned it. Aidan had reserved the rooftop, of course. No prying eyes. No press. Just them and the sound of quiet jazz floating through the air.
She was escorted up.
Her heels echoed as she stepped onto the rooftop and saw him—already seated, back to the city lights, looking every inch the man who had stolen her company and made it look like art.
Aidan Blackstone.
Black suit. Open collar. Watch that cost more than her first car.
And that maddeningly calm smile.
"Elina," he said, rising.
"Blackstone." She didn't offer her hand. Just a look sharp enough to slice.
"You came," he said, gesturing to the seat across from him.
"I almost didn't," she replied, sitting without waiting for him to help. "But I thought—why not meet the man who gutted me in broad daylight?"
He chuckled softly. "You always did have a flair for drama."
"And you always did have a thing for stealing."
Their eyes locked—blue on blue. Ice and fire. And for a brief second, something passed between them.
Recognition?
Regret?
Lust?
She shut it down.
He poured her wine without asking. "I didn't come here to fight."
"That's funny," she said, raising the glass. "Because the battlefield was yours."
He leaned back. "I came to give you a choice."
She laughed coldly. "A choice? You mean between exile and obscurity?"
"No," he said. "Between staying angry—or winning."
Her brow lifted. "Go on."
He leaned forward, elbows on the table, voice low. "I know you. I've studied your strategies. I've watched you turn underdogs into threats. You were made to lead. But you were also too loyal. Too predictable. That's why they didn't fear you."
"I didn't want them to fear me."
"And that's why you lost."
She gritted her teeth. "So now what? You offer me a consulting role in the company that used to be mine?"
"No," he said. "I offer you partnership. In something new. Something bigger."
Her heart skipped—but her eyes narrowed. "Why me?"
"Because I don't trust anyone else to go toe to toe with me and survive. And because..." He paused. "You're the only one who doesn't flinch when I push."
For a second, the world stood still.
Elina stared at him. At the man who burned her empire down and now wanted to build something with her from the ashes.
"No," she said at last. "Not tonight. I'm not ready to forget the knife in my back."
Aidan nodded once. No anger. No plea.
Just understanding.
"I'll wait," he said. "But I won't wait forever."
She stood, glass in hand, head high.
"You'll wait as long as I make you."