The morning after, her quiet victory tasted like steel and adrenaline.
Elena woke before the sun, the buzz of strategy already burning beneath her skin. She had barely slept—maybe two hours, if that—but she didn't feel tired. She felt dangerous.
But it hadn't been rest.
In the hours her eyes were closed, the fire found her again.
In her dreams, she was back in that house—her lungs full of smoke, her skin blistering, her screams swallowed by heat. She saw the hallway splitting apart, flames licking the wallpaper, the chandelier above her cracking like ice before it fell. She could still feel the tile beneath her palms, her fingers clawing for breath.
And then, worse than the fire, came the memory of her.
Of the girl she used to be, she could have been if she hadn't taken another path in her second life.
In the dream, she was wearing a white lace dress. Hair pinned back. Smiling.
Hopeful.
The girl who had married Lucas Bennett with open eyes and an open heart. The girl who had believed that love was something you earned through loyalty and sacrifice.
She remembered how she used to fold napkins into perfect squares for dinner parties. How she memorized Lucas's coffee order. How she apologized when he ignored her.
She remembered the way she made herself smaller to keep the peace.
That Elena had been kind. Generous. Naive.
She had thought being the perfect wife would protect her marriage
But the fire hadn't just taken her body.
It had burned that version of her to ash.
Elena blinked the memory away as she stepped from the shower. She dressed cleanly—a soft white blouse tucked into sleek black trousers, no jewelry. No need. Today wasn't for beauty. It was for war.
The moment she entered Damien's study, he looked up from his desk.
"You're up early," he said.
"You sound surprised"
"I'm not. Just wondering if you've eaten anything that wasn't fury or caffeine."
Elena allowed the corner of her mouth to twitch. "I'll eat when I'm done rearranging the chessboard."
He didn't smile, but something flickered in his expression. Approval, maybe. Understanding.
She dropped a folder onto his desk. "Here's how we start."
Inside: a short list of names—journalists, influencers, old clients. People who were going to be her future even as she rewrites her story. People who had enough quiet loyalty to help reshape it.
His eyes flicked up. "You've been busy."
"I don't sleep well when I'm planning a coup."
This time, he smirked. Briefly. "Cute."
"Don't patronize me, Damien."
"I'm not." He leaned back, scanning the list. "I'm just trying to figure out which one of these people bleeds the loudest."
"I'm not going public yet," she said. "But I want the pressure to build. Whispers. Leaks. We plant doubt first. Make Lucas and Serena turn against each other."
Damien flipped through the folder. "And then what?"
Elena smiled. Cold. Controlled. "Then we bleed them in the boardroom."
***
The first leak hit by noon.
A minor tech blog posted an anonymous tip: that Lucas Bennett was under internal investigation for intellectual property theft. The post was vague, speculative, almost forgettable.
Except it wasn't.
By 2 p.m., it had been reposted by three more outlets. By 3, someone had uploaded an early concept sketch of the Hayes wearable—with Elena's initials in the corner.
By 4, Lucas was trending.
Not in a good way.
The plan was simple: drop evidence that could've only come from someone inside. Make it look like Serena was trying to protect herself at Lucas's expense. Enough doubt to make him question her. Enough fuel to make Serena look like the saboteur.
But Lucas didn't bite.
Instead of turning on her, he defended her. Publicly.
By six, he released a statement that not only denied the claims but praised Serena's loyalty and strategic genius. He called her his partner. His anchor.
And Serena, ever the opportunist, leaned into it.
She issued her own statement not long after—full of sorrow, polished professionalism, and veiled jabs at Elena. She mentioned "false narratives," "jealous distractions," and a "pattern of emotional instability."
She was painting Elena as the unstable ex. The bitter woman clinging to shadows.
Elena read it once.
Then again.
"She's good," Damien said from across the room.
"No," Elena replied. "She's predictable."
But underneath the calm, something twisted in her gut.
Lucas was supposed to crack. To question. To retreat.
Instead, he chose Serena.
Again.
And Serena knew it. Knew how to play the victim, how to manipulate his loyalty like a leash.
"Let them have their moment," Elena murmured, eyes narrowing. "Because the next strike won't be from the shadows."
She turned back to her laptop, her fingers already moving.
The game wasn't over.
It was just changing.
***
Serena called her. Twice.
Elena let both go to voicemail.
The third time, she picked up.
"You know," Serena said, voice tight, "I could ruin you right now."
"You already tried, once." Elena replied. "Didn't take you for the emotional blackmailing type."
"You think this little PR stunt with Damien makes you untouchable? You're playing with people who eat girls like you alive."
"I'm not the girl you grew up with anymore, Serena. " Elena said calmly. "And you should stop talking like someone who thinks the world revolves around them."
Silence on the other end. Just breath.
Then Serena hung up.
***
By evening, the news that Lucas released denying everything; escalated. Elena decided to throw another one...
Though he was already behind. And in the space between his lie and the public's reaction, it didn't matter.
She didn't release a statement.
Just her.
Standing on Damien Voss balcony. Alone. Backlit by the city, sky bruising to dusk behind her. The wind catching the edge of her blouse, her face in profile. She wore her father's old watch—the one she'd worn the same night the fire took everything.
No caption. No tags.
The image spoke louder than any statement could.
It went viral in under an hour.
***
That night, Damien handed her a glass of wine on the same balcony.
"You know," he said, watching the lights below, "I didn't think you'd be this good at it."
"At what?"
"Making people bleed without lifting a knife."
Elena sipped her wine. "I used to believe in clean hands. But like I told you, I learned my lessons. Fires leaves no fingerprints."
He turned to her. "Are you ready for what comes next?"
She looked him dead in the eye.
"Let it come."
