Chapter 1

For seven years, I had believed that Adrian Cross and I had survived the hardest years of our lives together.

Before the Cross name became synonymous with wealth and power, there had been a time when Adrian's company was drowning in debt. Investors were pulling out, creditors were knocking on his door, and even his own family had begun preparing for his failure. I was there through all of it.

I sold investments I had planned to keep for years and quietly used my connections to secure opportunities for his company. I worked beside him through countless sleepless nights, reviewing contracts and financial reports until sunrise. When Adrian had nothing left to offer me except a promise, I had accepted it without hesitation.

"I'll never forget what you did for me, Elena."

He had said those words so many times that I eventually stopped counting.

Perhaps that was why I had never questioned our marriage.

Even when Adrian became too busy to come home for dinner, I told myself that success came with a price. When business trips became longer and conversations became shorter, I convinced myself that this was simply what happened after seven years of marriage.

And when he became strangely uncomfortable whenever I mentioned our anniversary, I never pushed him.

This year, however, I wanted to do something different.

Our seventh wedding anniversary was only three days away, and I decided to surprise him.

I spent almost a week preparing everything.

The dining room was transformed into the small, intimate restaurant we had once dreamed of opening together. I ordered the wine we had shared on our first date, found the old photographs buried inside a storage box, and arranged them along the wall in chronological order.

There was one photograph from our first apartment, when the curtains were still missing and Adrian had insisted that eating takeout on the floor was more romantic than sitting at a proper table.

Another showed us outside his first office, both of us exhausted and smiling despite the fact that the company had barely enough money to pay its employees.

I even found the old watch he had worn when we got married.

It wasn't expensive.

The leather strap was cracked, and the metal had lost its shine.

But Adrian had once told me that it was the most valuable thing he owned because it had been the first gift his grandfather ever given him.

I placed it beside his plate.

Finally, I sat at my desk and wrote him a letter.

I didn't write about money or success. I wrote about us.

About the young man who had once stood in front of me with nothing but ambition in his eyes.

About the woman I had been when I promised to stay beside him.

About the seven years that had somehow passed faster than either of us expected.

At the end, I wrote only one sentence.

Seven years down. A lifetime to go.

I smiled when I finished.

For the first time in months, I felt excited about something that involved my husband.

Then my phone rang.

It was Adrian.

"Elena."

His voice was distracted.

I straightened in my chair. "Are you on your way home?"

There was a pause.

"I won't be coming home tonight."

The smile on my face faded.

"Why?"

"I have something important to deal with."

"Another business emergency?"

"It's not exactly business."

His hesitation made me sit up straighter.

"What is it?"

Another pause.

Then he said a name I hadn't heard spoken aloud in years.

"Vivian Hart is back."

My fingers tightened around the phone.

For several seconds, I didn't say anything.

Vivian.

Even after seven years, that name still carried a strange weight.

I had asked Adrian about her once, shortly after our wedding. He had gone completely silent before telling me that Vivian was someone from his past and that the past was better left buried.

I had respected that answer.

At least, I thought I had.

"She contacted me this morning," Adrian continued. "There are some things I need to take care of."

"Tonight?"

"Yes."

I looked at the table I had spent hours preparing.

The candles.

The photographs.

The wine.

The old watch.

The letter.

Everything suddenly looked foolish.

"You could have told me earlier," I said quietly.

"I know. I'm sorry."

His apology sounded sincere enough.

That was the problem.

I still trusted him.

"Will you be home tomorrow?"

"I'll try."

I closed my eyes.

"All right."

"Elena?"

"Yes?"

"I promise I'll make it up to you."

I forced myself to smile even though he couldn't see it.

"I know."

The call ended.

I remained at my desk for several minutes, staring at the phone.

Vivian Hart was back.

I didn't know why the news bothered me so much. Adrian had never given me a reason to believe there was anything between them now.

Seven years was a long time.

People changed.

The past stayed in the past.

At least, that was what I wanted to believe.

I eventually stood and walked downstairs.

The dining room looked beautiful.

Too beautiful for an empty table.

I blew out the candles one by one.

The wine went back into the cabinet. The photographs were taken down from the wall, and the old watch was returned to its box.

I left the letter where it was.

I couldn't bring myself to throw it away.

The following morning, I went to Adrian's office at the Cross Group headquarters to retrieve a document he needed for an upcoming board meeting.

He had given me access to his private office years ago, so I didn't think twice before entering.

His secretary wasn't at her desk.

The office was empty.

I found the document I needed inside one of the drawers, but as I turned to leave, I noticed that a folder on Adrian's computer was still open.

It wasn't unusual.

Adrian often left files scattered across his desktop.

I was about to close the screen when a notification appeared.

Private Archive — VH.

I froze.

VH.

Vivian Hart.

My heart began beating faster.

I stared at the folder for several seconds before telling myself to walk away.

Whatever was inside was none of my business.

I had trusted Adrian for seven years.

I shouldn't suddenly become suspicious because a woman from his past had returned.

But my hand moved before I could stop it.

I clicked the folder.

It asked for a password.

I almost laughed at myself.

What was I doing?

Then I remembered Adrian's old habit of using dates he considered important.

I entered our wedding date.

The folder opened.

The first photograph appeared on the screen.

Adrian.

Vivian.

They were sitting across from each other at a restaurant.

I stared at the date.

It had been taken only three months ago.

My breathing became shallow.

I opened the next photograph.

They were standing outside a hotel.

Another.

They were inside a private lounge.

Another.

Vivian was holding Adrian's arm as they walked through an airport.

There were dozens.

Not memories from years ago.

Recent photographs.

Months of them.

My fingers trembled as I scrolled through the images.

Then I saw something that made my stomach twist.

Adrian was holding Vivian against his chest.

His expression was soft.

Tender.

It was the same expression I had spent years believing belonged only to me.

I backed away from the desk.

"No..."

The word escaped my lips before I could stop it.

I opened another file.

Documents.

Contracts.

Trust agreements.

Share transfers.

My own name appeared on one of them.

ELENA VALE.

I clicked it.

The screen filled with legal language I couldn't immediately understand.

But one sentence stood out.

I read it once.

Then again.

My hands had begun shaking.

There was another folder underneath it.

VIVIAN HART — RETURN ARRANGEMENT.

I stared at those words until they blurred.

Something inside me told me not to open it.

Another part of me knew that whatever was inside would change everything.

I clicked.

A photograph appeared.

Adrian and Vivian.

Standing very close.

Too close.

I enlarged it.

My heart stopped.

Adrian's hand was around Vivian's waist.

Her arms were around his neck.

And his lips were pressed against hers.

I stared at the screen, unable to breathe.

The man in the photograph was my husband.

And the woman he was kissing was the woman he had told me belonged to his past.

For seven years, I had believed I was his future.

Now I was staring at proof that perhaps I had never been part of it at all.