The silence in the penthouse was deafening after Adrian's revelation. Elena stood by the marble kitchen counter, arms wrapped tightly around herself, the weight of Adrian's words pressing heavily on her chest.
His stepbrother.
Not just an enemy, but family. A ghost from Adrian's past that had chosen to rise now—when things were finally falling into place between them.
Adrian stepped into the kitchen moments later, loosening his tie, eyes heavy with exhaustion. "I shouldn't have kept it from you."
She turned to face him. "Why didn't you tell me before? About him?"
He walked toward her, brushing a hand through his tousled hair. "Because I didn't want him to taint this. To taint you."
Elena stared at him for a long second. "Then tell me now. Everything."
He nodded.
"His name is Damian Blackwood," Adrian said, his voice low. "He's technically my half-brother, but he was never part of the family publicly. My father had an affair with one of the secretaries when he was married to my mother. Damian was born in secret. When my father found out, he offered to support the woman financially—privately. But she refused. She wanted power. Control. He cut them off."
Elena listened quietly as Adrian poured a drink, the tension in his shoulders clear.
"She raised Damian feeding him hate. Told him everything was my fault—that I stole his inheritance, his legacy, his place. He showed up once when we were teenagers, made a scene at one of our family events. My father had him removed and told me to forget it ever happened."
"But he didn't forget," Elena whispered.
Adrian shook his head. "No. He disappeared for years. I assumed he'd moved on, built a life. But now… it's clear he's back. And he's been watching."
Elena reached for his hand. "Do you think he's behind the photos? The messages?"
"I'm almost certain. He's smart. Calculated. He's not the kind to attack head-on. He destroys from the inside."
Elena's chest tightened. "Then we need to find him. Before he gets bolder."
Adrian nodded, a dark glint in his eyes. "And we will. I already have his name flagged in every security system. If he so much as buys a coffee in this city, we'll know."
"But what if he's already inside?" Elena asked. "What if someone is helping him?"
Adrian's jaw clenched. "Then I'll root them out too."
The following morning, Elena was summoned to the marketing division. She had barely stepped off the elevator when whispers followed her. People glanced at her with veiled curiosity—or perhaps pity.
She walked past them, spine straight, chin up.
Inside the conference room, her assistant Mia stood nervously beside a projection screen. "We found something, Elena."
Elena sat. "What is it?"
Mia clicked the remote, and a presentation flicked onto the screen—screenshots from anonymous gossip forums. Each post more venomous than the last.
"The CEO's new wife is just a social-climbing gold digger.""She seduced him when he was vulnerable.""No qualifications, no business sense. Why is she even on the board?"
And the worst one, circled in red:
"I know for a fact she only married him because she's pregnant. It's a trap."
Elena stared at the words, stunned. Her hands trembled in her lap.
"This is a targeted smear campaign," Mia said. "Someone is trying to ruin your image from the inside."
Elena looked up. "Where did these rumors start?"
"We traced the original posts to a dummy account connected to an employee email. One of the interns from accounting."
Elena stood abruptly. "Call Adrian."
Ten minutes later, Adrian arrived, fury written all over his face. After being briefed, he didn't hesitate.
"Fire the intern. Blacklist them. And open an investigation into who else has been feeding Damian information."
He turned to Elena, his voice gentler. "I'm so sorry."
But Elena didn't want apologies. She wanted action.
"This isn't just about me anymore," she said. "It's about the company's future. Your name. Our future."
Adrian's eyes softened. "You're right. We end this. Now."
Later that night, the security chief—Marcus—came to the penthouse with news.
"We tracked down Damian's last known alias. He's been staying at a luxury apartment under the name Daniel Grayson—and he's using offshore accounts to fund private investigators and surveillance teams."
Adrian's expression darkened. "Where is he now?"
"Unclear. He vanished two days ago. But we found something else." Marcus handed over a tablet. Onscreen was a video.
Elena leaned in.
It was grainy, but clear enough. A man stood outside the gates of the Blackwood mansion, hood pulled low. He raised his head—just for a second—and smiled at the camera before walking away.
Elena's blood ran cold.
It was the same man from her nightmares.
"That's him," Adrian said tightly. "That's Damian."
"I've seen him before," Elena whispered. "At the gala. He was watching me."
Adrian's hands curled into fists. "He's too close."
Elena turned to him. "Adrian… I want to confront him."
He looked at her, stunned. "Absolutely not."
"We need to know what he wants. He's coming after me. Let me talk to him. I can be the bait."
"No," Adrian said firmly. "It's too dangerous. You're not—"
"I'm not weak," she snapped. "You know I'm not. And this is our fight."
He stared at her for a long moment. Then, reluctantly, he nodded.
"We do it on my terms. Full surveillance. Security team in place. You don't go anywhere near him unless I say so."
Elena nodded.
"Then let's end this."
The trap was set.
Elena agreed to attend a high-profile charity event in the city—the perfect opportunity for Damian to make a move.
Adrian's team planted discreet security. Cameras. Plainclothes officers. Elena was fitted with a wire.
As she arrived at the grand ballroom, dressed in a midnight blue gown that shimmered under the chandeliers, she felt exposed—but powerful. She wasn't the naive girl who once flinched at whispers.
She was a woman reclaiming her story.
And Damian would see that.
Two hours passed with no sign of him.
Then, just as the string quartet began playing a waltz, a tall man in a tailored suit approached the dance floor.
"Elena Blackwood," he said, offering a hand.
She turned, startled.
He had the same eyes as Adrian.
But colder. Empty.
"Damian," she breathed.
"May I have this dance?" he asked, his smile chilling.
She hesitated. Then took his hand.
They stepped onto the floor, the music swelling around them. Cameras rolled. Adrian, watching from the van outside, was ready to storm in at a signal.
But for now—Elena danced with the enemy.
"You've grown bolder," Damian said, his tone amused.
"I've grown smarter."
He chuckled. "Adrian's little puppet learned to talk back."
"I'm not a puppet," she said. "And you're not a ghost. You're just a man. A scared, angry man trying to burn down something he was never a part of."
His grip tightened on her waist. "Careful, Elena."
She didn't flinch. "You don't scare me anymore."
He leaned in, whispering against her ear, "Then why is your heart racing?"
She locked eyes with him. "Because I'm thinking about what Adrian will do to you once this dance ends."
His eyes flickered.
Too late.
The security team moved in.
Damian's smirk faded as he was pulled away, handcuffed by plainclothes officers. Adrian burst through the crowd, racing to Elena's side.
She threw herself into his arms.
"It's over," he whispered.
But Elena wasn't sure.
Because as Damian was dragged away, he looked back—and smiled.
As if he knew something they didn't.