***
Later that night, she passed Damien in the hallway again. She was barefoot, hair down, loose around her shoulders—an unintentional softness that clashed with the cold precision of their day.
He paused, looked at her. "Can't sleep again?"
"Didn't try."
He stepped closer, just enough to narrow the space between them. The air shifted.
"Do you always go to war alone?" he asked.
Elena tilted her head, steady. "I didn't have a choice."
"Now you do."
The words hung there. Real. Unexpected.
For a moment, she let herself see him not as a means to an end, but as a man who knew what it meant to be betrayed, to rebuild from ruin.
Damien reached out, not touching her, just resting his fingers on the wall beside her shoulder.
"You scare them now, Elena. But you don't scare me."
"Then you're either very brave," she said, her voice lower, "or very stupid."
His eyes dropped to her lips. "Maybe both."
She didn't move away.
But she didn't give in either.
"Good night, Damien," she said softly, and walked past him.
He didn't follow.
But he watched her until she disappeared around the corner.
***
The next morning, the whispers had turned into questions.
A board member from Hayes Enterprises had quietly resigned overnight. An anonymous tip landed in three journalists' inboxes—this time with receipts. Account transfers. Timelines. Emails that didn't match public statements.
Someone was bleeding.
But it wasn't who Elena expected.
Damien entered the room holding his phone. "Serena's been too quiet today."
"She's recalibrating," Elena said without looking up. "She's not dumb. Just arrogant."
"She's also moving money," he added. "A lot of it."
Elena's hands stilled on the keyboard. "From where?"
"Lucas's accounts. Under his login."
She blinked, then narrowed her eyes. "No one's that sloppy."
"She wants to get caught, I wonder why..."
A long silence passed between them as the realization settled.
Serena wasn't covering her tracks.
She was laying bait.
And Lucas… he'd take the fall for her.
Again.
"She's framing him," Elena said, voice tight.
"She's not just using his love," Damien added. "She's weaponizing it."
For a moment, Elena's composure faltered. Not with fear. With disgust.
"She'll destroy him if it means staying on top."
"She already is," Damien said. "And the worst part?"
"What?"
"She's feels nothing while she does it."
The rest of the day went by, with them working on their goals, staying indoors like honeymoon couples until dinner time.
Dinner had been quiet. Too quiet.
Damien sat across from her, cutting into his steak with methodical ease, his eyes occasionally drifting to her—but she barely touched her food. The candlelight flickered between them, casting shadows that felt heavier than the silence.
He had asked if she was okay. Just once.
And she had lied. Just once.
"I'm fine," she said, offering a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. The kind of smile he was growing used to, even if he didn't understand it.
She was thinking about how she was going to sleep without dreaming about the fire again.
He didn't press her. He never did.
Afterward, she excused herself early, claiming a headache. He nodded, let her go, and didn't follow. That was Damien—giving her space, whether she needed it or not.
She wished, she had met him instead of Lucas. Then all this wouldn't be happen.
***
Bed time, Elena couldn't sleep.
Every time she closed her eyes, the fire came back.
It wasn't just in her mind—it lived beneath her skin, creeping through her veins like smoke. The heat licked at her heels, climbed up her spine, curled around her throat. It wasn't real—not now, not here—but it felt real. Too real.
The mattress beneath her felt like ash. The sheets tangled around her legs like flames trying to hold her down. She opened her eyes to the dark, but the flickers of memory still danced across the ceiling like shadows.
She turned onto her side. Then her back. Then sat up.
Still, the fire came.
It wasn't just the blaze she'd escaped—it was the helplessness, the screams swallowed by crackling embers, the way the air turned thick and cruel. Each breath felt like smoke. Each heartbeat like the echo of collapsing beams.
A gasp tore from her throat as she jolted upright, drenched in sweat. Her chest rose and fell with sharp, uneven breaths. For a second, she didn't know where she was. Not until the moonlight streaming through the curtains touched the edge of the bed… and him.
Damien.
He stirred beside her, one arm instinctively reaching out, but she moved before he could speak—before she even met his eyes. She swung her legs over the bed and stood, the cool floor grounding her only slightly.
She didn't say a word.
Her nightgown clung to her damp skin as she slipped out of the room in silence, her footsteps quiet against the hallway tile. The air in her part of the house was still, untouched. A world apart from the one that burned behind her eyelids.
She went to the study—her sanctuary. The door clicked shut behind her as she leaned against it for a moment, eyes closed, trying to remember what peace felt like.
But the fire didn't care.
It always found a way in.
Elena opened her laptop again.
Her fingers hovered over a folder—one she hadn't dared open until now. Labeled only with a single word: Firebird.
Inside: her real contingency plan.
Not for survival.
For domination.
Everything that could happen in the future, if she doesn't change her fate.
The hospital name.
The doctor's written confession, every word and every punctuations. most of the texts she remembered from Lucas's phone.
Everything she remembered that would happened in the following years to come—
She had made documentaries for them to avoid it before it happens.
And then the final file? A video she hadn't bother to watch since it was sent to her anonymously even before her engagement. Years before she died in that fire.
From an unknown number.
One that traced back to Serena.
She had thought it was a spam message but she decided to see what it was.
She hit play.
Serena's voice filled the speakers—laughing, tipsy, whispering:
"I get everything she deserves even her boyfriend. That's the beauty of it. Poor Elena thinks Lucas is inlove with her. No, no...
My foolish and naive sister, Lucas wants nothing to do with you.
He doesn't want you, He never did.
He's using you to get close to me."
Then—
Ps. We're not even blood related.
The screen showed Serena tangled in sheets. Lucas beside her. Smiling. Naked.
His hand against her back like a man marking what was his.
Elena didn't blink.
She didn't flinch.
She smiled.
"Good," she whispered, eyes burning like coals. "At least this time, I'll see it coming."